Port Lorrel

[Graybeard]

Whew, Keyes thought as he pulled the fishing boat up at Mr. Stagpoole's pier. The "special" passenger he'd brought back from Port Lorrel this time had been ... unsettling. It wouldn't be so bad to get back to some more, er, routine business for a while. But what was that smell? Mr. Stagpoole usually ran a tight ship and didn't keep malodorous stuff around ... but this was vaguely familiar.

Mr. Stagpoole emerged from his houseboat to help secure the lines and said, "Thanks for the message. I take it everything went OK?"

"Yeah," Keyes replied. "Dey were a trange bunth, but dey were pretty good pattengert, didn't caute too muth trouble, ektept for dit talking cat dat one of dem had." (Mr. Stagpoole rolled his eyes.) "Now dat guy you had me pick up for de return trip ... I beg you, pleat don't make me do any more of dote toon." And he shuddered.

Mr. Stagpoole chuckled. "Well, your next passenger would be considered even stranger and scarier by most standards, but I think you'll recognize him, and you'll get along just fine. Grope?"

An immense form uncoiled itself from behind a storage container where he'd been hiding, and slowly rumbled, "Keyes! It is good to see you again, very good. I must go to Farrel..." And he offered a handshake, an experience not unlike shaking hands with a steam shovel, as the odor of the Many-Fathers-God-Wisdom-Robe wafted around them.

[DarkIntruder]

Roger grabbed hold of Jamie's hand and led her(?) away from the crowd that was starting to gather.

"Now now, my dear, you mustn't go around kicking random people, even if they are members of the, ahem, lower class. Remember, you are a lady, and should act as such."

Maneuvering his porcine frame through the crowd, he called back to the others.

"This way, my good gentles, I'll treat you all to the bast steak dinner you've ever had. Though I'm not sure how I'll pay for it..."

Almost physically dragging Jaime, (she really didn't like being held by the hand that way, for some reason..." he waddled down the street.

(OOC) For some reason, I find that smaller posts broken up between members lends a more authentic air to the conversation. I can't do 14 things at once while waiting for a response to a statement I made at the beginning. Comments? (/OOC)

[Graybeard]

(OOC) For some reason, I find that smaller posts broken up between members lends a more authentic air to the conversation. I can't do 14 things at once while waiting for a response to a statement I made at the beginning. Comments? (/OOC)

OOC: It's a fair point, but lacking any external forcing function, the action is going to develop reeeeaaalllly sloooowwwly if it requires short snatches of player-to-player dialogue. That may make it hard to "play" effectively, as people will lose interest if we don't keep things moving.

Viking-Sensei and I have swapped some notes about conjuring up a BBEG to stir the pot a little and keep the plot advancing, by giving people something to push against. (Note that Grope is definitely NOT intended as a BBEG, nor, at least for the moment, is Layla. Grope will be resuming interactions with the main party as soon as Keyes can get him across the ocean; Layla could serve as a catalyst to get the BBEG doing stuff, but has a different long-term role to play.) He's suggested something intriguing that should do the trick. How do people feel about this idea? Opinions from non-players, as well as players, would be valuable.

[Sareth]

"Oh, you'll pay for it," I muttered. "Calling me 'dear' like that."

As much as I resented the situation, I allowed myself to be dragged along, tugged by the hand. Still, it had one advantage. Being led, I could use my eyes to scan for trouble, watching everything around me rather than focusing on the path ahead.

It may even have paid off. A young man, a style of cut to his clothes that practically screamed "Street Tough" watched as we passed by, then immediately muscled his way down a side alley. Perhaps he recognized us in spite of the get up? Or maybe all he saw was rich marks for his gang to find. I don't know. All I know is it set off my danger sense something fierce.

"Roger..."

OOC: Sounds good to me, folks. I tossed in this little bait just to give us a little something to play with while you firm up plans, but I'm sure that the two of you can put together a much fun BBEG for us that will keep us well entertained nicely. Looking forward to it.

[Graybeard]

[OOC: Thanks, Sareth; this fits well with what we'd been thinking. We'll connive in the background... Meanwhile:]

The street tough ducked into a doorway, extracted a Tsuirakuan communicator from his pocket, and made contact with a certain very hard man.

"It's them, all right. I saw one of 'em take a pull on a cigarette, and all of a sudden the guy gained like 100 pounds. Looks like an Illusion spell of some kind, but you magical types will have to figure out how it works, that's beyond my pay grade."

"Indeed it is, Omar," the voice at the other end replied. "But the other guy smoked the weed ... and you had the hallucination?" Omar laughed nervously... "Okay, good work. Shadow these people for a while, don't do anything stupid, just keep us informed. And don't get caught. You know what will happen if you get caught?" The hard man broke the connection without a goodbye.

Omar gulped; he knew what would happen, all right...

[OOC: Please treat Omar as somewhere in secondary-character, NPC territory; he's disposable, and feel free to sight him or tangle with him or whatever, but if his demise should become necessary for plot advancement, let either Viking or me accomplish it.]

[DarkIntruder]

"Roger...." Jamie started.

