Core...why should your shackles bind my inventory? I'm unchained!
Harv snickers.
Aww a little baby pickpocket. I remember when Pa Burgleton taught me that one when I was four. We always had the bests of times whens he was outta jail.
"I get everything at a steep discounts. My prices are so good, it's practicallys stealin!"
He scratches his chin as if to feign interest before holding up a finger as if to signal he has an idea.
"If you'ze is lookins for smokeless light, there's always everburning torches. But I ain't seen one o' thems in a while..expensive toos...What I do gots is a neverburning torch. They's is nice because they won't burn you like a normal torch. And as a favor to some rookies, I'd be willin to give it to ya for free. I lost the instructions for it, so you'll have to get them from Janira."
Harv hands over what was an everburning torch to the elf for inspection. However, it has been dispelled and no longer radiates continual flame. While doing so, he slips the coin from Iovo with the grace of a master thief.
Ahh the 4661 mint--put out to make ups for loot stolen by none other than Sevenfingas hisself.
With almost no movement at all, Harv places the coin on the counter. He gives the fledgling thief a knowing wink.
Iovo only:
You'll find a note on your person later. It reads: Nice crawling, bubs. Come back when you can sprint. -HB.
"A sun rod is a kajigger that glowses like the sun. I happen to have a few slightly used ones for sale. Nobody in coins would gives you sucha good deal as me's can. I'd sell a sun rod for abouts 1gp, which is halfs what those jabronis would upcharge you."
Harv's gaze lingers over his ramshackle supply of ill-gotten merchandise, pretty confident that he's going to get rid of those useless spent sunrods Babyshanks left behind.
How else do I fleece these morons? Thinks...thinks....thinks...
"If you'ze is getting sunrods, I should also warn youze that they can damage yer eye-holes. That's why you should wear smoked googles! They's can help block out some of the sunrods harmful rays. Personally, I like to wear my smoked googles when I'm talkin to ugly people because then theys can't sees you lookin away. Just as would have it, I have a few pairs of Brokely's brand smoked googles, so you'ze can be stylish while wearin em."
You're on a roll, Harv. Don't stop don't stopping now!
"But I bet you'd be worried about everyone tellin ya how goods yer shades looks. Might wanna pick up some earplogs to avoid distractions. I washed off a dozen pairs last week if youze also inclined to get some o' dem, toos," he says, sliding a bucket of fetid, yellow, chunky water close up against the counter so as to completely hide its presence.
"They'll also helps with Janira. You'll understand once ya meet her."
"WHAAHHWHWAAMOPAMWEDEOAWIN" yells the squat, balding man behind the counter, clearly woken from his nap.
Sleep with both eyeseses opens and nobodies can tell if you'ze a snoozaroozin.
He gives a wry smile, showing off more gold teeth than real ones.
"I might have a fews in stock...I sell a lotta things..." he says, eyes moving sideways in an overtly disreputable manner, "but I wouldn't be me if I didn't set you up with some proper gear. Yeah, proper gear hehehe!"
Rubbing his hands together, Harv asks "What kinda Pathfinda is yous?"
"It most certainly was beyond what I'd considda krool and unusual punishment. Maybe if's they got insurance they can build a place that isn't such a piecea crud."
Harv pauses a moment before answering his question, eyes shifting back and forth.
"Oh...for sure....I'd get you resurrected, 'onnah amongst thieves n all," he says. They coulda used his body as evidence.
He pushes one of the gold-laden sacks towards Babyshanks, "This is your share of tha loot."
"It's good we got Mantis to fence it so fast. For all we know the goods is halfway to Diobel by nows!"
"We did it, Babyshanks! I'll bets they got back from that GemCrom or whatever and didn't nose what hittem!" He plops a pair of sacks on the counter, each brimming with gold, "not tah's mention the proceeds is well worths it. Now--let's get thems hands unstucks."
Harv applies universal solvent to Babyshanks stuck hands.
"Oh, I hopes youze don't mind--the cost of tha solvent is comin' outta your share."
Harv exits the evidence locker in a panic as flames make their way to the rafters. The extradimensional spaces make the trip light, but he is clearly struggling to carry all the bags.
"THEPLACEISONFIRE! STICKYBANDITS--OUT!"
Harc drops the bags, produces a potion, and disappears. Moments later, the bags disappear from view. An invisible Harv unlocks the door from the inside and opens it.
Harv has stuffed most of the evidence into his bags. Several bags of aether on the top shelf are outside his reach, so he attempts to climb the shelves. He jumps up, grabbing onto the ledge. The shelf becomes top heavy and tips backwards, sending the rogue crashing to the floor and knocking off his goz mask. Several bags of aether land square on his face, covering his face and shoulders with narcotic powder before he is reunited with the unpleasant aroma that is the boar and oysters.
"UGH! THIS IS WAY BEYOND PERSONAL USE! "
He squirms from underneath the shelf before donning his goz mask again, but not before the acrid smell of smoke greets his nostrils. The effects of the aether set in and he becomes incredibly excited.
