RP: How to Rob a Mermaid

Sargaso had no leads. He came to the Broken Barrel chasing a rumor: the The Chubby Mermaid had docked in Rynvale. Legend has it that the infamous pirate ship travels under a veil of fog and moors only in the clandestine docks that are tucked away in the underbellies of the world’s busiest ports. Men who reek of whale oil, fish guts, gambler’s debt and seablown tragedy often speak of Rynvale’s ‘Reef’, a network of sewers, tunnels, subterranean caves and rivers that shelter law-breaking denizens from the billy clubs of the Rynvale guard. Sarge spent the day in his kayak tailing pirate ships in and out of the docks to see if any would lead him to the Reef. No luck. He got work loading crates into a cargo hull and tried extracting hearsay from his fellow day-laborers, but the chumps were as clueless as him. Exhausted and covered in brine-slicked sweat, he came to the Broken Barrel for beer and dinner. That’s where he is now, sitting at a table alone, empty beer mug in front of him, stomach growing as he waits for his meat and potatoes (hold the peas). His gray stare is transfixed on the jiggling jowls of a lightly bearded fat woman sitting on the lap of a fatter man. Everytime she laughs her gizzard flaps above layers and layers of beaded necklaces made of seaglass and painted wood. Sarge hasn’t blinked in a minute.

Terra had just successfully managed to libterate golden scales from a dragon. This felt like a cause for celebration. Instead she had been deterred by pressing business in the landlocked Gualon and had dealt with it accordingly. Returning to Rynvale was next on her list and she finally made it open, chartering a private boat to return to the island, abandoning the mainland from the seaside docks. She is not new to this place, even knows some of the dockhands by name, even if it had been a few years since she had relied on that knowledge. The scent of salt and sea clung to her as she pushed the door open, laughed at something someone called at to her but then rolled her eyes as soon as the door closed. Evidently, whatever was said was not as entertaining as the joy she faked for his expense. Some may even say it was a politician's laugh, which was not that far off from the way she behaved once she crossed the familiar wooden planks of the Barrel. "Hey," she mentioned to the bartender as he passed, asked her what it would be, "Whiskey please!" That grin wasn't entirely fake but it didn't last the time it took her to turn 'round, back pressed against the hard wood of the counter as she took in the sights. Some were familiar. Some were not - like Sargaso's presense at an empty table. Odd. That was a face she could not place. Maybe things really had changed over the years. When Simon returned with the glass of amber liquid she asked, "Who's that guy?" A thumb jutted towards Selene's paladin. She wasn't shy or subtle, apparently.

Simon followed Terra’s thumb to Sarge. “Uhh… That’s uh… ‘ey Marlene! Marlene!” he shouted at a comely waitress serving a table not far from the bar. Marlene is busy taking a customer’s order. “Marlene!” called Simon. “Wait a minute!” Marlene growls back before turning sweetly to her customer, a regular and generous tipper who tips double if you let him look down your blouse when you serve his drinks. Marlene always did. After taking the man’s and his wife’s orders, she strides over to the bar, drops her tray onto the counter with a clatter, and parks herself next to Terra, giving the familiar woman a kind enough nod. “Terra,” then to Simon, “What?” Simon nods over at Sarge. Marlene follows Simon’s gesture towards Sargaso then turns bright red and looks away before risking eye contact. “That’s Sarge. Cenril cat.” “What do you mean a cat? Like a feline?” Simon asks. Marlene ignores him and instead leans in to Terra with feminine camaraderie, lifts her tray to put up a protective barrier between the women and Simon’s prying eyes, and says “Stay away from that one, honey.” As Marlene walks away Simon shouts after her “He don’t look like no feline!” No, he does not, because he is not. Drawn towards the commotion at the bar, Sarge’s gaze slides towards Marlene. He suppresses a grin at whatever memory Marlene conjures, then looks to Terra, letting his gaze linger for a little, an attention Terra is surely accustomed to. He does look away to take in the rest of the bar’s patrons and see if any look like denizens of the Reef.

