RP:Wheeling and Dealing

Part of the Questionable Honor Arc

Background

After a tentative deal with Jerica was interrupted, Thistle solidified her position with the Rats and began to dig herself deeper into Cenril's seedy underground. But the events that had transpired with Ranok had only proven to her that she would be in over her head unless she was able to find someone to take on as her own. Preferably someone who wouldn't call her stupid every other breath.

Jerica was intrigued by Thistle, and a competent woman in her own right looking to be hired in the right place by the right person. She'd told Thistle they both stood to profit, but time would tell.

Behind the Bathhouse

Jerica figured if she was ever going to run into Nas again it would be here, in the bath house. That's how it is that Jerica is hanging out just outside the place. Not in disguise or filthy from head to toe. Nor did she appear in need of a bath. Jerica leaned against the building just to the right of the doorway and searched every face that went by. Most people ignored her and others scrutinized right back. Those were the ones she smiled at.

Good moods were a pretty rare thing for Thistle, but on that particular day at that particular time she found herself veering close to one. She'd made headway with Pariah and the Rats both, and her infiltration into Freyel's circle was as good as it could be. That was her errand at that particular time of the day, dressed in unusual clothing for her. Wool pants, a scratchy wool shirt and a tabard with a faded image of a circle and squiggly lines in it. It was a service tabard, marking her as belonging to some guild or business while she wore the thing. If that didn't clue in as to her present position in the world the basket she carried on her head was giveaway enough. It was filled with clothing of indeterminate, dingy color. Given the odor it put off, it was dirty laundry and Thistle was on her way to get it washed. She trudged along, body language giving the lip for her that this was not something she enjoyed, and that and her grungy clothing kept people from approaching her and thieves at bay. Those who washed clothing rarely had anything of value on them. At all. The person at the side of the door, as Thistle made the trek and looked up to take the basket from her head, did catch her attention. Inside was where she usually took her clothing. It dismayed the others who used the baths, but it allowed her to listen to gossip and talk unmolested. Now, however, she neatly sidestepped the door, her eyes seeking out Jerica's own. There was a pool at the back of the bathhouse, a natural expulsion of water that was what most people used for their laundry, as the water turned to a stream and trickled elsewhere, taking with it most of the filth. Without a backward look Thistle walked around the building and set herself up at the small pool. It was a time of evening when most people weren't likely to be doing laundry, dark enough that it made slipping all the more likely and cutpurses a sure danger. Thistle wasn't too terribly worried. Jerica had claimed she was useful, after all.

Jerica caught Nas' look and rolled away from the entrance to follow but only after counting to ten. That would put the woman a good five feet ahead; easy to trail and watch but not so close they looked like they were together. Even so there were two people between them and both seemed to be heading to the bath rather than the area used for washing clothes. That was a relief anyway. Brown eyes kept a constant vigil for anything out of the ordinary. Of course in this town almost everything fit that bill. Such as the tall whipcord thin man lurking off to Nas' right who suddenly stepped between the two. Jerica reached up and picked through her hair; which was held up by a twist of hollowed out wood the approximate length of a chopstick but a bit thicker. One end was eased off and the little darts contained within easily and expertly palmed so the poisoned tips didn't puncture her own hand. The other end was uncapped to make a tube of the hair decoration. Keeping her eye on the man, Jerica only brought the miniature blow gun to her lips when she caught the glint of steel in his hand. A breath and a hard puff later and the would be murderer (or worse) and thief hit the ground with a hard thud and didn't move. If Nas noticed and turned around, Jerica would already be twisting the stick back into her hair.

Thistle had a cake of soap in one hand and the first bit of clothing in the other as she knelt at the pool. She concentrated on the soap, digging for the hot coil inside of her, under her skin, that allowed her access to her magic. It was like dragging hooks behind her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and unleashed the little bacteria she'd painstakingingly kept inactive on the tabard, setting them into the soap. Which, as it turned out, wasn't really soap. The bacteria had an appetite for blood, which she'd use to get the clothing cleaned. Then she'd use a cake of real soap to get all the actual dirt out. That was the trick she'd come up with to get a job in Freyel's outfit as some street urchin looking for work without many compunctions about where the work came from. As her eyes focused back into the here and now she was looking up and saw Jerica's hands come down from her hair. The body was nothing more than an outline behind her. Useful, indeed. "I was hoping to see you," Thistle said, wondering if the man had been after Jerica or herself. Sloppy business, if she was getting recognized in her washing garb. Though she supposed it was possible someone wanted to kill her because she was marked as being part of one of Freyel's enterprising businesses. "Nils was asking about you."