Harv frantically works with the lock after donning his goggles of minute seeing. His intense study of lock mechanisms pays off as the locker opens. Harv marvels in awe at the contents: drugs, counterfeit currency, and an assortment of both wands and weapons.
He snaps out of his fascination and dashes into the locker. He drops serval bags on the floor and begins sorting the loot as per the plan.
Harv dons his goz mask before finding the file cabinets holding case files, information on wanted persons, and other assorted reports. He files through them for some time until he discovers his and babyshanks files. He stows them in his pack before dumping the rest in a pile on the floor.
"These files on us is way too small! Don't they know weze big timas?!"
He farts again before producing a vial of alchemists fire.
"This'll show em!" he shouts before throwing the vial on the mound of documents. Harv laughs with deviant glee as fire engulfs the materials. He turns for the evidence locker, not paying attention to the fire as it creeps onto a curtain.
"SHANKS! I got our files! Take care a dem holding cell mooks while I get us intah the evidence locka!"
Two clouds of mist filter into the room and materialize into humanoid form.
"Alright, Babyshanks, we're in! The cops is all off at GemCrom (or whatever)! Let tha caper begin!"
Harv begins to carry out his part of the plan. Giggling, he picks the locks on the desks belonging to the various Ricks and Dicks, taking care to pocket anything that appears remotely valuable. After each desk is open he applies a bit of sovereign glue to the lip of every drawer and cabinet before closing them, sealing them shut.
A loud rumbling comes from Harv's stomach before he flatulates LOUDLY.
"Babyshanks! Methinks them gassy-us form potions is Givin me side effects!" A second fart--louder than the first-- punctuates the exclamation.
Harv makes his way behind the counter and over to the register. He places a hand under the counter but quickly becomes frustrated at something.
"I don't wanna hit the wrong button."
He fiddles around a little longer before a mechanical 'click' can be heard from the wall. A panel moves revealing a separate room. A workbench rests against the far side while shelves laden with various alchemical goods, potions, weapons, tools, wondrous items, and sundries occupy the side walls. The workbench is cluttered with papers while the wall is covered with various blueprints, maps, and photographs. A small frame rests in the corner of the desk holding a paper colored with prestidigitation. Strings tacked onto the walls created a web, networking the who, what, when, where, and why of the upcoming heist.
Harv gestures for Babyshanks to follow him to the workbench.
Here's the plan, Babyshanks.:
"You know how those pigs stink up that neighborhood? A few a thems is always drinkin that cheap beer and fartin louder than none other. Point is, ya can smell the place from miles around. That means there's a spot where gas leaks outta the place."
He places a finger on the blueprint, tapping it on a section marked "Chiminy".
"We's drink a couple a potions of gassy-us form and get in through there. Once we're in we drink these spider climbs and walk on the cielings. But wait, it gets better!"
Harv produces a set of flimsy looking keys.
"When I was in there I helped myselfs to getting some molds of one of ems keys. They aren't perfect copies but with my skill at jimmyin locks they'll be as good as the real deal. I should be able to open anything. Anything I can't jimmy you force open with this," he says before handing over a crowbar that reads "Trusty Buddy".
He points to the picture, "My old partner and I ran into every trap in the book, and I'ms expectin that gettin in is the easy part. Luckily, I gots the know how to counter any sorta trap we bumps into."
"I got goz masks for the smell and in case they got any smokey trap thingies goin. I got all sorts a healin potions in case anything goes wrong."
He moves to a small set of vials.
"And this sovereign glue? I'm gonna seal all their drawers shut with this stuff! They'll have to buy a whole new set of desks hahaha!"
"While's I'm doing this, I need you to go to the holding cells and take care of any possible witnesses. Once they're good and knocked out we can sovereign glue their hands to the floor."
"Oh. They're probably gonna have some dogs too. My boy Mantis--he fixed us up with the glue and the potions--is workin on some potions of pup shape for us to put in their water bowls. They coppas will come back and find out all their dogs is untrained pups!"
"Now we wanna grab anything and everything out of the evidence locker. Small ticket items go into pathfinda pouches and big ticket items go into handy haversacks."
"We also want the rap sheets. We take ours so we's can find out what they know about us and burn the rest with alchemist fires."
"So here's the steps: 1) we get in; 2) we deal with the cells and deal with the dags; 3) we nab the loot; and 4) escape!"
Harv holds out a finger, gesturing for Babyshanks to stay put.
"What if I tolds youse that the job I got planned would make you a made man for all times? What if I told you I knew of a time when the pigs that run that stinky fish stand...would be.....busy. Think of the score, Babyshanks! It'd be like taking..."
Harv struggles, trying to find the right idiom.
"...unguarded stuff!"
Nailed it--I talks common good, thinks Harv.
"This is the score that'd put us on the map, Babyshanks! Stealinz loot from right unda the nose of the law. And the fuzz? THEY'D NEVA LIVE IT DOWN! WE'D BE LEGENDS! BURGLETON AND BABYSHANKS--KINGS OF DA UNDA'WORLD!"
Harv takes a step back and shrugs.
