Tsuiraku-town, part 3

[Graybeard]

"So the guy's name is Oshima," Ace said as he and Gault wrestled with the glass; he was having to do most of the lifting, what with the man's bad arm, but it was hardly a taxing job. "He's allegedly a, quote, 'businessman' who owns a lot of different businesses in Tsuiraku-town. I checked out a few of them after I dropped Layla off for her magic lesson -- we'll want to pick her up around noon. They're interesting. They all look legitimate from the outside, but they're very closed-mouthed ... and they all have somebody working there who's also named Oshima. And no two of 'em look alike." He paused and grunted as he forced the glass into place. "Either this guy runs an outfit that's like a Farrelite guild, which is interesting because Tsuiraku isn't supposed to have guilds, and they all take his name out of loyalty ... or he has one hell of a big family."

[OOC: I'm going to be intermittent for about ten days, but I like the directions this is going ... so don't mind me.]

[Jack Rothwell]

OOC Okey-doke, I see a line being thrown out. Time to make the most of it/OOC

It was amazing, Martin reflected, on how easy it was to get what you wanted if you knew how to cater to the needs of the people who had it. Half the time it was just a drink brought at the opportune moment or a reassuring word to someone who looked as if they were having a hard day. The 'gentleman' tipped his hat and gave a charming smile to the barmaid who'd been gabbing away with no sign of taking breath for the last several minutes and left the establishment.

It had taken a lot of willpower to go back into the town first instead of running headlong into a situation he knew nothing concrete about. But sensible operating policy made for someone who was likely to still be alive at the end of the day. His search had been for one thing; names of landowner's liable to own a vineyard like the one described by Dandelo at The Mead and Drum, ones with pull, in other words. Of the dozen or so people he'd asked one name had been mentioned considerably more than the others: Oshima. The exact details of the man, however, were a little hazy to say the least. He'd heard at least four different descriptions of him and the same number of businesses he was liable to be found to boot. Nothing left for it then, He had a few threads, time to tug and see what they unravelled.

Martin Dashwood headed for the first place on his list.

[Hours]

Gault quietly went along with the akward task of bringing in the replacement glass, it took time but long enough for Ace to explain what had been going on, even more time with all those traps that were around the house but just about everyone had seemingly worn a path through them all at this point to make a regular walkway through the whole thing as such it wasn't that much of a deal anymore. Still it sounded odd, but for Tsuirakuans it wasn't that bad, or even out of place if you thought about it.

'Well... we're not in Tsuiraku. We're in Rinkaiel, which has a whole bunch of skypeople in it but it's still Farrel. The Tsuirakuans may not have guilds but the people who come here still sort of need to get used to the idea of a guild being set up to protect the people, and while Farrel may love Tsuiraku it's still its own nation. What it sounds like is a bunch of Tsuirakuans coming out here and wanting to play at going native, setting themselves up a guild and giggling about giving themselves codenames. Probably have a secret handshake and everything. Of course it's still possible that it could be a family business or something, but if it's that prevalent then I'd be expecting a few more people around here to be sporting six fingers or something...' Gault drifted off, stopping to shudder at the thought of it before he stopped and realised that he had no damn idea who he was talking to.

'Aheh... Sorry, I don't think we've actually been properly introduced.' Gault extended his good hand to Ace, 'Your wife would know me as Peter Shadriel, but the real name's William Gault, Captain and Proprieter of Schwarzemarine Contracters.'

---

'Alright, Mister Oshima. That wasn't very hard, and the first step is always the hardest...' Wallace jumped to his feet and slipped his gun back into its holster low on his hip, walked over to Oshima lifting up his hanging head, the Mage's neck was limp like the rest of him, just hanging there, he was drenched with sweat but his lips were cracked, he must really have been thirsty. Wallace slicked back his hair so they could look each other in the eye, it was long and black, Wallace tagging him as "Pretty" but this container was scorching hot with the nearly noonday sun and stank of everything that had slithered out of Oshima since he'd woken up in here.