Jerica continued down the path towards Nas and simply stepped over the body. He wasn't actually dead yet, the toxin rendering its victim paralyzed first then slowly worked through the blood and organs shutting them down one by one. He could hear everything and was aware of his body slowly dying while he lay there unable to even scream. "Was he?" She sounded unconcerned. The slight shrug confirmed how little she thought of that. "What did he want to know?" Jerica found a nearby place to sit down and watch the chore of cleaning be done. She didn't offer to help.

Thistle took her bacterial soap and the first shirt, and started scrubbing them. "Why you were there. Why I spoke to you after." Grueling, smelly, boring work was laundry, but she needed it. Had to keep remembering that. "I told him you were one of mine." Which was, really, the point of their meeting at all. Thistle lifted her head then, to look up at Jerica, measure her reaction -- or lack thereof. "What are your skills?"

Jerica quirked a brow but that was her only reaction. In this business it wasn't healthy to give too much away even in some wayward expression. "Did you?" she pondered drolly. "You've seen the skills I have that are important," she shrugged again and patted at her hair, smoothing way ward strands into place. "I can blend where most can't; I can kill from a distance and I'm not too bad at up close but I prefer not to do that. It gets so messy," case in point was the laundry that Nas was doing. "And I listen."

Thistle looked back down to her washing, held the piece of cloth underwater so that as the bloodstains were eaten up the residue would be allowed to float away. "'From a distance'. Explain. I have need of someone, but I need to know if we're to negotiate. . .price." Between magic and all the differing types of weapons out there, it could mean anything. Thistle needed to know before she made a move as bold as hiring someone. Krice had refused, had turned his nose up at the idea of being hired. Ranok was domineering, and a capricious ally to boot. Being leery, in the wake of recent failures both with those two and wholly on her own, was all that Thistle could be right then.

Jerica crossed one leg over the other and leaned back on her elbows, "I use a cross bow that was specially made for a person of my stature." Four foot nine inches flat footed meant she needed certain things made special. "It is a good weapon for distance. My blow gun is good at shorter ranges. Poisons and other methods are employed when I work depending on the situation. As I said, I'm not adverse to making it up-close and personal I just prefer not to." She explained it as patiently and clearly as possible so that there would and could be no misunderstanding. "If you are looking for someone to watch your back, Nas then I'm the best you're going to get for whatever you're willing to pay."

Thistle made little humming noises, consideration to the things Jerica said. What a pair they'd make. Both short, both more than what they let on. It was an odd thing to have someone so eager to be under her employ when she'd struggled to find one suitable for as long as she had, but she hadn't been long back in the game. The last two years had been for the forgetting. The first shirt was deemed good enough, and she tossed it carelessly to her side for a second wash. A second piece of cloth was pulled out; this one a towel that had been used to mop up a lot of gross. Nose wrinkled with distaste, Thistle set the cake to it with a vengeance before plunging it under. "Ten gold a week."

Jerica should probably haggle over her price but she suspected that Nas may not have more than that to afford her usual counter of fifteen. "Done. On one condition."

Thistle had expected Jerica to barter. Had set the price low to start with, but she was known for being poor. Was this charity, or was it betrayal? "What?"

Jerica would up her price at a later time, when she knew for certain that Nas could afford it. An amused half grin tipped up one corner of her mouth, "You tell me your real name."

Of all the questions she could have expected, of all the ridiculous demands, Thistle could not have expected that one. She looked up, saw that grin, and a laugh was startled from her. Part of one, at least, because the question deserved it. "Of all the things you might have wanted, that's the one thing I can't give." Souls, it wasn't like she was hiding it. No one had asked before. Thistle never talked about it, because she never wanted to. She put more soap to the towel, frowning at the stubbornness of what blood had soaked into it. "I'm Nameless. I gave my life, my essence to the Souls. My name. They hold it now. Among my people, they would never refer to me as anything but Nameless, maybe a small part, a single tip of a name that is only suitable to animals. That is Nas. Nothing that would make the Souls angry, or jealous." She looked back up to Jerica, eyebrows raised as if to dare her to challenge that long ago pact made and kept in faith.

Jerica understood superstition and how it could shape a person. Her folk were the same way about different things like signs and omens and spirits. "Alright. Nas it is and if I'm feeling particularly grouchy I'll just call you Nameless." Actually, Jerica was glad this woman did more than scowl and knew how to even laugh. It boded well, another sign that this was a good deal. "Now that you hired me on, what are we going to do first?"