"Buuut it's a two man job...and I know youze and I's is the only ones that could pull it off. It's a shame--we'd split it right down the middle," he pauses and furrows his brow with intense mathematical calculations, "fifty....fifty? Buuut why go on? You didn't seem interested," he smirks tilts his head forward,
"Babyshanks! Stop messin with that sign! It's stolen from the Bank of Abadar valuable merchandise!"
Harv internally reminds himself that he has done equally foolish things and smooths his outward demeanor before making sure that all others have left the establishment. He turns the sign from 'I assure you, we're open' to 'closed' and draws curtains over the windows.
It's me and you, Babyshanks.
Harv leans in, flashing a gold-toothed smile at his partner in crime.
Harv looks around his shop, noticing several like-minded individuals looking to buy and sell obviously stolen legitimate goods and services.
"Livin' the dream!" Exlaims Harv as he sells a bat with several nails through it. A soft tap alerts him--there's an envelope on the counter.
Perturbed by the envelope's sudden appearance, Harv shouts "WHICH ONE OF YOU JABRONIS PUT SOMETHING IN WRITING? WHAT DID I SAY ABOUTS LEAVIN A PAPER TRAIL?"[/b]
After nobody fesses up to placing the envelope, Harv sneers before opening the envelope and removing a note. Harv reads the note, his eyes wincing whenever encountering a word with more than 2 syllables. After finishing the document, he looks up at his patrons and says "I need alla you bozos outta here right now. We're closed! Beat it! Get lost! Scram! I'll see you all tomorrow!"
Customers begin filing out of the shop, but Harv stops one of them in particular.
"Babyshanks--I gots a two-man job. You want in on the caper to outcaper all other capers that ever dids cape?"
A bead of sweat rolls down Harv Burgleton's forehead as he walks into the establishment. He saunters over to the bar, pulls out a stool, and takes out a coin, tapping it on the bar.
"Ey barkeep--gimme one o them thoses!" He shouts, gesturing towards the tapped kegs.
Harv rips the letter apart the moment it leaves Janica's hands.
"I know a con when I see one. If you think you can pull a fast one on a Varisian you're dumber than I thought. If the trade prince has a problem with my business maybe he shouldn't have given Guaril authority to give me the title. So let me give you three pieces of advice, pal: 1) not every varisian is a criminal, you racist; 2)....."
Harv spits in Janica's face
"3)....I forgot the third one, now get the f$@~ out of my shop."
I'm sorry, Janica, but your character's high horse ends where my character begins.
Harv gives a look of surprise before throwing his hands in the air. "We've been had, fellas--deputy half-celestial, 100% loudmouth is gonna take this straight to the top with circumstantial evidence!" He has a good belly laugh at Janica's expense, gesturing to a nearby bin brimming with every letter of the Taldan alphabet. Above the bin a sign reads 'SIGN LETTORS: 5cp/10'. At some point during Harv's laugh, those present are able to make out the words "wind", "stupid", and "this guy".
Wiping away tears of laughter, Harv leans one elbow on the counter, flashing a gold-toothed smile once he's stopped. "So tells me--out of all the pawn shops in Absalom, you had the bright idea to try to con mine? Reaaaaaal smaht, bub. Real smaht."
"Those that wish the wealth of the Master and Guardian of the First Vault, should take heed to follow the law and righteous path of honest trade and shun short cuts, ill manners and underhanded trade"says a quiet voice from the shadows" Your Ilk are entirely the reason Abadar has called me to service with in the Society. Repent and seek fair trade and that Can Help Us All instead of your lawless and base greed"
"Here here." a blue-skined female aasimar pipes up in agreement. "Well, I don't actually follow Abdar, but I am on board with actual legitimate trade. Every time I try to do buisiness, everyone assumes my goods are fakes or defective. After one encounter where I said I was with the exchange, one client even tried to hire me as an assassin! It's like no one knows what buisiness ethics are anymore!
"Let's face it, the exchange has a reputation as cheats, thieves, and ner-do-wells, and us actual buisiness people suffer for it!"
"You cronies sure can talk, but can't you read? The sign out front CLEARLY says 'Legitimate Business'. You think those chuckleheads down at the church of Abadoo would approve my business license if they so much as thought I was doin' somethin' shady? Please."
Harv shakes his head while trying not to laugh "For some 'actual business persons,' you two goons don't seem to have much common sense. Let me assures you--I run a clean operation here. Just ask my 'janitor', Lightfoot Raven."
Now all thems bozos, goons, mooks, jamokes, and jabronis can shut their yappers. I run a clean operation! So come on down to "Legitimate Business" and get your hands on some slightly used goods.
Whether it's Josef's terrible pun and dedication to Erastil, Lyric's chirpiness, Fizzle and the flying rabbit, DELPHIX GOSTAPHALAGUS (sp?) grappling anything that moves (anything), Mal who likes rocks, Harv Burgleton who comes from a long line of proud burgles, THUNDERLIPS! man of influence, Luscious Lucious, Natuska the puppet-maker...
Allows mes to correct you, bozo--I am a legitimate businessman.
