Snake looks to the man curiously. Turning to the others and keeping his voice low, "He's either sound asleep or he's dying." The tall man turns back and listens again to the old man continue to make terrible noises before once again speaking to the others in a more normal tone. "Okay, I'm bettin' on dying." He steps over next to the man and mildly nudges him on the shoulder, continuing to do so until he wakes.
Once Snake has entered, there is scarcely room for the other two along with the furniture in the cramped room; Braddon finds himself standing half-in and half-out of the open doorway.
With some difficulty, Snake manages to rouse the sleeping elder. Despite waking to a room full of strangers, he doesn't appear startled or afraid. Sitting up, he blinks from one to the next of them vaguely, his eyes not quite focusing. His breath stinking of stale alcohol, he asks, "Aye? Is the Grail in the harbor? Has Jhonas come home?"
"He may be near death by days, but he's a native of deaf for years", Gristav jokes. "Gentle on, he's near drowned just yesterday. I'm curious and grateful for your opinion and attentions."
Padraig, Gristav half-shouts as the elder stirs, "Are you well? It's Gristav, from the boat. You'll remember me, and the girl, Jaelle? I've brought a healer, Padraig...
"A son or friend at sea, perhaps lost" Gristav explains softly to the others, when Padriag speaks of Jhonas. "I don't have Jhonas, Padraig, I'm sorry, I've just come to see you're well..., Gristav says, looking to Snake for an opinion.
Snake shrugs. "I'm not sure I can heal deafness, Gristav." He looks to the old man, feeling a bit sorry for him. Looking back to the others, "Why are we here again?" He looks back upon him, wondering if he can determine anything more that might be wrong with him beyond his deafness.
Braddon tips his head in Gristav's direction and grunts once helpfully.
"We're here to conduct your contact's business with a contact which is conducting a service, which you do not wish to attend. If idle time spent in this mercy does not suit, you might consider your eventual recount of the matter to Sam, and let her distant kindness make you near a kinder man. See what else these folk need; perhaps the plunder of the perfumed apartment might bring blankets?"
"I don't have Jhonas, Padraig, I'm sorry, I've just come to see you're well..., Gristav says, looking to Snake for an opinion.
"Come to see the birds then, have you?" he quavers complaisantly, trying to get to his feet off the low cot. "They're out on the roof."
"Yes", Gristav says smiling. "I've come to see the birds. I said, I'd see you with your birds again. Seems it was truth, not hope..." Aware he'd fallen to musing softly, Gris raised his voice to ask, "Where do your birds fly to, Padraig?"
Gristav provides whatever support Padraig seems to have a need for.
Snake just shakes his head at how the old man continues to harm himself. Speaking to where he makes sure he will be heard,
Appearing not to notice Snake's advice, Padraig moves to the door in the outer wall and opens it, an easy task as it fits so ill it practically swings open of its own accord when the latch is raised. It reveals a broad deck on the flat surface of the roof, approximately fifteen feet square, more spacious than the cramped bedroom and, even with the acrid haze from the Gas Forges in the air, more wholesome of atmosphere. Rickety stiles line the perimeter in a dubious nod to safety, and the branches of the tree in the back garden protrude over the eastern edge, the cupola containing the mission's bell visible above its jaundiced leaves. On the western edge of the deck stands a small shack-like structure caged with wooden slats and stained with the white splotches of bird droppings. The cooing of pigeons can be heard from within.
"Where do your birds fly to, Padraig?"
"Eh? What's that?" the old man asks, tottering over to the cote, precariously near the rotting railing for a man so unsteady on his feet. When the question is repeated, he replies, "Why, to the home church in Roderic's Cove. There's a grand cathedral there. They and the Father are always sending messages back and forth."
As Padraig approaches the pigeon loft, Riddleport Harbor and the great arc of the Cyphergate are visible behind him, over the roofs of the warehouses and taverns along the wharves. Suddenly, in the street just below, a small figure dashes into view, immediately followed by a large man in sailor's garb. Though the boy is swift, the man's stride is longer, and he grabs him by the back of his jacket, bringing an end to their chase. The boy immediately starts shrieking. "Help! Help! Murderers! Bandits! Press gang! Soldiers!" Gristav recognizes him as the boy who was sleeping in the downstairs chapel.
Gristav's in there... The fool's likely going to bloody decide to be a hero. With burgeoning dread and nascent scowl descending upon his form Phillip puts hand to crossbow... just in case... and continues his hidden vigil.