"I see him. Nothing we can do right now though, unless we really want to blow our cover. Who knows, maybe he's just a paedophile you've caught the eye of. I wouldn't be surprised in that get-up. You look like something out of a child-fetishist's wet dream."

Roger looked behind him to make sure that Lucas, Toivo and Zeeve were following the pair. They were, after a fashion. Toivo seemed to be enthralled by the market place, and Lucas was constantly pulling him away from over-zealous stall owners.

Pausing at the corner, Roger stared back at the alleyway where the strange man had gone. Despite his joking, he was a still a little worried about it.

"We'll keep an eye out for that guy. If we see him again, we'll take it from there. Ahh, there's the place!"

They headed towards a small and spectacularly unimpressive diner tucked away in an alley. A small hand-painted sign proclaimed the place to be "Geno's" home of "the greatest steaks this side of the Veracia."

[Graybeard]

"I see him. Nothing we can do right now though, unless we really want to blow our cover. Who knows, maybe he's just a paedophile you've caught the eye of."

Omar didn't like the sound of that (although the hard man at the other end of the crystal-ball call would have allowed, with a mysterious chuckle, that it contained a grain of truth that even Omar himself didn't know was there). He'd have to find a more discreet location for his surveillance. For now, however, he simply extracted a notebook from his shirt pocket and wrote down a single word: Geno's.

[Sareth]

Trying to ignore the squeamish feeling in the pit of my stomach caused by the phrase "You look like something out of a child-fetishist's wet dream" I continued to (reluctantly) hold Roger's hand as he led me into the steak house. I sniffed appreciatively, enjoying the smell of roasting meat and spices. Yeah... this would definitely serve.

I tugged at that blasted bonnet again, struggling against it idly. Wet dream my a... "HEY!"

Glancing around, I noticed another group, probably a family, sitting in a corner. Seemed like an innocuous bunch, but one small something had caught my eye, causing me a worry. "They're not going to make me sit in some sort of booster seat, are they?"

"You're short and cute... but not THAT short," Roger replied. "Twelve or thirteen years old, I'd say. And absolutely adorable."

"HEY!" I exclaimed, squeezing Roger's hand as hard as I could (which unfortunately wasn't as hard as I'd have liked. "Watch yourself..."

Roger gave a chuckle as he led me to a table. As we settled in our seats, a waitress came over. "What can I get ya?"

[DarkIntruder]

"Well, let's have some drinks first, while we wait for the others to arrive. I'll have a nice cold pint of your best lager, and... what would would you like darling? A nice strawberry milkshake perchance? Or a tall glass of orange juice?"

Jamie scowled at him from across the table, an almost comic expression considering the innocent face it appeared on.

"No thank-you, I'd rather have a beer, I think." he/she/it said, in an endearingly sweet voice. The waitress stared in semi-shock at the little girl.

"Heh heh..." Roger laughed nervously, "you little scamp. Trying to get your Uncle in trouble again? Willful intoxication of a minor? I don't think so. Have a milkshake."

THUD.

Sudden shooting pain in his knee, from where Jamies little foot had connected. He had to bite his tounge to keep from cursing. The little bitch grinned maniacally at him.

"I...want...a...beer." She enuciated each word, the sweet little voice filled with determination.

"If you keep acting this way," Roger spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm not going to take you shopping later. There'll be no new shoes for you. But anyway," he turned to the waitress, "make it two lagers for me, and a strawberry milkshake for her. That's final!"

As she left, Roger spoke to Jamie, whilst keeping a half-eye on the retreating waitresses bottom.

"There, happy now, you manipulative little tramp? I see a glorious future ahead of you, seducing older men with your nubile young body for cash. Too bad the illusion wears off. You'd be a natural."

At that moment, Lucas and company entered the restaurant, and sat down at the booth.

[Graybeard]

The waitress was grumbling to herself under her breath as she went back to the kitchen to get the drinks, but a soft knock on the back door brought her up short. She opened the door to see a familiar figure standing in the light, and the color drained out of her face. "Wh-- what do you want?" she gasped.

The figure in the doorway chuckled and said, "That little girl you just waited on is a real gem, isn't she?" The waitress nodded silently as he continued, "My ... employer ... would appreciate it if you would add a little ... flavoring ... to her beverage." He extracted a small vial, smelling strongly of alcohol, from a pocket.

She snarled, "I'm not going to poison that brat, no matter how bad she is! You tell your --" The man cut her off. "Oh, not to worry, this won't kill her, won't even hurt her, beyond maybe a little tiny tummy owie if she's never had this before. Who would want to hurt a sweet young thing like that? Just think of it as a little extra spice. Besides," he added out of the corner of his mouth as he reached into a different pocket, "I'm willing to pay a bit extra for the flavoring. Quite a bit." And he gave her two coins in a denomination the waitress hadn't seen since the last time The Big Boss had eaten at Geno's.

"I'll see what I can do. Now please go away," she stammered, as the man smiled and stepped away from the door. Not entirely reassured, she pondered for a moment what to do, thought about the man's "employer," made her decision, and poured the aromatic contents of the vial into ...

... One of the beers.