Thistle nodded, docile; Nameless was always better than it. But the matter was settled and truly a minor thing in the wake of what having someone at her back meant. Gathering information alone was difficult enough, especially when Thistle had to rely on subterfuge and subtlety to keep herself out of trouble. "I've become aware that Pariah -- that's the group Nils works for, and I'll talk about them given time -- has misplaced a few crates of poppy seed extract. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that that's costly, or an act that could result in a turf war. I need to know who took them, why, and what Pariah knows already. Vitus -- that's Pariah's leader -- already knows I'm good for some information. I want to be the one to take it to them, first. I want them to know I'm reliable. Pariah is a dangerous bunch. They do low profile killing for a price, and have several contacts for whom they're willing to bring illicit substances into Cenril and the wider area. Furthermore, they're rather adept at acquiring otherwise already acquired items, if you get my drift. It's especially insulting if someone steals from them. Who'd dare?" Rhetorical question, that, because someone had and that was what Thistle needed to know. "The poppy seed was supposed to be in on the Mariale, and it was registered as having come in. On a separate docket, of course. But it wasn't there when one of Vitus' men went to pick it up. It was stolen -- if it really arrived at all -- within a six hour window. You follow?"

Jerica followed and nodded. She did what she did best. She kept silent and let the other person talk. Sometimes they gave away more than they thought they did. Jerica rolled her right hand on the wrist joint indicating Nas should continue. The assassin was already filtering data and sorting it into its separate pieces.

The blood just would not go away. Thistle dipped into the upper layers of her magic just to make sure the bacteria was still working. It was. She let that second sight fade away, and put more of them onto the towel. "I suppose one thing you'll need to know if you'll be a. . .hired sword of mine. The Blooded Triads run Coastal Street, and from what I hear they're doing a good job of it. They have a hit on my head. That's a problem, because they like to mingle at the docks rather often. I'll need to disguise myself, make myself invisible before I can take my ass anywhere around there. Even then, it'll be risky." Thought about that for a moment, about the probabilities of where they'd need to go to get the information. A stray, dour thought about having to dole out money to someone on a weekly basis was brushed irritably aside. "Less important to this task, but still good to know: Thonmet and his boys also have a hit out on my head. I'll show you the lay of their territory later, if you don't already know it. Stay out of there. They border Pariah and the Rats -- I'm good with both, for now -- and once it's known you're one of mine they'll be watching for you. How well do you know the slums south of the city center?" And there was a lot of them. Old city blocks at the leading edge of construction, left fallow when newer, wealthier districts sprung up. Eventually the old parts of the city had become too expensive to maintain, and they had fallen into the grasping hands of the poor. It'd only gotten worse since the attacks, Thistle had heard.

Jerica listened and listened, nodding here and there to show she was even if Nas never really looked her way. "I know them well enough." She would, soon, anyway. "Might be a good idea if I did the leg work and you sort of laid low. I'm pretty good at getting in and out of places and no one needs to know I'm working with you." Not for. Jerica wouldn't say she really worked for anyone. She worked for herself and got paid for her time.

Thistle did look up at Jerica then, one corner of her mouth twisting upwards. "Nils does. He was ready to get to know you really good. Didn't like seeing you there, sleek as a cat, when he was conducting business." The smile went away. Thistle looked back down. "Easiest way to get him off your tail. But now it's best to assume everyone knows, even if he never tells anyone besides Vitus. That bastard will be ready to use it against me, if we get you into a bad position where it might harm either of us. That's how it is. You're mine until you stop taking my coin, and that means you'll be closer than I'd like. Even so, I don't abandon mine." That was important. Thistle lifted her eyes, seeking out Jerica's. No, she didn't trust Jerica. Didn't give a kicked bull whether or not Jerica was happy, or hurting -- long as it didn't interfere with the work -- but she'd never leave Jerica out to dry. Not as long as she could help it, and Souls take her she intended to be able to help it.

Jerica shrugged again and took Nas at her word. "Nils can try to get to know me as intimately as he likes. Doesn't mean he'll succeed." Jerica was used to being in sticky situations and finding a way out. It had happened a time or two; maybe more. "That's also good to know and," here Jerica actually moved. She sat up and leaned close to Nas and her smelly bloody laundry, "I expect you to book out if anything ever goes wrong. You're paying me but you're not responsible for me."

Thistle leaned forward too, perilously so, over the water. Their reflections were muddied there, jarred into an unreal blur of colors by the moving water. "I don't abandon mine." Honor was all she had left of her past life. Whatever letting it go would mean, Thistle didn't want to find out.