"The Grand Cathedral of Roderic's Cove...", muses Gristav, drawing delight of the dubious dichotomy, until the boy's calls draw his eye, and ire.
"That's the boy from downstairs.", he says loud enough for all, already stepping the rickety railing, regretful of the ruckus on the chapel ceiling.
"You there!", Gristav commands, lightly pointing the length of his staff at sailor, "Heave to and stand fast! You needn't strike your colors, but if you strike that boy, I'll color you myself..."
Braddon swings his crossbow into his hand and shoves a bolt into it, taking careful aim at the man in sailor's garb.
"And if you think his magic isn't real I've got something else here a little easier to understand."
Snake immediately snaps to attention when he hears the boy cry out. Observing the situation as Gristav and Braddon color a clear picture for the culprit, Snake, without thinking, quickly steps upon the roof and attempts to navigate it, hoping beyond hope his floating ability still works once he clears the edge. "C'mon, Snake, you can still float down; or this is gonna hurt." Lucky peeks his head out to see what is happening, strangely unconcerned about their predicament.
Just as Snake starts out, "Don't mind me, bub!" he calls out to the bad guy, "I'm just gonna jump off the edge is all."
Snake and Gristav clamber over the railing, bits of rotten wood crumbling away under their hands as they brush against the stiles. Snake scuttles down the uneven shingles, his progress unhampered by any fear of falling. Sure enough, as he reaches the edge of the roof and steps into the empty air, he floats down to the ground as lightly as a feather. Gristav, without such impunity from the law of gravity, moves with caution; as he leaps, he tenses his muscles in anticipation of the landing and turns his ankle beneath him much as Braddon had the previous day. Still, he manages to keep his feet and deliver his warning.
The man is startled to be addressed from above; he swings around to stare up at his interlocutors, pulling the boy in front of him as a shield. "The lad's yours, is he?" he demands. "Is it you that's set him to picking the pockets of blind drunks in alleys?"
The man is startled to be addressed from above; he swings around to stare up at his interlocutors, pulling the boy in front of him as a shield. "The lad's yours, is he?" he demands. "Is it you that's set him to picking the pockets of blind drunks in alleys?"
Braddon's eyes narrow and go hard as the sailor hides behind his young captive.
"That's right. He's ours." Braddon responds evenly. "He makes us a tidy profit taking that stuff, so if you want to take him anywhere you'll have to pay a good amount to us."
The man is startled to be addressed from above; he swings around to stare up at his interlocutors, pulling the boy in front of him as a shield. "The lad's yours, is he?" he demands. "Is it you that's set him to picking the pockets of blind drunks in alleys?"
As if a blind drunk in Riddleport has anything in his pockets...
"Not mine. Neither yours. My cause here is public Justice; have a care you give me no cause for private Vengeance." As Gristav speaks, he closes the distance, but opens the angle made by the sailor-and-lad, Braddon, and himself, walking with no real sign of the winceworthy wear of his ankle. "You charge the lad is a thief? Your presence here carries an assumed charge of pressgangery, a charge seconded by the child's accusation of such, an accusation made earlier than your charge of dippery, and made after you had hands upon him, which hands tend to prove his charge." Gristav let the logic settle into the presumably shallow basin of the man's mind, then continued, "However, the hands might be forgiven by your charge... if proven. So for now, hold him.", Gris said imperiously. "And ignore the pretty fool behind the crossbow. Well, not the crossbow. Just the fool. We've met this lad, only some minutes before you did."
"Boy, what were you at when this man gave chase? And have a care; if you lie to me, I'll make you something... squirmy."
The boy blanches at Gristav's threat, still squirming in the hold of the sailor. "He is a presser! He is! He's got drugged men laid out behind one of the waterfront taverns. I was only relieving the poor sods of a few things they wouldn't need aboardship. He's only mad 'cause he was planning on emptying their pockets hisself!"
The man, in the meantime, seems to be measuring Braddon's words -- and his odds if it comes to a fight, one against three and a crossbowman on the roof. "You tell your lad to stay on his own turf!" he decides, shoving the boy at Snake. "Fish for coppers and gold teeth in the alleys of Rotgut, and leave the wharves alone. I find him there again, I'll paste a beard on him and sell him to the Chelish navy as a halfling!"