'From what I've heard of you Mister Oshima, you worked for a very bad man. Or at least the sort of man who hires strangers to kill people who cross him, but I can't say that that means that you're a very bad man. For all I know you're the sort who just did it because he had to, you might have a wife, whole litter of little ones to trip you over when you go home at night but would starve if you didn't do what it is you do.' Wallace held him up by his chin, his long fingernails digging into his cheeks, Oshima could only really look on as if this were some sort of fever dream.

There was a noise as someone else came in, locking the door behind them, putting down a large metal toolbox and a few more jugs of water near Wallace who let Oshima's head sag down to his chest again, the second man taking up position behind Oshima, probably armed.

'You have been poisoned, as you may have guessed.' Wallace told him, holding up another of the jugs and letting him drink down a bit more water, 'And if you heard outside while we had the door open, we're in the middle of the ocean. So there's no running. You don't have the strength to swim back and I know enough about magic to say that you can't fly back... And if you're thinking about it if you try to start casting a spell then that man there will put a bullet in you and add a bleeding wound to your troubles.'

Letting him finish his drink, Wallace poured the remaining water out over him, wiping him down with a cloth from his pocket, the whole time Oshima managed to croak out his protests, but afterwards when the second man took out a mop and cleared up around and the smell started to clear a little he stopped and slumped backwards on the chair he'd been tied to, giving a single hoarse laugh.

'You have the wrong man... If you wanted some information then you'd have gotten Tanaka before you shot him in the head... I was just some... Dumb muscle, there to keep people like you away from him. Bodyguard... I don't know shit!' He said almost triumphantly before trailing off into some strange language, presumably some sort of string of insults or threats.

Wallace didn't honestly seem to care, he just sat there writing down what he was saying phonetically, as if it were all sorts of interesting.

[Jack Rothwell]

Martin stepped into an establishment which looked, for all intents and purposes, like a legitmate shop. Of course, legimate in this case entailing the always entertaining pelts and mounted heads on the wall to advertise the business of a fur trader and taxidermist. The would-be aristocrat kept a straight face and fought down the wave of revulsion that dead animals on display invariably made him feel. He stepped to the counter and rapped smartly on the desk to get the attention of the decidedly freakish looking man who was doing something unspeakable with a saw in the back room. He shuffled over, seeing the expensive outfit before the man in front of him, and wiping his hands on the stained apron he wore. he gave Martin a yellowed toothed grin.

"Can I 'elp you sir?"

"I hope so. Is Oshima around?"

The proprietor of the macabre shop drew himself up to straighten the hunch in his shoulders.

"You're speaking to 'im, sir. Are you 'ere to trade?"

Martin couldn't stop an eyebrow from raising; this abomination scrapped from the bottom of the gene pool hardly resembled a properous businessman. And Martin would know; he met more than his fair share in his career. Still, looks could be decieving, he pressed on.

"That depends Mr Oshima. My interest is in vineyards. I hear tell that you're the very man to speak to about acquiring property on the outskirts of town."

"Wouldn't know nothing 'bout that. I'm just a trader, lad. "

The response came almost before Martin had reached the end of the sentence, the 'sir' Oshima had been using was suddenly absent without leave. If this man was part of a larger conspiracy, Martin reflected, he certainly hadn't been hired for his acting talents.

"Well I'm sorry, Mr Oshima. I've obviously mistaken you for someone else. I don't suppose you could point me in the right direction to someone who would know?"

Again, the reply was as quick as summer lightning.

"No sir. My apologies, just keep myself to myself, you see. Best way to avoid trouble." 'Was there an undercurrent of aggression in the man's voice now?'

"Very true. Well, good day Mr Oshima."

The shop-keeper bid him farewell. Martin turned out the doorway on the shop, waited for a moment, and then ducked into the alley behind it. Sometimes, he reflected, the illegal approach was the effective way to get things done. He remained patient until the alley cleared of people, then stripped off his jacket and hat. He carefully rolled the clothing up and placed it with his cane inside a discarded empty barrel resting against the wall of the narrow space.

He looked upwards, the windowsill that marked the first floor of the business was a good ten feet above him, but the craggy blocks that made up the wall would make for an easy grip. Martin look one more look to make sure no-one was watching and coiled his legs tightly.

