8 Gozran, 4718 AR; Sunday
Le Voile leads those using the north exit. The passage off the basement is fairly long, and comes to a ladder that descends into the catacombs below. "I use these tunnels quite often," Le Voile remarks, as she leads the descent. "There are certainly dangerous places down in Le Vide, but this stretch is not one of them."
Le Voile moves quickly ahead, the small ragged bundle making leading the way easily in the dark and cramped passageway. The smell of rot and mildew grows stronger as you pass well under the Kantele. Finally, when the rank smell fades, Le Voile stops at a ladder. The passage continues on from there.
"The shop upstairs is abandoned. Come and go as you wish, but not if you're being followed. And don't get lost down here," the mysterious small figure bounds off deeper into the tunnels.
You exit the old furniture maker's shop, the east side of the Theatre Quarter. The sun rises higher in the sky, but the southern wind has picked up, and promises to keep the air cool.
Thisbe kept a brisk pace through the Theater Quarter after leaving the furniture shop. She managed to take a few sharp turns, weaving through the Quarter to ensure she lost any hangers on that may have gotten a whiff of conspiracy. You could never be too careful in Isarn. Someone was always watching.
Heart pounding with the thrill of the Council’s plans, she made her way through the Quarter and headed South toward Nord Riviere, where she would find Little Boy and Fat Man waiting to begin their route for the day. They parked themselves at the Plunging Blade, taking in the sights and downing a few ales before the day begins. Distracted drunkards, Thisbe thought. Thisbe herself avoided such vices. Drink and drug and the chemicals of lust dulled the blade of the mind and Thisbe required hers to be sharp, always. Though, in practical consideration, their habits made them easier for Thisbe to control. A whore here, a couple of pints there, and the two ruffians made themselves amenable to Thisbe’s tasks.
The long walk to the Blade gave room for Thisbe’s spinning thoughts to compose themselves. Trust was not something Thisbe deigned to give easily, yet she found herself nodding along in the meeting with the Cerulean Council and her haphazard comrades. To truly be of service to her City, to tear any power away from Goss, enlivened Thisbe’s spirit. As daunting a plot that saving Sister Pauline was, Thisbe felt as though a blossom of hope opened in her chest, making her light. The unending struggle working her way into the Vice had limited rewards. Even after making her drops for the poorest of Isarn as the Scarlet Hand, Thisbe never truly saw the product of her work. She had thrived off of hope and determination in destruction of the Vice these long years in the City. What would it be like to know, to truly know, that she had saved Sister Pauline? That she had made an impact? The thought gave her a thrill that she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Yet, she had questions. Feeling the weight of coin in her provided purse, Thisbe couldn’t help but wonder where the Cerulean Council got their money. Did the Council have benefactors? While their goals seemed just, could they truly be trusted? The task of disguising herself as Pauline and somehow surviving an encounter with the Grey Gardeners weighed heavily on her mind as well. She desperately wanted to get to work on preparations, yet her duty to the Vice called. It would have to wait.
Thisbe was alarmed to find herself in front of the Plunging Blade after being lost in her own thoughts. She pulled her hat from her pack, a woolen grey baker-boy cap, and put it on, tucking her hair inside. She arranged her expression to a stonelike neutrality. Now, she was the Vice’s racketeer.
Thisbe stepped into the Plunging Blade with a stiff nod to the bouncer outside the door. While not a purveyor of the Blade’s goods and services, Thisbe appreciated the pride Madame Madeline Roulier took in her establishment, evident by the fine decor and spotless lounge room. Thisbe often wanted to take the time to appraise the luxe furnishings and art on the walls. A room like this certainly didn’t come cheap and she imagined the dispendieux atmosphere could be found in the private rooms as well.
She found Little Boy and Fat Man at their usual stools, guzzling ale and ogling a partially nude woman playing a lute. Their glazed over eyes and drooling mouths near instantaneously formed into a professional expression once they noticed Thisbe’s arrival.
“Hello, boys. Let’s get to work.”
As she nears through the Thisbe hears some familiar young shouts from around a corner. She spots a familiar group of ruffians, pickpockets and informants. 'Stickrock' was a game they usually played. It was a sort of athletic 'sport' that offered some challenge, but also spread them out to watch an entire street, and gave the boys opportunities to collide with marks and create chaos. Thisbe gets a casual nod from their the leader, a little tiefling boy. A few quick hand signals from a distance lets Thisbe know everything is going quiet this morning.
For better or worse, Fat Man and Little Boy are precisely where Thisbe imagined them. Little Boy was already a bit too deep in his cups, while Fat Man sat next to another courtesan. The floor of the Blade was mostly empty this early in the day. Thisbe spied four; the girl on stage (who stops playing as Thisbe approaches), the sitting on Fat Man’s lap, the man cleaning glasses behind the bar, and the girl in the back watching for a new customer to come in. She also spies a stack of silvers on the table nearer to the opposite side of the stage, likely the very same coins the pair earned yesterday, now redistributed into the courtesans’ possession.
"Oh, hey boss," Little Boy teetered only slightly. Thisbe estimated by his stance and breath he was 3 and a half drinks in. At least he knew better than to finish the mug in front of his boss. "What's....uh..what work?"
Thisbe grabbed Little Man’s mug and poured the remaining brown liquid over his head. “Don’t try me today, L.” She sat the glass down on the bar and slid it towards the barkeep. Two silvers appeared in her hand and she set them on the bar as a tip.
“Gentlemen, the streets of La Lumiere Rouge await their knights in shining armor to save them from Isarn’s most treacherous. I need you both making the rounds in the district. I suspect our particular services may be required and, at the very least, your formidable presence keeps our valued customers content.”
Thisbe offered her hand to the courtesan keeping Fat Man company, passing a silver coin to her as she stood and left the trio to their conversation. “I have a brief matter to attend to with Madame Roulier, then I will join you in the Rouge. And, by Asmodeus' flaming arse, be on your most professional behavior. I am not in the mood for hunting you down at every brothel.”
"The madame isn't here I'm afraid, and won't arrive for a while," Fiona takes Thisbe's hand gently as she passes the coin, returning a flirty smile before releasing. "You can leave a note, of course. I'll deliver it personally, if you desire?" The workers in the Plunging Blade were more subtle, and less physically domineering.
Part of the reason Thisbe tolerated the pair loitering at this club was that seedier places often employed aggressively handsy workers, which meant avoiding a harsh rebuke from the boss. At the Blade, employees were much more polite about it, although Thisbe rarely left without a clear, yet appropriately subtle offer of companionship.