Terra smiled easy enough at the attention Simon brought, even though she would have preferred that he handled it differently. Rynvale was a different scene from the swamps, as made apparent by her reliance on Marlene and co. to give her the details on different faces. Elsewhere, she would have had orphans relay all the information. Marlene's warning was heard but as they all likely assumed, she'd not be the one to actually follow it through. All it took was a quick, neat swallow of the contents of her glass before she'd abandon it in favor of inviting herself to Sargago's table. "What're you looking for?" It would be hard to miss the fact that he was clearly looking for something and even though her attention was momentairly seized by the same couple that had caught his, it rebounded back to him in due time. "Lose something? I'm usually pretty good at finding those." Well, not the entire truth. She was usually pretty good about finding someone to find the lost item and then claiming half the credit, because after all, knowing someone is half the battle.

Sargaso saw Terra’s approach first from a distance. Rare day that a dame like that goes out of her way to make your acquaintance. For the second time in the span of as many minutes he tries to suppress a grin, looking away until she arrives then meeting her gaze evenly. “I am.” He glances back at the fat couple. “Looking for a chubby mermaid.” He slyly looks to Terra to see if she catches his drift. When it comes to the Reef and its frequent attractions, you only know if you know. His waitress--not Marlene--serves his dinner and second beer. Sarge gestures between Terra and the waitress, looking inquisitive to Terra to invite her to a drink. He’s paying.

Terra kept that smile, even at the mention of ther mermaid. Even the little dimples in her cheeks seem to be a trap. When the other waitress comes to drop off, Sarge is saved from the brunt of her gaze as she looked upwards and seemed to accept the silent offer. "Sure, another whiskey please." She's not picky and Simon knew well enough that when she ordered that drink of choice, it didn't matter if it came from bottom or top shelf so she wasn't dumping all of Simon's coins on the table, at the very least. "Interesting... thought that was just something that people said... What business do you have?" Terra did shift at that table, drawing a leg under her. That served two purposes - the first, so she was better seated to meet his gaze and the second so she might be closer to something concealed in her booth. If that was weapon or prize, it is likely Sarge wouldn't know until later, depending on his response. "Mmm, I'm being rude. I'm Terra... and you are?" That smile returned, daring.

Simon pulled Terra’s whiskey from the top shelf. He’s a shrewd businessman who knows that when a man is trying to impress a woman, that’s your chance to shake him down for every last coin. That’s how Sarge finds himself paying 22 gold for a single tumbler of whiskey. He doesn’t balk at the price in Terra’s presence - Simon’s right on that. “Sarge,” he replies. “I’m just looking to have a good time with the mermaid.” He notes the way Terra brings her boot within her reach, and has been around enough dangerous women to know what that little maneuver means. He stays relaxed, unarmed, confident, and even excited. She must know. “You know where I can find her?”

Terra had turned back to the bearded lady until the drink arrived. With that crutch, she was able to return to the conversation. "Sarge." Much like the sip of whiskey she took next, she'd sample the feel of his name for a moment before continuing. "Even if I did know anything... I feel like maaaaaybe," she drew out that word, teasing, "it may be something you earn via invite." At least, that's how she had earned her wings, per se, back when the Row first got off the ground. "I could also maaaaaybe," drawn out, again, she's amused, "tell you, you'd have better luck being invited at a game of cards. Your meat's getting cold." Another sample from her glass but this time, those green eyes stayed on him rather than the distraction the couple presented a few tables away. "Do you play?"

Sargaso starts in on his steak and potatoes, but his attention never leaves Terra. This is the closest he’s gotten to someone who knows the Mermaid (or claims to know, she could be a liar). And she’s easy on the eyes too. He expected to find himself swapping information with some mean-mugged, gap-toothed drunk. Maybe luck is on his side, or maybe luck is just Selene’s way of showing him he’s on the right path. There she is, Terra, platinum blessing of Selene who is probably going to stab him one day, but he hopes that’s after he gets his hand on those dice. “Yea,” he replies. His lips twist into a wry smile. He might actually pull off this heist. “Let’s play together at the mermaid.”

Terra could also be a mean drunk, but lacked gaps in her teeth so he is saved from that fate for the time being. Her fingers are wrapped around each other, pressed against the glass as she debated the options. What would the harm be in involving him? He's eyed, probably a suggestive look from the top of his head to as low as the table would allow, but this was all likely a ruse as she doesn't appear to change position or expression after the scan. "What will you give me in return?" Negotiations should always be made up front, lest you be burnt, a lesson it only took her once to learn after a bad road trip with a lycan. Her grasp on the tumbler is loosened as one hand dropped to her lap, for no reason than to unconciously feel at the scars left there from her last deal gone wrong.