And sprang.

His fingers found the edge of a strudy block and gripped, he jammed his feet onto the tiny ledges below before gravity caught up with him. Martin gritted his teeth and pushed upwards again, a few arms lengths later his hand found the ledge. He pulled himself up the wall a lot slower than was comfortable and peeked in through the window. The room was empty. Good. He raised himself onto a forearm and reached with his free hand under the frame that tilted outwards onto the street. The window made a quiet creak and opened fully. Martin breathed a sigh of relief, hugged the ledge and pulled himself gently inside.

[Hours]

'What're you doing now? Taking fucking notes?' Oshima asked, trying to laugh through the sudden pain in his gut, managing to finally sit up tall like he was held up by some sort of invisible scaffolding of proud defiance in the face of his captors. Wallace tossed down his notepad as it returned to plain language, dropping down quickly to one knee and opening his heavy toolbox with a creak, the thing obviously needed rusting.

'You laugh at me, Mister Oshima. You curse and you rage and make all this difficult for yourself. And more importantly you have no idea how valuable you are, from the report I got you were watching this... "Tanaka" when he met with the Captain, which makes me think that what you were doing was likely something you did all the time, probably have a neat little remote viewing spell in that head of yours, so what I want to know is just what went on in those meetings for a start, because you sure probably weren't set up in a nice inn like that for a single meet and greet like that...'

Wallace stood up with an oily rag in one hand and one of the water pitchers in the other, Oshima's guard kicking the chair down so that the mage fell down into the filthy puddle that surrounded him, his head colliding with the ground with a combination metallic clang and meaty thud before the rag found its way to covering Oshima's face, the mage struggling, whatever he was saying reduced to a muffled drawl as Wallace placed a boot on his chest and knelt down.

'You're going to tell me what happened, Mister Oshima.' Wallace said, 'What those meetings were about, what Tanaka's job was, who he worked with, and this is just a start.'

His hand tilted, and what felt like days passed for Oshima, passing in and out of consciousness before finally he felt his chair get kicked over so that he was painfully face down, a heavy impact or two on his back to help him cough up the salty water before he found himself upright again, his head spinning from what had just been done to him combined with the sudden rush of blood down to his legs.

'Tanaka... He arranged hits for the boss, enemies and traitors...' Oshima gasped for air, cringing at the pain from his guts and his own burning lungs, 'Got them killed by hiring out bounty hunters and assassins from the guilds!'

'Who were the contracts?' Wallace insisted quietly, smirking at how these Tsuirakuans didn't really have a stomach for any sort of real insistence.

'A whole bunch... We... We got a message every week from the temple with a list of names... Tho-those two Seeadler you got the names already. A-a source who wanted a bigger cut from what he helped with name of Aozo... Uh...' Oshima cringed, he was clearly thinking very hard, 'A teacher, Dasuke Kinabalu who sold us out on an arms shipment, bigshot guilder Rohen Dalton and... And-and that's all the jobs I remember I swear! Most of the time we got this guy by the name of Seishi Torou to do the jobs, he stays at the Mead and Drum... He'd know more...'

Wallace went quiet, he was pleased, and it had only been a few hours. He got to writing this down and handing a note to the other man in there before telling him to take that to the communications room before sitting down on his toolbox and pulling out his gun.

'You've been good, Oshima.' Wallace said, pointing the barrel at his captive, 'It's nearly noon now, and after a little break we're going to ask you questions about the temple.'

Oshima slumped forward, Wallace would swear that he was crying just a little.

[Graybeard]

[OOC: Still intermittent till next weekend, but just a quick thing:]

"We'll have to make this quick this morning," Galina said apologetically. "There's an archmage in town that I'm supposed to meet -- is something wrong?"

Layla had drawn in her breath suddenly, and thought quickly to find an alibi. "No, no, nothing wrong," she said. "I've just heard all these weird stories about archmages, is all. Isn't your regular employer one?"