The pair fished their drinks, bid farewell to the ladies, and straightened themselves (somewhat) before exiting. The lute player gathered up the coins left for her. The other woman, Fiona Bernot, Thisbe knew. If Madame Roulier wasn't at the [i]Blade[/b] at any given time, it was a guarantee Fiona was, and it was always Fiona who saw to Little Boy and Fat Man when they were around.
Alone, Fiona looked expectantly at Thisbe.
Thisbe nodded gratefully to Fiona. She liked the courtesan and didn’t particularly mind her flirtations, though admired her more for her consistency. Fiona was someone that Thisbe could bet on and there weren’t many of those types in Isarn.
“Kindly let the Madame know I’d be grateful for a moment of her time tomorrow. I have a few queries I believe she may be able to help me with. Any of my colleagues can get a note to me with an appropriate time to meet. I appreciate your efforts, as always, Fiona," Thisbe said with a tip of her cap. She looked forward to seeing if the Madame could potentially assist her with the challenge of preparing a Gardeners disguise, or otherwise lead her on a productive path. Thisbe knew the Madame's establishment held many secrets and it wouldn't be the first time Thisbe had made use of them.
She turned to her attention to Little Boy and Fat Man with a thinly veiled expression of annoyance. “Looks like I’ll be supervising you rat-arsed muppets!”
Thisbe turned on her heel, clearly expecting her harebrained associates to follow, and left the Plunging Blade, headed West to begin their route in the Rouge with her eyes peeled for any out of place Caydogs, or otherwise, that may have the misfortune of crossing her path.
Thisbe figured her team wouldn't be the only ones on duty today. As much as the Vice racketeers provide their services to their customers, there was also an unspoken surveillance of each other they all participated in. The bosses liked to know that their employees were doing their due diligence and you never knew when they'd ask a pointed question that they expected an answer for. At a minimum, Thisbe was expected to see and be seen.
La Lumiere Rouge would be bustling, even at this early hour. She expected she'd need to break up a few fights, send Caydogs in the district packing and otherwise be a threatening presence. It wouldn't hurt if she was able to do some illicit fundraising during her trek, if the opportunities were to present themselves. Who knows? I might get lucky, she thought.
The route was simple: track West then South, starting along the busy streets near the House of Joy, then heading North to Margaery's Playhouse and circling the rest of the district.
The late-morning is fine and clear for a stroll, a welcome change from the harsh winter of marching through the streets. Fat Man's pace was slow, as usual. Every dozen blocks or so sizable the man needed to rest, but he knew the route well and was conscientious about stopping when the trio came to a spotter.
The first spotter on this patrol route was usually Michelet Freeman, and Sunday was no exception. A dark-skinned man of Garundi descent, Michelet was the great-grandson of an Imperial slave and himself a proud citizen of Galt. He had a stack of boxes and barrels against one of the intersections abandoned buildings. He greeted the trio excitedly.
"All's quiet today," Michelet reported with a smile. "The warm weather brings out the best in people. For a few days at least." He was correct. The first week of warm weather was a delight to most of the city's citizens. Michelet was talkative, but business-minded. He kept his head on a swivel, even as they spoke. His sense of criminal professionalism was the likely reason the Vice kept him at such an important post near the river border.
When Fat Man was ready to move on, they bid farewell to their colleague. The made their way to the Green Roof Stables where, as promised, the proprietor had received a windfall and paid his meager protection. Stables weren't expected to pay much, but Little Man shook out a few extra silver for having left empty-handed on their last few visits.
After a couple more stops along the stroll northward, the trio came to Beaumont Jewelers. Mr Michel Beaumont was a talented crafter of fine jewelry. His shelves were full of dingy pieces of pewter or copper, but as The Vice knew, he worked on finer pieces in secret. He didn't have as much coin as Thisbe expected, but slyly produced a thin chain of silver to cover his protection expenses.
Down the street from Beaumont's the trio stopped, as they usually did, at Le Gobelin Assoiffé. Crank, the muscley half-orc owner had fallen behind on his payments over the winter. Thisbe had a hefty tab built up, but it was still a good deal short of what Crank owed.
"What'cha got for us today? Little Man announces loudly as he passes through the door first.
"Drinks!" Crank calls back from behind the bar as Thisbe and Fat Man come in behind. Little Man was already leaned against the bar.
A quick look around the room, shows an old man drinking in the corner, but otherwise the place is empty. Thisbe knows the layout of the bar well: the small dive bar did have a door in the back, and Crank didn't employ anyone else.
"What's the plan boss?" Fat Man asked.
“Seems like a good time for a quick round, Fatty!” Thisbe smiled magnanimously as she took a seat at the bar next to Little Boy. “Crank, the boys will have the brown… on the house. Water, for me.”
Thisbe took a long look at Crank. She suspected he might be holding out. Winter was hard on everyone, Thisbe knew, yet the Vice would be expecting regular payments as the warm weather encouraged more customers. She hated this part of her job. It required her to be suspicious of the most unassuming characters like Crank. Though, if she could keep her boss from paying Crank any notice, she knew she’d be doing him a service.
Thisbe tries to get a sense if Crank is holding out and indeed, only has ale to extend in payment.
Fat Man gives his boss a quizzical look before sitting at the bar next to Little Boy, who's already reaching over the bar to pour his own. The three of you drink at for a little while, Little Boy spinning yarns loudly as Fat Man sits in silence. The larger man seems like a quiet and thoughtful person, but when pressed on his thoughts he only ever responds that he's thinking about food.
Crank is large in a completely different sense than Fat Man. A whole head taller than Thisbe’s meaty giant, he was grizzled and bulky with muscle. Out of all your stops, it’s a safe assumption that Crank has the best chance at beating the three of you in a fight. Yet the massive half-orc was as broken as any other proprietor on their route, and treated the racketeers with the same fear and respect as the weaklings.
After a few minutes of watching Crank work, the old regular in the corner waves for another ale, which the half-orc pours and serves promptly. He doesn't collect any money from the man, but reaches under the bar to retrieve a ledger as soon as he returns.
"A few folks on here I wish would pay up," he jokes awkwardly as he makes a note.
Crank has been looked stressed since he saw you all walk in, which isn't strange behavior for a lot of your charges. He appears particularly stressed as he puts his ledger sheet back under the bar, but you also see slight agitation each time he serves a free drink to your goons, especially when Little Boy asks for a second ale.
As Crank grabs another glass, you hear a pair of customers walk in off the street. Their benign chatter comes to a sudden halt as they spot your trio sitting at the bar. Nervously and silently, they back out the front door. They smile and nod before they disappearing again into the sunny street. It's a common reaction from citizens as they come across your team, but Crank is visibly dejected as he goes to pour another drink for Little Boy.
Thisbe swatted Little Boy’s hand away from pouring his own drink. “The second round is on me.” She laid a silver coin on the bar and imparted a stern scold of which Little Boy had often found himself receiving when his professionalism took a nose dive into thuggery.