"There's still the matter of the charge of impressment, sir. Stand. To. That. Charge. If you try to flee, spells and bolts will stop you. You've my word, you'll be treated justly. Whatever that means. For your safety, take a knee." Gristav gestures idly as he speaks, the staff moving lightly as any wand...
The man looks genuinely confused, glancing at Snake and up at Braddon to see if Gristav can possibly mean what he says. "Is he serious? Since when is filling out a crew manifest a crime in Riddleport?"
"Oh, it's no crime in Riddleport? But it is a crime in Rotgut. And you're in Rotgut. They've had enough of families feared of fathers found and floated far, sons swept to sea... Would it be justice, sir, if we dressed you in lace and sold you to the Dirty Angel? If we filled their crew manifest? Tell me, is it the force, the drugs, or the sails, that makes it alright?"
Braddon's gaze and aim never leave the man but his words are directed to Gristav.
"I was just gonna shoot him for hiding behind a child. And since his face was the only part I could see I figured I'd improve his looks. I'm just as happy to shoot him in the back if he turns and runs though."
Braddon's words are totally lacking in mirth.
"But he was smart enough to let the kid go when you asked so if you're not gonna let me kill him now then I can wait until next time I see him in Rotgut."
The man looks genuinely confused, glancing at Snake and up at Braddon to see if Gristav can possibly mean what he says. "Is he serious? Since when is filling out a crew manifest a crime in Riddleport?"
Snake shrugs. "You got me, bub. I have a hard enough time keeping up with all the circles. But usually when he speaks to folks like you, he's serious. Now I can tell you that one up there," he points to Braddon, "is always serious. He'll shoot you as soon as look at you." With that, Snake doesn't say another word as he places his hands in his coat pockets, interested to see how this is all going to play out.
"I think we've made the point...?", Gristav asks the sailor. "Pressing in Rotgut is dangerous. Would you agree?"
"Damn it, I wasn't in Rotgut; that boy of yours was on the wharves. I--!" He looks from one man to the next, holding his hands, palm out, in front of him.
"Again, not my boy. But thank you for escorting him; he's late for church." Gristav raises an empty hand. "Crossbowmen", he calls, "I recommend you let this man walk away."
"They don't work for me", Gristav explains to the sailor.
Snake tips his hat, "Have a nice day, bub." Turning and looking up at Braddon, "Save it! We got enough on our plate!" He then looks to Gristav, "Let's take care of the business we came here for, Gristav, and get out of here." Snake then makes his way back inside the building.
The man backs away slowly, keeping his eye on Braddon, before gaining the nearest alley and disappearing back toward the harbor. The boy watches gleefully, laughing and capering about as the sailor retreats. "Yah! Get on out of here, you presser! Hope your ship sinks! Don't mess with Rotgut!"
Up on the deck, Geezer Pidge seems blissfully ignorant of the fracas taking place down at street level. Paying no attention to Braddon's loaded weapon, he has reached into the shack gently to take out a blueish pigeon, which he is softly stroking.
Gristav beckons the boy with a crooking finger, and kneels to speak discretely when the lad approaches.
Gristav returns to the chapel/hostel, hoping to return to Padraig without overly disturbing the service.
As Snake walks back in, he looks for where the service may be going on and decides to witness it. The old man is a kook. Don't know why we're wasting our time with him.
While Braddon doesn't shoot the man, Braddon does track him with the crossbow until until he vanishes around the corner.
Braddon then puts the bolt back in his belt and lets the crossbow fall back on its strap before turning to old Geezer Pidge.
"Hmm?" the man asks vaguely, seeming to pick up only on the second of Braddon's questions. "I feed them. It's important they know their food is here; that's what brings them from Roderic's Cove. If I don't feed them regular, the Father won't get his messages."
"Do you message him often? What's there to tell him apart from this place is a dump?"
"Oh, they discuss ... theological matters," he concludes hazily. "The Father lets them at the cathedral know what good he's doing, and they encourage him to do more."
The boy's spirits are too high for Gristav's words of wisdom to make any immediate impression; he can only hope that he has planted a seed that will take root in a quieter moment. For now, the boy dances off, tilting at imaginary enemies. "Stand to, dirty presser...!"
Snake and Gristav walk back around the building to the front stoop and climb the steps to the doors. Pushing into the lobby, they see most of the men they passed at the top of the stairs back in the chapel with the priest. Badeye, Rasper, and Madrat are there, along with one more man they haven't been introduced to yet. The men look startled to see the pair walk in the front door again without having first gone out the same way; Father Kreun manages a welcoming smile.