"Ms. M?" Galina answered, a look of perplexity crossing her face, and turning into amusement. (Layla was relieved at that.) "Oh, she's about equal parts arch-arch-arch-mage, if such a thing exists, and arch-arch-arch-nutcase. No, there's nothing else quite like her out there. I don't know this guy, but he's supposed to be much more -- I guess I'd say 'conventional' than that. He's still mega-important, and the government wants to make sure I can play nice with him."

"What's his name?" Layla asked as casually as she could.

"Something Oshima, I think," Galina answered. "Anyway, he's my problem, not yours. Let's do a quick concentration exercise before I have to go, then we can get back together after lunch."

I'm not sure about him being more your problem than mine, Layla thought, but put it out of her mind as she got to work.

[Jack Rothwell]

The funny thing about trespassing, the man who called himself Martin Dashwood reflected, was how the fear and paranoia running through the intruder's mind conspired to make every creak of a floorboard sound like a piano falling down the stairs. Even the squeak of a desk drawer became a four piece string section as the theif creeped around the room that passed for the place Mr Oshima rested his head. He strained his ears and kept a wincing expression fixed firmly on his face as he listened for the warning noise of the owner coming up the staircase.

So far his search had turned up zilch; no convienient diaries with confessions of terrible secrets, no maps with a big cross labelling the location of conspirators or chests of gold. After a few minutes Martin was ready to give up and move onto the next location when his foot pressed on a floorboard which looked no different from it's neighbours.

Clunk.

He stopped, frowned and pressed down again. Same result. A slow smile spread across his features. He reached down, found the edge of the board and pulled. It came free with barely a fuss. Martin's smile turned into a full-blown toothy grin.

"There she is." he whispered.

It was an unassuming wooden box that sat in the shallow pit of taxidermists room. Martin retrieved it hungrily and opened it up; thick wads of paper lay inside, his hope rose further. He retrieved the bundles and began leafing through.

A clomping noise made him freeze. Approaching footsteps coming up the stairs.

There was no time to put everything back, Martin hurriedly stuffed the pages inside the shirt he wore and moved to the window, cursing under his breath at a particulary loud board by the frame. He limbo'd under the open glass and swung his body outside onto the wall just as the handle of the door started turning. He ducked out of sight just as the door opened and the owner came stomping into the room.

Ten seconds later Martin was cutting a hurried retreat through the backstreets of Tsuiraku Town with curses ringing through the air for the second time that day. He cut into a main street and turned his hurried jog into a more normal pace, time to get back to the hideout.

It didn't take him long to pour over the documents he'd 'confiscated' from the self-proclaimed Mr Oshima. It usually didn't when you had a good idea of what you were looking for. Martin scanned his eyes over a very interesting list of business transactions and thanked whatever Gods were listening that the organisation Oshima was part of had the anal-retentiveness to keep their numbers in triplicate. Now he almost certainly had the location of where Jade had disappeared to, and a second bunch of papers with minutes taken during the business deal concerning it told him everything else that mattered. It was telling evidence that if there was trouble to be found in this town; it was at that place.

So were Martin's thoughts as Keeko sneaked up and pawed his leg. The handsome thief picked up the cat and dumped her unceremoniously onto top of the documents he'd been pouring over. The animal made an annoyed yowl and began washing itself with an air of distain that only felines could manage. Martin sank his jaw onto the upright palm of a hand propped on the table.

"What do you think my love?" He murmured to his pet. "Should daddy go and risk his neck for that bitch?"

The cat started on it's ears, apparently ignoring him.

"You're right. She was nice to me the last time I saw her... well... the last time she SAW me anyway."

The cat started coughing up a hairball.

"Yeah. She did punch me in the face that one time. That wasn't pleasant." He drummed his fingers, providing a percussion backbeat to accompany his pet's rhythmic choking noises. "She's probably not in THAT much danger."

The cat vomited a sodden ball of fur onto the desk in front of him.

"I resent that remark." He went to the kitchen in search of paper towels. "She can handle herself just fine. It wouldn't be gutless to leave her." As he wiped up the mess Keeko looked up expectantly at him. Martin had seen few humans with as penetrating a stare as that damn cat, it drew him like a tractor beam and held him in place. He managed five seconds.