It was clear to Thisbe that Crank wasn’t rolling in dough. He was a Galtan through and through. Her people. She considered what else she knew about Crank. Yet, she couldn’t have the bosses looking into her and possibly disrupting her work as the Scarlet Hand, or discovering her fresh affiliation with the Cerulean Council. She needed to keep her charges in line and profitable. Perhaps she could help him recoup some of his funds from his most in-the-black customers. It would secure a payment for the Vice and possibly secure herself an ally in Le Lumiere Rouge. It's worth a try, but to be sure he's not playing me, I need to see that ledger.
Turning back to Crank with an apologetic smile, she gestured for him to step aside. “Pardon my numpty colleagues, Crank. They weren’t taught Isarnian manners in the village they’re from. In fact, only this year did we finally teach Little Boy how to read!” With a quick, imperceptible hand signal to say ‘hold back’ to Little Boy and Fat Man, Thisbe guided Crank to sit with her at a table to the side.
"Merci, madame," Crank gives a tusky smile.
You watch as the idea of protest crosses Little Boy's mind, but he thinks better of it, and takes his free drink. Fat Man chuckles giddily at Little Boy's visible aggitation before finishing his own drink. The silver buys another pint for both, and Thisbe's quickly served another water. Your thugs stand to drink their fresh pints. The speed that Fat Man drinks is as astonishing as always.
"Have a good week, monsieur," Little Boy mocks, before exiting to wait outside. Fat Man grins, waiting for when his boss is ready to move on.
---------
The rest of your route is rather uneventful. Spotters are reporting a quiet day, and there's few people to check in with. The streets are busy, but there's little trouble, especially as people take note of the three Vice members walking the blocks. As you round the corner and see the Clerk of the Cork, it occurs to you again that while you know the proprietor Emilien, you had a very different sort of interaction with him earlier in the day. Kasim and Gabrielle, the spotters sitting outside, gives you a friendly nod from his post near the Clerk.
Thisbe waits for Little Boy and Fat Man depart the bar before speaking in a hushed tone to Crank. “Be careful, Crank. You don’t want another crew on your case and my boys have more wits than they let on. I’d suggest coming up with a few coins to spare next week. I can only keep the heat off for so long.”
Thisbe paused and smiled thinly before continuing, “Why don’t you give me a look at your ledger there? I can pick out a few customers to shake down. Not the poor ones, but maybe a couple who are taking advantage of your Galtan hospitality? I want to help you, Crank. Our people need you.”
Crank eyes the Vice agent suspiciously.
"Perhaps another day," he declines as politely as he dares.
Thisbe nods and gives a little convivial shrug before echoing his sentiment, “Another day.”
She continues her quiet route and notices the two spotters near the Cork. Hailing them from a fair distance, she turns to Little Boy and Fat Man and gives them a curt, dismissing wave of her hand. She wants to chat with the spotters about Emilien and the ongoing business at the Cork, but doesn’t need her thugs reporting on her queries. Besides, Fat Man was looking ragged after the day’s exercise. “That looks to be about it for the day, gents. Pony up our profits and I’ll head to the Honey Pot later on to check-in with the boss.”
Thisbe looked expectantly at them with her palm out.
Fat Man and Little Boy turn out their pockets. Quickly counting, Thisbe sees two pieces of gold, a dozen silver, and roughly thirty-five copper pieces, plus the thin silver chain from monsieur Beaumont. Not bad for a Sunday where they typically check in with fewer businesses and shake small coin out from those on the street.
"Pretty good day boss," Little Boy mused. He took a little step back, but lingered in case they earned back a tip to spend at the bar before heading down the street toward the Promise.
Kasim has little to report, mentioning only that Emilien came in later than he typically does, perhaps half an hour or so. He'd gone out to grab his order of paper stock south of the river, returning after an hour or so. The proprietor should be inside at the moment
"Loudmouth Sharp went in earlier too," he adds, "but that old man smells like dung and don't know squat.”
Thisbe palmed two silvers each back to them after collecting the spoils of their work. She didn’t necessarily believe they earned more than the wages provided by the Vice, yet she also knew the silver would be spent overnight and would prevent them from putting further strain on the relationships with her charges. The cost of doing business, Thisbe thought.
She nods as Kasim gives her the rundown on the Clerk. “Thanks for the tip. Time to pay the good proprietor a visit myself.”
Thisbe took off her cap, thinking she’d be less conspicuous without it while visiting Emilien, and tried to put a finger on the name “Loudmouth Sharp” before entering.
Sharp paid his by watching the streets, selling his sightings for copper pennies. Monsieur Moreau looked out for the man, buying his sightings for a loaf of bread. He claims to have stumbled upon piles of bread and pennies that seem left for him, but only half of what he says is ever worthwhile. He somehow always has fresh news, even if it's less than half accurate. Vice spotters called him ‘Loudmouth’ because any secret he sold, he sold to two or three other people.
It was Sharp, in fact, who you'd paid a silver to last week when he told you how to find that wretched toy store.
Entering the Clerk, you see a few patrons. They don't all give you the look of knowing fear you've seen all day with the thugs, but the patrons still take notice. As you're waiting for service, you see a familiar man, Gilles the bookkeeper, exit from the back. He spies you just as he shuts the door.
Gilles works mainly from his own home or from here at the Clerk of the Cork. He is a scholarly type, and a meticulous recordkeeper. His biggest client is the Clerk itself, but he assists many smaller vendors and peddlers keep their taxes paid, both to the city and to the Vice itself.
"Madame! Bonsoir!" Gilles nearly drops the stack of ledgers he's holding. He adjusts himself grabs a cup of coffee sitting on the counter and shuffles over to you.
"I...I.. I hope there's no issues I haven't, uh, taken care of," he stammers. The cup in his hand shakes against the saucer as he sets it at an empty table. "Here, drink some coffee. On the house of course. Give me a just a moment. I'll return, I promise." He disappears into the office before you can protest.
As you sit and wait for a minute, the other customers whisper nervously. One pair gets up to hustle out the door just as Emilien and Gilles exit the office.
The afternoon drags on as you exit the Clerk of the Cork. The Vice spotters give you a wave from up the block.
Thisbe left the Clerk of the Cork frustrated. She took a moment to take account of the day in her mind. With the moderate pickings from her collections and a less than productive meeting with Emilien, the day was almost over with little to show for it. As she sighed, and picked up her pace headed towards the Honey Pot. She’d settle with Anton, then would have some time to do more research on the Council’s rescue mission.