Sargaso finishes his dinner. The waitress comes over to check on their drinks. During a negotiation he abstains from further booze, but he invites Terra to order a second 22 gold whiskey. He’s still paying, and this time his goals go far beyond impressing her (though the goals are not mutually exclusive). “If you introduce me to the mermaid, I can twist fate in your favor.” He waits for her to scoff. That’s an old negotiation trick he learned from his first captain. “Ever heard of Harvey ‘The Handsome’ Mayfield? Legendary grifter. He swindled some of the most prominent Rynvalian families some 50 odd years ago. I know the secret to his luck, and I can share that with you.” He pauses and grins cockily. “I am a pretty lucky guy,” he says as he nods in her direction, giving her a head-to-toe appraisal similar to the one she gave him, though Sarge is more playful in his approach. The waitress brings the bill and Sarge pulls out the contents of his back pocket. Wallet, keys. On the keyring is a very peculiar, tentacle-looking key. It is unmistakably the key to The Row’s Kraken Lair.

Terra did order another. Why not? Would be rude to say no, to both Simon and her apparently over-generous benefactor so she waited for the arrival of the next after she polished off the one in her hand. He mentioned luck and she had to grin at that once more, but this one may have been the most genuine. It may have started as a ploy but at some point, she did grow to be entertained. "If you're so lucky... shouldn't that have got you what you wanted?" Those keys, that was enough to warrant her straightening up and when the refill arrived, it took her a few moments before she would try it. "I think we may have some mutual friends there, Sarge." That was interesting. Since she had been back, it had been rare to find someone who ran in those circles. Now, a drink, to keep her calm because the last thing she needed was to skip down memory lane with a stranger but the stories that she could tell.

Sargaso can’t miss Terra’s reaction to the lair’s key. He lifts a brow when she mentions mutual friends. “That so? Told you I’m lucky…” He trails off as he debates opening up to her with the truth of his mission on The Chubby Mermaid. “I showed you mine, now show me yours.” He jiggles the tentacled key. If she has a similar key, he whistles low then asks, “You don’t work for the mermaid, do you?” He meets her stare firmly and leans in without realizing it, as if proximity will help him detect a lie. It’s the last check he must perform before exposing his plot.

Terra had lost the key at one point and eventually got a new one, but that's not the question at hand. He will bear witness to the struggle that went across her pale face for a moment, the indent in her cheek as she chewed on the inside before giving in to the peer pressure and revealing her own. There's also a tatto on her person that would further confirm her involvement but that was not really something you shared on the first, second or third drink. "I don't work for anyone." A half truth. She's recently re-claimed her standing as the First Lady of Gualon so technically she worked for a lot of people but again, timing. Blame the whiskey or the excitement or maybe just the look in thar gray gaze but she extended a single pinky upward in invitation. "Pinky swear that I don't work for the mermaid." If he met her halfway, she wrapped her pinky around his briefly and then released him when the 'promise' was made.

Sargaso knows better than to trust a member of The Row at their word, but he trusts his own instincts. His gut tells him Terra isn’t lying, and he wraps his pinky around hers but doesn’t release it. Instead, he leans in so that to any onlookers it looks like two would-be lovers are exchanging nothing more than a flirt. (Across the room, Marlene watches in disbelief and dismay. Terra, you damn fool, Marlene warned you!) He whispers, “The mermaid has a set of die made from Harvey Mayfield’s knuckles. I’m going to steal them. Help me, and you can use his luck, too.” He leans back and winks at her. To all outward appearances, he’s just a smooth operator, not a faithful sailor and rogue about to rob pirates blind.

Terra briefly, and without a little bit of shame, fell for the gambit. At least until his lowered voice spoke of a job that would be of interest. She's fresh off another bid that had her marching around, looking gor gold dragons, and there's still a few spots that were crispy from that so this sounded like a needed break. "Okay, I'll help. Not interested in the luck." She didn't believe in that sort of thing, but understood those around here did so she was careful not to knock it. "You're just interesting enough that it seems worth it to see it through.... Plus, I think I'll need a favor in the future." That was more her line of payment. Favors.