"ALRIGHT!" He yelled "I'll go to the damn vineyard! Happy?"

Keeko hopped down from her perch and went back into the kitchen.



Edit- building on this post to save on double posting

[kagome_kino]

OOC: Sorry been really sick lately and have no idea whats goin on i'll try to catch up after i start feeling better.

[Jack Rothwell]

OOC No prob kagome, glad you're feeling better. I'll expand on this later if no-one posts./OOC

Martin was still grumbling to himself as he exited the secluded hovel. He stomped down the alley into broad daylight and made his way to the nearest stable with coins jingling in his hand. He made a swift transaction with the sedated looking stable boy and mounted his hired steed in a blink.

'Here I go..' he stewed internally 'about to potentially run into a barrage of bullets and blades and for what? A woman. Not the retirement chest I've always dreamed of. A Gods-damned woman. When did I go so soft?'

The animal kicked up a trail of dust as he cleared the border of Tsuiraku town.

[Hours]

Things were pretty quiet in the Mead and Drum, it was getting nearer the lunch rush, for what it was worth. All the various staff were preparing for that brief surge of customers who would be coming in for a drink and a greasy meal that would stick in their stomachs untill they got off their work. Rosh was in his office after his large meal, for the most part it was quiet, there was only a bare half dozen customers in at the moment, but it would pick up soon. Dandelo was having a bit of trouble out in the commons room though.

Five people had come in, and they were about as unusual as they come for these parts. The one obviously in charge was a tall woman in tsuirakuan robes about two years out of fashion, while the rest were obviously with a guild, all of them having a certain standardised look about them despite not wearing the same outfits whatsoever, also the guns at their hip were another thing. She seemed to be expecting trouble.

She walked up to the front counter and didn't say a word while she took up the ledger that stated who was in what room and kept track of how much they'd owe the Mead and Drum at the end of their term. Neatly opening it up and thumbing to the present day, Dandelo didn't like this one bit. These people were clearly armed and their security had been gone for hours.

'...Ma'am.' Dandelo finally started, reaching out to take the book, 'If you would like a booking--'

'This is official business.' She cut him off, her accent hinted at high class tsuirakuan with an undertone of plain murderous loathing, 'Just be quiet and we'll be gone soon.'

---

Seishi was the type of man who kept himself to himself, he'd been in Rinkaiel for five months now and had been working every few weeks, he slept and ate at one of the lowliest inns in town and could afford to live modestly. He'd grown up in Tsuiraku's lower city, in the shadow of the great city in the sky for the most part and had set out to earn his fortunes in Farrel when he was young, when he thought that it was wild country where men were men. He never really got over how evidently right he was, this place was wild, even in this little part of Farrel where things were more civilised in the eye of a storm around Rinkaiel and its pirates and crime it was going nuts.

He'd had the feeling that he was being watched, ever since a few nights ago when that horrible Kitaura snake had stopped by here to apparently listen to some burnt out bard, and then he hears that the rendezvous point had been destroyed and burnt down after a gunfight, and he still hadn't heard a word about what had happened to his agreement. However he'd slept with one eye open since then... Seishi's heart practically skipped a beat when he heard a knock on his door and a muffled woman's voice called out to him.

'Seishi Torou?' the woman asked, 'Oshima wants to speak to you. Somewhere safe.'

This was going to be an interesting day...

---

Back at the vineyard, Gault was being patient.

The man he was with had identified himself as Ace, but nothing else. And he was clearly somewhat more comfortable around Gault than many of the others in the Vineyard, if only because Gault was pretty much taking on the demeanour of a willful servant just for the purpose of making himself less imposing. However it was a sort of difficult situation when one of Gault's men had turned up with a message from wherever he'd come from.

The older man took it in his good hand and read it over, and he seemed to think for a while before turning to Ace and asking him if three names meant anything to him. Rattling off a few of them, but only the second seemed to provoke a response.

'Dasuke...?' Ace said quietly, as if to himself, pausing for a second, 'We should go soon. We need to pick up Layla.'