It occurred to her that they weren’t aware of how Pauline would be transported. Would she be in a secured carriage? Certainly they wouldn’t openly march her through the streets. If a carriage, or cage, it could have a specific locking mechanism. Any time saved could be vital.There’s also the potential of sabotage to consider. She considered identifying who builds the Grey Gardener’s carriages, or even who might know, then possibly sneak in to investigate.
Thisbe turned over the potential of using a portion of the day’s collections towards the Scarlet Hand’s fund before handing it off to the boss. There wasn’t much here, so didn’t want to risk taking more than would be noticed. After finding a quick alley to dip into and checking to make sure there were not witnesses beforehand, she moved to act as though she were tying her boot, but instead she quickly moved 5 silver from her collection funds to her own private pouch.
Thisbe made her way West, out of La Lumiere Rouge and back to Nord Riviere towards the Honey Pot.
You pick an inconspicuous spot to take a little off the top, and continue on to the Honey Pot. As the sun begins to just dip below the buildings, you pass a small crowd making their way into The Promise of Coin. Passing the Scum Garden (the poor excuse for a Victory Garden in the manors old yard) you come to the Vice's center of operations.
"Thisbe!" Anton Richard calls out in a deep and raspy voice as you enter. The back room of the Honey Pot was dimly lit and only semi-private. She could hear Little Boy laughing through the partition. "Show me how you did today," Anton waved her over, leaning forward eagerly as though you're carrying a succulent dish for him to eat.
The ambiance of Anton’s meeting room was as dark and intimidating as the man himself. Le Milieu, as he was called on the streets, had greasy dark hair down to his chin and knife scars all over his face and body. He always dressed in finery (a puffy white blouse today) and wore as an obscene amount of jewelry. He had a disarming way of turning from obnoxiously boisterous to gravely threatening, and therefore had a reputation for being unpredictably cruel. He had an undeniable talent for displays of intimidation, had was not without vices of his own.
There were two others in Anton’s booth. One was Ophelia was today's strumpet from the Promise, the slimy man cycled through them regularly. The other was Florimond the grumpy old bookie who kept Anton honest, at least with Vice concerns.
"How lovely," Anton greedily snatched the chain off the top of Thisbe's take, handing it to Ophelia. "Put it on me, girl."
"You can go," Florimond says dismissively as he began counting the take, trying to shoo you away as Anton is distracted.
Thisbe studied the trio for a moment, her focused gaze lingering on Florimond and hands . She hadn’t had many opportunities to speak with him as Florimond was accompanied by Anton, yet she suspected he was the brains of the operation. Thisbe craved to get at the information Florimond kept in his books. It had occurred to her that stepping into Florimond’s role would be her logical next step to dig in deeper, and while unlucky thus far, she had been angling for an opportunity to make her move. First, she’d have to win Anton’s trust. Then, she’d find a way to execute Florimond from his current position. Getting rid of the old man is going to be the easy part, Thisbe thought.
Thisbe needed Anton to think of her as a logical replacement and for the idea to come to him naturally. It was Thisbe’s best judgement that Anton’s desires were little better than a Chelish noble’s: he wanted everything, yet did little work for it. If she could somehow make herself indispensable to Anton, perhaps she could outshine Florimond as his right-hand.
“Boss, we cleaned up well today. Little Boy and Fat Man are skilled, hustling with the best of ‘em. I thought I’d ask if you had anything in mind for us to be further in service to the Vice? We’re a tenacious team, well-forged after a hard winter. Anything we can do to grease some wheels? Make your life easier?”
An angry scowl from Florimond comes up in your peripheral as soon as you make the offer. Most Vice members had an air of subtlety about them that you sometimes have to work to pierce; Florimond apparently lacked this talent.
Anton, on the other hand simply smirked at the question. He let his waif finish clasping his new chain around his neck, before making himself comfortable in the booth. Finally, he looks you in the eye for a good half-minute before speaking, an amateurish method of intimidation Anton deploys. It occurs to you that this method of his is tried and true, especially when you consider the man almost exclusively deals with people already afraid of him. He takes a napkin and wipes his mouth, just to put you off a little longer.
"I have a favor you can do for me," he drones. He holds out a meaty fist, admiring the many rings he has before continuing "We had a guy from the pit, a bookie. He was supposed to show up to the fights last night with our money, but he's gone. Disappeared. Gregorié Chauvin," he looks you dead in the eye as he speaks the name. "Gregorié is a fan of le pesh, so we gave him a longer leash."
"He's 250 gold in the rears. Bring that to me, plus his opal ring and the finger he wears it on. I want to wear it to the fights next Starday," he thrusts his chin at you, toward the door, and you know he's not up for more questions about your new target.
"And make sure to bring one of your boys!" he calls as you leave.
Thisbe felt nothing like fear when she met Anton’s intimidating gaze, but the roiling rage she’d stoked since her mother’s death burned brightly in her chest. She ignored Florimond’s scowl to focus on arranging her expression to be reverent towards her boss as he spoke. Men like Anton were responsible for her mother’s slow, excruciating demise. She imagined sticking her rapier through his now adorned neck as she smiled and cooly replied, “At your service, boss.”
Thisbe left the dark room and headed towards the bar where she’d overheard Little Boy laugh earlier. When she finds him, she thumps him on the back of his head in greeting.
“Boss has a job for us, L. We need to sniff out wherever that rat Gregorié Chauvin has gotten to. He was expected at the fights last night with his take and never showed his face. Probably in some den out of his mind on pesh, if I had to guess. Ask around will you?”
Thisbe spent several minutes coaching Little Boy on how to properly employ diplomatic tactics to gather worthwhile information out of people and describing the folks he was looking for: pesh dealers, regular betters that worked with Gregorié and any known personal relations. She also passed him 10 silver to grease palms if he has to, though she suspects he'd find a way to keep the coin for himself.
“I’ll circle back with you tomorrow before our rounds. I expect you to have a few leads for me.” She scribbled out a schedule for the rest of the week on a bit of parchment and handed it to him. “I’ll give you an extra day off this week for your help with this. Make sure Fat Man sees this, too.”
Moonday - Little Boy & Thisbe - Fat Man; Off
Toilday - Fat Man & Little Boy - Thisbe; Off
Wealday - Fat Man & Little Boy - Thisbe; Off
Oathday - Fat Man & Thisbe - Little Boy; Off
Fireday - Thisbe & Random Tagalong - LB & FM; Off
Starday - Fat Man & Thisbe - LB; Off
"You want me walking around and talking to pesh dealers after curfew?" Little Boy lifts up his hand as you're sticking the silver pieces into his palm. He listens semi-attentively as you describe the tactics you want him to employ, and you're fairly confident in his ability to improvise. He has another stiff drink before he heads out the door, leaving you to your own devices for the evening.