Sargaso shrugs coolly. "You probably could have gotten that out of me for free." He smirks. "But not anymore. Now you're on the hook. Ready?" He nods towards the door, then leads her outside. "What do you know about the Ree-" A strong gust of wind beats down on their heads from above. Sarge squints up to find his view of the starry sky blocked by a golden griffon. Its rider, dressed in the colors and symbols of Delisha, delivers a telegram to Sarge in a sing-song lilt: "Message from Mathollak, the Axe of Love himself, the Hero of Freedom, Delisha's chosen." Sargaso audibly groans and scratches the back of his neck. He avoids making eye contact with Terra. This is embarrassing. He regrets the day he met that nutcase. This stunt is killing the whole vibe he's got going on with this babe. Bottle up this moment and f***ing sell it as a contraceptive. The messenger continues, "Ushat's husband brought friends to Gualon to kill more of my people. Family's in danger. Please hurry." Sargaso looks to Terra reluctantly like he doesn't want to break bad news: this bizarre message has yanked his chain and he's got to go. The messenger adds, without singing, "Your friend also paid me to take you back to Gualon if that's what you want." Sarge's jaw clenches at the word 'friend'. Not quite a friend. But whatever allegiance they have re-orders Sargaso's priorities. Lucky knuckle die just dropped down the list, and saving Gualon from Aramoth zealots tops it. He presses his lips together for a moment, meeting Terra's eye, then lets out a low, long sigh. "I have to take care of this. How can I reach you when I'm done?"

Terra has yet to ask a favor of Sargaso, so he doesn't understand the level of pain that he would have been agreeing to for nothing. It was better this way, at least they'd be on even footing. When they move outside and that wind started, there was a very long moment where she debated leaving him to whatever fate was meant to be his while she found another bottle but alas, he was too charming! Marlene was right! She remained, very confused by this entire thing. Some of those words she knows- she had been at the Hero of Freedom, palled around with Aarika and co. while they cheered on the 'Axe of Love' but the rest is upsetting. "Calling in the favor now. Need a ride to Gualon." That's said with an extremely sweet smile and a few eyelash flutterings. Hey - he was the one who said he'd have done it without the die, so now would be the time to test that.

Sargaso's brows lift a little in surprise. "You sure? It'll be dangerous." He looks her over to see if she looks tough enough to face whatever awaits them in Gualon. She passes his gut check. "Alright, but if it's even more dangerous than I think, you hang back, yea?" The griffon rider has his own railed-in saddle box near the back of the griffon's head. Behind that box is an open saddle for up to two passengers to share snugly. Sarge mounts the saddle fluidly, moving his weight on unstable terrain with an expertise gained at sea. He extends a hand down to Terra to help her up onto the saddle behind him. The riders ask, "Ready?" The griffon runs down the street to gain speed before extending its enormous, golden and feathered wings and taking flight with a lot of turbulence. "They say a storm's coming!" shouts the rider over his shoulder and the deafening howl of the wind. "We'll avoid it, don't worry." With that, they're off to Gualon on a bumpy ride that makes sea travel look calm in comparison. Gods damn Mathollak.

There was a time when Terra would mount dragons with ease but that felt like a lifetime ago. Griffons were smaller, it should be easier, but she's going to be pressed in there with some guy she just met and that's not her favorite thing. But Gualon.... Sarge may have been able to see that brief internal debate as she's not trying to mask it. There was however that thrill, deep in the pit of her stomach that she had been trying to repress as of late, that would constantly seek adventure and that's exactly what comes with that extended hand so she accepted it and climbed on too. It's been awhile so of course she took the bait that came with sitting behind him, wrapped an arm tight around his midsection but she was careful to keep her hand bunched into the fabric of his shirt. The other hand found purchase on the saddle and she hung on tight, knuckles going whiter with the mention of a storm and the confidence they would avoid it. This was not her first flight to Gualon, wouldn't be the last, but it is the first where she'd have someone to talk to and she'd attempt to be heard over the wind by moving close to his ear, "Is this a normal night for you?"