Jerica stared hard at Nas; studied and categorized her before giving a firm nod of approval. "Alright. We are agreed. If one of us is in trouble we are both in trouble." Jerica was not about to let Nas take all the risk while she took the gold. Her own sense of honor, right and wrong demanded that much. Plus, there was something about Nas' tenacity that reminded her a lot of her baby sister Danika. Just for that alone Jerica might have worked with Nas for nothing.

Thistle tilted her head a little, nodded, and pulled herself back upright. The towel was finally free of its bloodstains, and she pulled it free. The next few articles of clothing looked to be not so difficult, and Thistle handled them with a certain callousness as she straightened. "What I know of Pariah is that they don't have many enemies. Thonmet and Vitus have bad blood, but right now I don't think Thonmet would dare touch Pariah. I could be wrong. Of the rest of the smaller gangs, there aren't any others who'd be likely to touch them. Besides Thonmet's and Rat's, the rest have too much to lose by targeting Pariah. The fact that they've killers in their numbers -- riling them up that way is bold but stupid. I have reason to believe that it's one of the larger groups, the more prominant ones, feeling like Vitus is getting a little too big for a slumlord. Byechni, the Thorns, and the Haut Monde. They all engage in trafficking, they've reasons to be watching Pariah. Byechni has a hold on what passes for customs these days. Not a lot, mind you, but enough. Thorns hold most of the businesses dockside, the grimy ones. Lot of smuggled goods pass way by them, and they're known to be able to acquire the exotic. That's the reputation Pariah is getting, you see where it goes. Haut Monde caters to rich folk. They're not huge, but they've plenty of money and know how to hire the right sort of people to take care of dirty business. There's been word Vitus took on a killing that upset one of their clients, upset some sort of rich man's game. They might be looking for payback. I'm sure there's more, but from what I've gathered those are the most likely. Sniff for me. I'll find out what Pariah knows.

Jerica felt better now that the political lesson was over and the nitty gritty of the job was gotten to. "Look at Haut Monde to see if they have a grudge against Vitus. I can do that." The richy-rich and muckity mucks of the upper crust she could handle as well as slum lords and street urchins out to practice their pickpocketing skills. In fact, Jerica already had a plan formulating. It just required a bit of finesse and some help from the guild. "Anyone in particular I should look into?"

Thistle pulled a pair of snappy dress trousers from the water, frowned at them and cast them to the side. Next was a hat. Thistle didn't want to know how that particular stain had gotten there. "I haven't been able to find their leader; haven't put much thought into it. Cliona handles many of their in-betweens. She's a known contact, has to be for her names to hit the slums. Nils once mentioned a bad run in with a man known as Goban, he's the one in charge of enforcing things when they've need of it. He's usually the one to hire their killers and troublemakers. Start there. If you need additional backup, let me know. I'll start feeling for what Byechni has been up to; what I know is that they tend to take cuts from the smaller groups to help ease official tensions from the guards still straight and the Church. It's possible Vitus has been bypassing them. He has. . .contacts." The hat went onto the pile. Another shirt. "I come here every night about the same time. It'll do for now. We'll have to find a better location for further meetings; I don't want to develop a routine beyond what's necessary."

Jerica would remember everything told to her. It was one of her many and varied talents. She started getting up only casting one look at the growing pile of clothes before she looked at the dead man. Foam still coated the corners of his mouth and dribbled to his ears. He was dead, staring fish-eyed up at nothing. "I'll get word to you about where to meet next time." Beneath her shirt was a pendant with a particularly useful trick to it. Nas would find out soon enough; once she had any information for her. "If you don't hear from me in two weeks then you can start to worry."

Thistle altered Jerica's words just a little. She scowled a small bit, her eyes pinned to Jerica and her movements. "If I don't hear from you in two weeks, I'm coming after you." Promise in those words. Fierce, stubborn determination in her eyes. Thistle was tired of being useless. She got to her feet too, and bowed towards Jerica for a full five seconds, one fist encased in the other and held parallel to her head.

Jerica bent at the waist in return with a slight smirk. How had she known that was coming? The promise not the bow. "As you insist on, in two weeks if you don't hear from me I'll expect you to find me." Yes, this woman was a lot like Danika. It was a bittersweet thought since Danica had died at the age of nine. Maybe the Gods had sent Nas as a reminder of what the little girl would have been like as a grown woman. With those thoughts flitting around her head among the influx of information, Jerica pivoted on her heel and began the short walk back to Beloy street.