Thisbe steps outside the Honey Pot and considers her next move. It occurred to her that she was in a unique position. With the Grey Gardeners heading through Caydog territory, it wouldn’t be unrealistic to assume they may be willing to make a deal. In exchange for Vice information or favors, she may be able to convince them to scout the territory the night of the transfer, or possibly create a distraction that could assist with their replacing Grey Gardeners. She’d have to find someone she could talk to, who might be favorable to meeting with her without taking up arms the moment she came into sight.
You think through all the various things you know about the Caydogs and their operations. Noelle Brochard, the Caydog's version of Anton, was a mostly even-keeled gentleman. You'd met him once before, as you weighed your options for revenge against the Vice. As distasteful as joining the operation was, the Caydogs were weak by comparison, and bore a distrust of folks who abstained from alcohol.
While they were crude and could be as violent as the Vice, the Caydogs by-in-large were a more friendly group of thugs. They knew their territory and their marks well, and often protected the poorest of their neighborhoods out of a sense of benevolent duty. Besides being less influential than the Vice, they were drinkers and could rarely be counted on for consistency. That meant they doled out retribution that was either too meek or to severe, and they occasionally failed at their protection duties.
While you're sure Monsieur Brochard would be happy to meet, and would certainly be interested in an exchange of secrets, discretion is a serious concern. Noelle could probably keep a secret, but the Caydogs on the streets were likely to run their mouths about the Vice agent south of the river. Furthermore, Anton usually handled business between the two gangs himself, and while there may be no overt consequences, it certainly wouldn't work in your favor to be seen conducting deals yourself. This is especially true for anything you wouldn't want the details of revealed.
Unfortunately, progressing in the ranks of the Vice means most of your information on the Caydogs is outdated. While you remember Noelle only a little, you're certain that he can be found at the loudest Tavern on Brewer Street, whichever one that happens to be tonight.
Thisbe decided a conversation with Noelle Brochard was in order and made her way to Brewer Street. Prior to leaving Vice territory, she dipped into a dark alley to arrange a disguise: a baker making her way through Brewer Street after a long days work would do. While in Caydog Territory, Thisbe is careful to stick to the shadows and avoid guards that may start asking questions about curfew. Looking for the busiest tavern, Thisbe will scope it out a few hundred yards out to see if she can catch a whiff of Brochard before entering. She also keeps an eye out for details: a quiet alley, or room where she can chat with Brochard and, what the drunk was drinking. Maybe she could swipe a bottle as a peace offering, if she had the time.
Thisbe considered a few avenues to avoid being spotted by Caydog underlings and landed on the most simple. Before entering the tavern, she planned on using her invisibility extract. Next, she’d slip past the crowd and drop a little piece of parchment in Brochard’s cup, leaving instructions to step out and head to Thisbe’s rendezvous point.
With a bit of cloth tied up like an apron, you cross the river to the south and begin winding the streets down toward the heart of Caydog territory. The bustle of people shuffling home before curfew makes it easy to hide in plain sight. You pass a number of city guards who take no notice of you. You cut off the busy avenues as you come close to Brewer Street where you begin to move between the forming shadows to get a good sense of the block.
A half-dozen pubs on opposite sides of the street make up the popular late night spot known as Brewer Street. The raucous sounds of Caydogs proceed the light pouring out the doors and windows as another night of drinking is about to get underway. Unlike The Promise of Coin, where the guards were paid to keep a close eye on the front, the guards down here seemed to be giving the entire street a wide berth. They were no doubt paid to do so, but the difference in the application of their services was evident.
Moving cautiously up and down the alleyways behind both sides of the block, you create a very complete mental map over the course of an hour. You discover quite a few cubbys and alcoves, none are particularly great, but you'll have a decent option no matter which pub Noelle happens to be patronizing tonight.
"He better keep his boys in line then," you hear called out from the backdoor of a pub down behind you. It's quickly follow by the splash from a bucket. You creep closer to The Free Drinker, where you heard the splash, and with a bit of strain, you hear the workers talking over the busy front room beyond.
"No, but they're gonna spill and spit everywhere, and we'll be cleaning it up." the same voice answers an unheard question.
"I just hope they don't break nothin'," a gruff, but feminine voice answers.
"I do! They always tip better when they've broken something," the man retorts.
"You're not the one who has to pay for it!"
The conversation fades, but being fairly sure you've located the evening's Caydog drinking spot, you pull out your pad to write the note.
After finding the Caydog watering hole for the evening, Thisbe quickly scribbles out a note for Noelle Brochard:
I've got a deal for you. Back alley. Come alone. 5 minutes. - Your Friendly District Vice Agent
She takes her invisibility extract, keeping the note in her hand, and attempts to slide past the crowd to drop the note in Brochard's pint. As she does so, she also tries to swipe a bottle of whatever Brochard's poison is for the night, but only if she can do so without making her presence known.
Sneaking through the back door, you easily pass the pair you heard earlier. The common room of The Free Drinker appears to be standing-room-only tonight. You easily spot Noelle Brochard sitting at the bar, but spun around and facing the room, engaged with a small crowd of his fellow Caydogs. The mug facing him contains ale, and you get no hit about what type of spirits he might be interested.
You deftly sidestep the bartender as he moves about, and make your way to the bottles of liquor. Below the shelf at waist level holding the half-drunk bottles, you find a half dozen unopened ones: two whiskeys, a bottle of river-rum, two bottles of local wine, and a yellow liquid with a label in Hallit that reads 'Тэнгэрийн цус.'
In addition to not knowing Monsieur Brochard's favorite, you also can't tell which one of these spirits is good or bad.
You pocket your choice of spirits easily, and return to the spot opposite Noelle just as he sets down his mug of ale. You slip the note into his drink easily, and slip outside to the nearest alcove. You wait. And wait.
A minute or so after your invisibility spell wears off, you see Noelle emerge from the bar. "Told my boys I'm takin' a piss," he calls out to the darkness. "You have until they come to see what's takin' so long," He doesn't seem to see you, but he apparently knows the hiding spot that you're using as he's looking in exactly your direction. His hand rests on the handle of a large dagger.
Thisbe knew there'd be a downside to her abstinence. Apparently, it was figuring out what good liquor looked like. She grabbed the bottle with its label written in Hallit, only because it sounded interesting, as well as a whiskey. She'd seen Little Boy and Fat Man put back their share of the amber liquor and, although she usually didn't like the smell of their libations, the warm, woody smell of whiskey never put her off like the others. She shrugged, figuring the stuff was all the same in the end anyway.
After a few minutes wait, her heart jumping in her chest and hand on her rapier, she fished out another extract, focused scrutiny, and drank it down before Noelle turned into the alley. She needed any edge she could get.