Gristav nods and returns the Father's smile silently, returning to Padraig as he'd planned. He looks back when Snake does not follow, but smiles at that, too, and ascends the stairs well satisfied.
In Padraig's room, he allows his curiosity to guide his eye over the more evenly-cared-for oddments, wondering what the Grand Cathedral - he smirks again at the thought - might have sent or had sent to. And what that all meant.
But he was shortly back under the new sun with Padraig and Braddon, smiling warmly at the elder's care for the birds. "No offense at 'pretty fool', I hope?", Gris asks softly of Braddon.
"Have they names, Padraig?", Gristav asks. "How often are they carried off? To fly back, they've got to be carried off, yes? It must be nice to see one that you know as a friend, when it returns." The metaphor of it pleased him, and he smiled again, at Braddon and Padraig.
"This is a very good day", Gris said.
"Oh, they discuss ... theological matters," he concludes hazily. "The Father lets them at the cathedral know what good he's doing, and they encourage him to do more."
"Theological matters? How much writing can you fit on a pigeon leg? Probably just says 'Send more money'." Braddon grins as Gristav returns.
But he was shortly back under the new sun with Padraig and Braddon, smiling warmly at the elder's care for the birds. "No offense at 'pretty fool', I hope?" Gris asks softly of Braddon.
"Huh? I barely noticed. No, convince them I'm harmless. They'll die quicker then and I wanted him to try something. Cowardly piece of gulls vomit, hiding behind a kid. No, let him think me a 'pretty fool'. I've been called worse and that'll give me an extra beat to shiv him next time."
The silence hangs awkwardly as you hear Gristav's footsteps recede toward Geezer Pidge's room upstairs; then, the priest looks at you, all warmth gone from his eyes, and demands, "All right, Mr. Kane," emphasizing the alias sardonically. "What are you doing here? Did Marzo send you to check up on us? We're sending his cut."
Snake looks around, confused. "What? Who? What cut? I don't even know who this Marzo is." Standing, he looks around before he looks directly at this so-called "preacher" through narrowed eyes. "What kinda place you runnin' here, bub?"
"No offense at 'pretty fool', I hope?" Gris asks softly of Braddon."Huh? I barely noticed. No, convince them I'm harmless. They'll die quicker then and I wanted him to try something. Cowardly piece of gulls vomit, hiding behind a kid. No, let him think me a 'pretty fool'. I've been called worse and that'll give me an extra beat to shiv him next time."
"I expect we've made an impression. Whether it's of benefit, I have to doubt. As like, with the boy. Words of caution, as I'd have liked to have had, washed as water off a duck. Like painting a top while it spins." Gris mimed the impossibility.
"Padraig", Gristav asks, "Do you play cribbage? Would you play, if I- if we?", Gris looks questioningly to Braddon, "Brought a board?"
"Do you remember Jaelle? The pretty sailor girl? I'm going to tell her you're well."
Gristav meets no one in the upstairs hallway as he finds his way back to Padraig's room. He pauses a moment before rejoining Braddon and the elderly man out on the deck to look over the pigeon-post supplies on the desk. The quills and parchment are new and clean, in sharp contrast to everything else in the mission, and the magnifying glass must cost more than all the furnishings he's seen combined; undoubtedly it is used both to write and to interpret the tiny missives tied to the birds' legs.
"Have they names, Padraig?", Gristav asks. "How often are they carried off? To fly back, they've got to be carried off, yes? It must be nice to see one that you know as a friend, when it returns."
"Aye," the old man replies, "they used to have to go by ship when the Father first arrived. But they learned quick; they're right smart animals. They let them go from the cathedral spire hungry, and they know they'll find a meal here in Riddleport. Then when the Father has a message to send back, they know where their home is in Roderic's Cove."
"Padraig", Gristav asks, "Do you play cribbage? Would you play, if I- if we?", Gris looks questioningly to Braddon, "Brought a board?"
"Ah, cribbage. Used to play with Jhonas afore he shipped out. You should come back when the Devil's Grail is in port and play muggins. Jhonas is cut-throat at muggins, he is."
Something about the way he glances aside at the other men makes you think he's lying about the size of his operation's profits. While you're not sure why, he seems to think you're someone he knows -- someone involved in illicit activity under cover of false missionary work.