Once Noelle was in view, Thisbe stepped out of the shadows, though keeping a far enough distance to not be within reach of Noelle's dagger.
She smiled curiously at him and extended the two bottles, one in each hand. "I hear that Caydogs never start a negotiation without a drink. Here's to a mutually profitable deal."
Thisbe kept a wary eye while schooling her expression to be welcoming, seeing if she could get a read on Noelle's openness to her and whether or not he might recognize her.
Components V, S
Range personal
Target you
Duration 10 minutes/level (D)
You gain heightened sensitivity to the mannerisms, reactions, and body language of one creature you can perceive, allowing you to sense its state of mind and easily influence it. You gain a +10 bonus on Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks you attempt against the target creature, as well as a +5 bonus on Diplomacy and Intimidate checks you attempt against it.
Noelle moves toward you slowly. His hand floats above the dagger at his waist, ready to draw. With his other hand he reaches out for the cylindrical bottle of thick yellow liquid. He takes it gently, and relaxes a bit as he steps back, a bit more sure it's not a trap. He looks at the label.
"You took this from the bar here," the label. He puffs his chest out a bit, and you're unsure if he's angry or about to call for help, when he suddenly cracks a smile. "Ol' Evan is gonna flip when he finds this missing." He cracks open the bottle and immediately reels at its smell, a sharp and pungent stench.
"Dunno how you got under the bar, and into my drink, lass. But ye have my attention." He steels himself and takes a stiff swing, and hands the bottle back to you.
"How is old Anton these days?" he asks. Even under your focused scrutiny, Noelle is very hard to read.
Thisbe takes the bottle back and in a swift motion, appears to take a sip, though the yellow liquid doesn't pass her lips. She feigns a cough and grimace, thumping her chest with one hand as she passes the bottle back in the other.
"What even is this bile? You keep it. Consider it a rose... a peace offering, if you will." She found it strange that she wasn't able to get a read on Noelle. That typically isn't a problem for her. Thisbe briefly considered whether or not she underestimated the Caydog leader, yet she was too far in to back out now. Could he be mentioning Anton because he knows who I am, or is he just trying to throw me off? Thisbe stepped forward with her hands empty, hoping her appearance of trust would keep Noelle at ease while simultaneously projecting an air of confidence, if not arrogance.
"Anton, you say? Old is right. If I were a betting woman, and I'm not, I'd say he might be up for retirement soon." She waited a moment to see his reaction before continuing. "You've been in the game a long time Noelle, enough to know that purity of party is more than a misnomer, it's a myth. Sometimes in this city, you got to shift your allegiances, your principles, to get a job done. I've got a job to do that you can help me with and, perhaps, I can help you in return, if you're amenable to such an arrangement? Before we begin, I'd hope I can trust you to keep a secret. That's the only way this works... for the both of us, I assume."
The overwhelming bitterness of the 'Тэнгэрийн цус' touching your lips is more than enough to give you the jist, and you hardly have to react shocked.
Noelle gives you look of suspicion as takes the bottle back from you, and takes another whiff before he corks it. "Night's still young," he says as he stows it away. As you mention Anton's 'retirement' you're unable to gauge a reaction from Brochard. His face betrays nothing.
"You're talented," he continues "I'll give you that. But secrets are hard to keep for strangers, especially if you're not certain how serious they are. There's a vintage from 4424 that Anton always goes on about. I know keeps somewhere in The Honey Pot. If you bring me that bottle, and then we can talk business."
"Noelle!" you hear a call from inside The Free Drinker. Almost as though he was expecting it Noelle gives you a smirk and a nod that you should go.
With slight disappoinment, Thisbe bowed her head slightly to Brochard's request. She knew the bottle would be hard to get and it wouldn't be easy to sneak around a place so familiar with her face. She didn't expect his allegiance to come easy, however. Nothing of value ever came easy. However, Thisbe was a bit impressed that the man didn't seem at all shaken, seeing as her piece of parchment could have easily been poison, or a dagger in his throat.
"I'll bid you adieu, Monsieur. Until we meet again." Thisbe said as she stepped back into the shadows, waiting for Brochard to depart prior to rearranging her disguise.
From here, Thisbe concludes that she's done all she could for the day and heads to her apartment at the Cider Vault in the Foreign Quarter, keeping her head down and staying to the shadows.
You expertly slink back north of the river, and make it home without raising a single alarm. Guard patrols move pretty regularly throughout the night, and being south of the river doesn't change much. You avoid the high density of posted sentries on La Rue du Pain and you arrive home just after midnight.
Ramon Guerrier gives you a drowsy nod as you enter. Ramon is the Cider Vault's night attendant, as well as the son of its current proprietor: Jacques Guerrier. The family and their other employees know you well, and are unsurprised at your comings and goings.
Past the desk you head for the west wing of the old bank building, where the offices have been converted into permanent housing.
With a cursory nod, Thisbe dipped inside past Ramon and wound her way through the dark halls of the West wing. Number 8 was situated at the far end, neighbors to the back alley where she’d once found a dead body, and number 7, an empty flat like her own. The last tenant of number 7 was an old woman, Diesl, who had lived there since before Thisbe was born. She died a couple months back from an overdose. Intentional, probably. Thisbe found dozens of waxy papers that with the sticky, black stains of pesh in her bedroom. The same sold by a few Vice dealers she knows.
The lock clicked open and Thisbe stepped inside her flat, quickly started a fire in her hearth and put a kettle on. The rooms she’d called home since she could remember were small; a living area, washroom and bedroom with a pantry and closet for storage. One of the first things she had done when she started working for the Vice was to pay rents for her home, years in advance. Nothing makes you over-prepare like hunger and the threat of living on the streets of the Foreign Quarter.
She’d never thought to leave since her Mother died, yet she didn’t have much to leave behind. The only thing that her Mother didn’t sell was also the only thing that hung in decoration in Thisbe’s living room: a painted wood rose, encircled by thorns. Otherwise Thisbe’s place was completely unadorned. Everything in her space had a purpose. No more and no less than what she needed to survive. A bed lay on the floor in the bedroom with a simple cover. Books, on mathematical theory, history and politics, line the bottom of the walls. A wooden desk sat in the corner near a small window, sturdily built, yet worn, with a single matching chair. Although sparse, the flat was meticulously clean. It hardly looked like anyone lived there.
After changing into a simple tunic, Thisbe sat down and prepared a cup of tea, a blend of chamomile and rosehip, then recorded her days’ take in a ledger she kept locked away in her desk. Thisbe believed nothing was more imperative than data and her ledger was a diligent exercise in measuring every potential piece of it available to her. From who was on shift as spotters, to the description of the lone gentleman day-drinking at Crank’s place, to the number of employees at The Free Drinker: no detail was left out. Separately, another ledger kept notes on her funds for distribution by the Scarlet Hand. Seeing the paltry sum, she hoped the next few days would be more profitable. She also took a moment to stow away the funds provided by the Council, feeling a weight lift that she would no longer be carrying that much coin around on her person.
Once she finished her tea, she made a silent prayer in front of the ornament to Milani then slept until dawn.
In the morning, Thisbe prepared the extracts she’d used the previous day, expecting she might need them in her tasks. After eating a breakfast of grey tea, hardboiled eggs, cheese and bread, Thisbe geared up, hoping to catch Little Boy at the Honey Pot to see if he’d made headway into finding Gregorie Chauvin, and headed out into the early morning sun.
Slipping out unseen in the morning is much easier for you than slipping in at night. The large lobby area of the old bank makes it very hard to escape the notice of the night watchman. When you com and go during the day, the few members of the Cider Vault's staff is usually traipsing the hallways in a desperate attempt to keep up with the maintenance.
Being only a few hours after dawn, you are not optimistic about seeing Little Boy at the Honey Pot for a little while. As you come upon the block, you can see the morning staff at The Promise of Coin just setting up for the day. The staff at the Honey Pot is also just setting up as you walk through the door.
There are four teams like yours that are meeting in a large booth of the common room, ready for an early start. You see a handful of new faces among them, cutting their teeth on some of the gang's easier protection work. On the other side of the room, there's half a dozen tired night spotters, eating a meal of eggs and bread. Anton's backroom is dark and you aren't able to spot Little Boy.
"Claudine!" you hear one of the spotters call out a greeting to the gnome that enters behind you. The small woman nods only slightly back to the man, walks over to the low bar and waves at the bartender.
Claudine is a curt little woman who you've not spoken to before, but who you know by reputation. She is not considered a Vice member as you are, but is a well known associate. Claudine is stern and quick with her knives, while her brother is a rambunctious loudmouth with a gambling addiction. Her brother holds a similar position in the Caydogs, and so the pair use their associations to offer something few others can, a way to communicate between the guilds.
Thisbe took note of the early birds at the Honey Pot, clamoring to get at the day’s worm. It wasn’t long ago that she herself was sitting in that booth, strategizing with her team lead, before she was assigned a team of her own. She made an effort to study the faces in the room and familiarize herself with the teams, in case they feel emboldened enough to stray into her territories.
Although she wasn’t at all surprised to find Little Boy had yet to arrive this early in the morning, Thisbe considered the benefit of arriving earlier than her charges. She hoped it put them on edge, knowing that she was waiting for them when they arrived. And, it also gave her a window to ensure they didn’t start hitting the bottle too early in the day.
Upon noticing Claudine behind her, it occurred to her that she might have information on Brochard that could come in handy. It was also possible she could give her a few leads on Gregorie Chauvin. While she didn’t yet know Claudine, she seemed like a serious woman, someone that perhaps mirrored Thisbe’s own professionalism. You had to be a rough kind of woman to associate yourself with the Vice. She would have to be cautious in giving her too much information, though.
Thisbe slid into the seat next to Claudine at the bar and placed a couple of silver pieces in front of her. “May I offer a drink for a moment of your time, Claudine?”
You have a seat at the empty barstool where the regular bar drops off to the short bar. Claudine looks over and gives you a good sizing up before you see a smile crack out the corner of her mouth. "Sure," she says simply, tossing back her current drink and giving a whistle and a wave to the barkeep.
Unlike many gnomes, Claudine doesn't dye her blonde hair, but the braid holding the right half of her shoulder-length hair is beautifully complex. She wears a cornflower blue vest over a cream colored blouse, both woven of fine cottons. Her brown breeches look nice, if a bit dusty. When she smirks, she looks cute as a button, which you imagine is part of the surly demeanor she tends to carry. Quick as it appeared, her smile disappears. As the bartender walks over with a fresh drink for Claudine in one hand and a mug of (clean) water for you, the gnome scoops up the coin deftly, and tosses the whole stack of 5 neatly into the apron pocket, complete with 5 satisfying *clinks*
"You're the new protection racket, right?" she looks up at you, friendly, but stone faced again. "They must not like you much to put you in charge of the fat guy and the dumb guy, but I hear you've got them on the straight and narrow now." You've seen her speaking with Anton, so what she knows is not as surprising as her being so forthcoming about it. “I'm happy to drink with you, madame. Before you speak, however, you may wish to know the rates for my discretion.”
Thisbe had to work a moment to keep the excitement from her face. If there was one thing Thisbe understood, it was value and the exchange of coin. For Claudine to have thrived and found an independent place working with the Vice she'd have to have been worth her weight in gold. Thisbe respected Claudine's ingenuity and she felt a certain kinship to the woman.
Of course, respect and kinship never made deals on their own. She expected she'd have to pay generously for the woman's time and discretion. However, Thisbe was a shrewd negotiator and she intended to make the most out of whatever Claudine required in payment.
"I've never aimed to be liked. Only efficient." Thisbe replied with a thin smile while she sipped her water. "Tell me, what is your going rate? Anton has given me a weighty task and I would be remiss not to explore all avenues."
Claudine pounds the glass of clear liquor the bartender had just brought over, when she sets it down without looking. As she gets up to exit the Honey Pot, you watch as the it spins slowly on the bottom edge before falling upright.
Up close, the Scum Garden has a pungent smell of rotten vegetables, and its daytime workforce was truly depressing. Scum Gardeners were frail and generally useless folk, the maimed or the drug-addled unsuitable for proper work. Under direction of their taskmaster (a simpleton himself), they spent the day moving things around so as to give the appearance that The Promise of Coin complies with the thirteenth decree. Claudine walks the broken bricks of the garden's walkways, hands behind her back like a proper lord.
"They'll have seen us speaking," she opens as you stroll side by side. "And if they see us again, they'll assume we have an agreement. They'll probably assume that no matter what, so setting up a drop for our real communications is prudent. You have a reputation for prudence. This conversation comes at the cost of a two hundred gold piece retainer, I manage the tabs myself, so not to worry."
"Anton will know we spoke, and my relationship with him is one I can’t currently afford to lose. I expect about fifty gold pieces for each lie I have to tell him. I’ll charge him for the information though, so you’ll get a discount on those. I expect you to feed me plausible lies, because each time he catches me in such a lie, I charge twenty-five platinum. That could get expensive for you, unless he doesn’t have any reason to ask me about you."
"For information on a place, we charge fifteen gold," she continues. "Information on a person is thirty. If the person or place belong to the Vice, or to the Caydogs, double the rate it. If you want something special, I can give you a quote. We're not the biggest fans of killing so we usually use third parties, if discretion demands that we can't, expect the price to go up quite a bit. We don't kill kids or courtesans. We don’t deal in slaves and we definitely don't deal with the Delons."
"Last but not least," she stops here, in the middle of the garden. Her voice gets louder; not enough to rile of the Scum Gardeners, but higher than the hushed tones of the dealing. "My idiot brother gets the same respect I do. I earn it for him. If he finds himself in more trouble than you can handle, then you find me."
"If all this works for you, then we're in business," her tone is hushed again. She pauses here, looking eager to give more details if she has your agreement. Her hands are still held behind her back, clearly not expecting an exchange of coins here in the open.
Thisbe nodded vaguely as Claudine opened her bid for negotiation. She wasn’t at all convinced that she needed Claudine, much preferring to keep her circle small and out of the pockets of the city’s parasites. However, Claudine did offer a valuable service that could be used for her work with the Council. Any edge could be useful in saving the Sister and who knew what would come after that.
Thisbe kept a close eye on Claudine as she spoke, minding her mannerisms and inflections, to study whether she was giving Thisbe her best offer, or inflating her prices. She also was looking for any clues to whether Claudine was lying about her relationship with Anton. If she were his pawn, it would be easy for her to take the 250 gold, sell her story to Anton, then Thisbe would find herself on the wrong end of a knife one night.
“It sounds like you’re concerned about your relationship to Anton, which leads me to wonder exactly what that relationship might be. How do I know you aren’t going to take my coin and sell my story to him after we meet?” Thisbe spoke calmly, picking dirt from under her nails as though she could take or leave Claudine's offer. And, really, she felt that she could. “I have little assurance that your partnership with him doesn’t include spying on me and you’re certainly aware that his coffers run deeper than mine.”
Thisbe paused a moment and clasped her hands in front of her. “As you say, I am prudent. Minimizing risk would be a requirement to my accepting a deal. What solutions do you propose to solve this problem?”
"Problem?" the gnome retorts. "We don't have any problem, not myself nor Guy. These terms are pretty standard where our business is concerned. If you want assurances, my offer to lie to Anton and charge you for it might be the best you get."
"What I'll say about my relationship with Anton, is that it's quite similar to my brother's relationship with Noelle Brochard. Both men have things they need seen or done on the side of the river they dare not tread. For example, if one of them were to get an offer to help eliminate the other, perhaps from a turncoat in their own organization. Well the the obvious place to turn to verify such an offer's....veracity," she smirks knowingly. Clearly, she has a story she can tell beyond this stroll in the garden.
You are certain that Claudine is hiding a good deal of information about her business, but what she does reveal seems honest but vague. Her tone betrays an eagerness to lie to Anton on your behalf. You suspect that she may have come specifically to meet you.
"Coin buys my silence, you can trust that," she jumps to the next point. "And Anton may be able to get his hand into the deep pockets now and again, but his own pockets aren't so deep, and he is quite loathe to part with his auspicious jewelry."
Thisbe listened to Claudine intently before countering her offer. She eyed Claudine with shrewdness, seeing her enthusiasm for the opportunity to lie to Anton. Thisbe was intensely curious about the gnome and her brother, yet that curiosity wouldn’t be quelled in this conversation. She decided to give Claudine a shot.
“I will pay your full retainer, but I require a 25% discount on your services for my first job. As a test, of sorts, to ensure you meet my standards. Do we have a deal?”
Claudine gives you a long stare, letting the silence sit between you for a while. You easily read the gnome’s desire to appear thoughtful, and your confidence is rewarded as she breaks the silence first.
"All right then, half," she crosses her arms, feigning her frustration quite well. She leans in closer for a moment. "Only for the first job! Guy will set up a drop point, between here and your home. We'll find somewhere where we can meet in private."
"We've been chatting long enough, I think," she says, taking a big step back. "Guy will have lost the gold I gave him by now. We'll be in touch." She gives you a smirk before heading through the garden, up the wide stone steps, and into The Promise through the large ballroom doors.
--------
“Mornin’ boss,” Little Boy arrives almost exactly an hour after your meeting with Claudine, and looks quite hung over.
A few moments after Claudine headed back into The Promise, Thisbe followed. She considered what goal Claudine might have in playing the foil to Anton. He wasn’t a likeable character, so he could have easily crossed her in dozens of ways. She would have to investigate Claudine further prior to bringing her into any Council affairs. And, she needed a plan on where to get the 250 gold retainer. She could use the Council’s allowance, yet with the plan only semi-formed, she wasn’t sure what else she might need the funds for. Thisbe was hoping she could manage to give the lot to the Scarlet Hand’s work.
Still deep in thought, Thisbe made her way to the bar at the Honey Pot and hailed the bartender. “I’d like a tasting pour of each of your best liquors and wines. Please also provide the bottles for examination. Oh, and an empty glass.”
After her meeting with Brochard, she intended to better her knowledge of fine liquor in the case she need to buy her way into a mark’s regards with drink again. And, if she could manage to get the information without raising any flags, she’d ask about the vintage from 4424.
Your request for alcohol gives the bartender pause, but he obliges and sets a few empty glasses on the bar in front of you, leaving the bottles in a neat row. He begins with the higher end of his normal stock, pouring a finger of two red wines into two of spirit glasses from bottles behind the bar. A third bottle he pours is a fine cognac.
After the three drinks kept under the bar, he grabs a stool to reach to the shelf above the mirror and fetches three more bottles. He fills more empty glasses, two more reds and a rare Galtan white. Observing the labels on the bottles, you see only Galtan wines, and only post-revolutionary years.
Once he's restocked the bottles he's poured, the bartender has a look at your progress before continuing. "We have a few pre-revolutionary vintages, and a few foreign wines and spirits as well, but for those I have to start charging you." As he speaks of the finer drinks, the bartender makes a few subconcious gestures in the direction of the floor, betraying at least the direction of the finer wines. He looks to you before he continues.
"Thank you," she said, looking at the display before her. She continued with a rueful grin, "I've never considered the understanding of the alcohol trade to be useful as I don't have a taste for the stuff. Yet many of my charges are in the trade, so it's become... professionally necessary."
Thisbe began her research by pulling out some paper and taking records of the different vintages, their bottles and coloring, and finally the different scents of each. She swirled a small sip of each in her mouth and rolled it over her tongue before spitting it out into the empty glass. All the while Thisbe peppered the bartender with questions about their different properties and popularity. She asked him about the Galtan regions the alcohol was crafted in, and who distributes it. As he responded to her questions, she acted as though she were very impressed by his knowledge of the craft.
"You are clearly an expert in your field! I feel I'd be missing out on a deeper understanding if I didn't have you guide me through your more rare vintages." She said while laying two gold pieces on the table.