Log:Prattling Privateers?

Prattling Privateers?
Smelly watches and twisted slaves.
Participants Weaver Utridge ST:Vo	25 July, 2018 Weaver goes to the Wild Roses to look into a rumour about privateers.
Location The Wild Roses
With the recent warning regarding going into the Hedge fewer than the usual number of the Freehold have dared venture into the strange realm. But only the daring did venture there in the first place. The journey to the Wild Roses is always an intresting one, the path never the same yet often very familiar to those that go there often. A place ever shifting but always open for customers. This time around the journey did only include dodging the odd party of hobs which may or may not have been on the hunt for Lost, losing a hobgoblin when pasisng over a river of rocks until finally reaching the thorns of the wild roses. It's always a strange safety to be found in the presence of the rose coloured enforcers of the family, but safe it is. Atleast from such mere physical dangers. The Market is abuzz as ever even with the Freehold keeping itself largely away from it for now. Familiar faces call out, Wanda'a haggling with some poor soul, a hob with a pig's head trying to pawn some fruits while the desperate and degenerate slink into Rythe's dark corners. Shouts, screams, songs and stranger sounds still everywhere. The Market is as it has always been. It's not so surprise that one of the Moon Court might ignore warnings. It's almost expected. Weaver's march through the Hedge is as expected. He and a canine hedge beast remained upon the trod, but did so without more than the usual care for the usual dangers of the Hedge. When he reaches his destination of the Market he's quick to look around for any and every face he recognizes. Eventually, though, he begins his search asking any that he may if they can point him to Robin. It doesn't take long to find someone who knows who he is looking for, the gossip seems abuzz about the Robin and whoever it is they work for. Some claim it's a loyalist serving The Borrower, another says it's no loyalist at all but a represenatative for a group of refugees hobs that recently came into the area. There are a dozen besides this, many contradicting and some right fantastical. But eventually Weaver does manage to find a Rose Warden going by Reknar, his goblin features painted pink, wearing a pink suit with a wide brim pink hat on his head. They've done deals before, and who would know if not the wardens? When Weaver comes upon him Reknar's stood with a few of his colleagues giving a thorough beating to some poor creature who might've broken a rule. It's a quite public affair and has garnered a small crowd of bullies and those keen for violence. Reknar himself isn't taking part though, the other five are more than enough. "Gentlemen, gentlemen." Weaver announces himself, quickly flashing a smile full of sharp teeth. "What on earth could this," he leans to the side to look upon the assaulted party, wincing briefly before he stands back up straight, "gentleman have done wrong?" He lifts both hands, a common enough gesture of innocence as he continues. "Reknar, would this beaten and bruised thing happen to go by Robin?" Weaver's talking doesn't even seem to register for the wardens doing the beating although Reknar comes around quick enough. "Weaver." his tone a bit nasal and sharp "This 'ere? No. Some sorry soul who got too deep into things, started bad mouthin' the good Lady." he smiles, they always smile, very polite in his awful but dapper getup. "After Robin, eh?" crooked teeth in his own smile. "She's been following the rules, but is new so, who knows." He's not Robin? All of Weaver's care for him evaporates and he keeps his focus on Rankar. "It's good that she's following the rules if she's new. What we always need are folks that'll do right by the Market and our august Lady Day." He nods, gaze leaving the goblin to slowly scan the place. "Could you point me to her? I heard she has some interesting wares, and I'm just so damned curious!" "I could. But you got something to give for it?" Reknar's straight to the point on that and eyes Weaver as if appraising everything he's wearing or might have hidden away all at once. "You've been hearing the free stuff? Nonsense, most of it." his crooked smile never faltering. Weaver hums for a moment of thought, hands going behind his back as he looks upon Reknar with equal curiosity and judgement. "You're a purveyor of finer clothing, and I'm not different. I do have a tailor, and could especially gain something tailored to fit you alone. The finest silks of my world, and I guarantee that. Even in whatever shade of pink you wish it to be." He then pulls one hand from his back, and extends it in offering. "I give you my word that this'll be delivered to you by the week's end, and should I lie may the Wyrd strike me down." That crooked smile only grows wider at that. "Of course, Mister. I do accept your solemn vow." a moment given to pause, before he continues "A frock, rose pink." of course, it's all they wear. "With metal buttons." he nods before sucking on his large teeth and continues. Stepping away from the crowd, the beating seemingly over as the poor soul is being dragged away to be thrown out. "Robin, right. Came in about a week ago? She's one of you lot, all snake-like, talks right sweet. Sells slaves, but weird ones. They're like, half changed? Also parts, like body parts. Seems to take the usual for them, like the stuff you lot need." he scratches his large nose. "They got a hideyhole somewhere, right, up in the Steepscrabble I hear. But never seen her with others like you." "Metal buttons, hmm? You may beat my own fancy," Weaver jests as the transgressor is tossed out. "Slaves and body parts? A macabre taste, even by our standards. At least for that second one. I might even say-" He holds up a clawed finger in mild protest. "Steepscramble? Scrabble? Whatever? That's where the freehold has its own little castle. You mean to say she's in Fate's Harvest, or just near it? If you can answer that I'll throw in a silken kerchief to go with the suit and a pair of silver cufflinks." "Word is they're just doing the dirty work for someone else. Might be the Fae." Reknar shrugs, isn't any of his business. It's outside the market. "Near it, I'd think. You got your watchers, no? Just heard it was up the mountains. Could be wrong." sparse information for silk. "Oh and she's a few minutes that way and a left at the fruit stall." jerking his thumb in a direction. "Since you did ask for where." "I don't really know. Not in with the usual militia types, but I know we have something called Watchers." Weaver shrugs at that, but smiles nonetheless. "That does help, though. You will love the suit, Reknar, and thank you for the information. It's always a pleasure doing business." One last smile's given, and then he's off once more to find Robin. "Looking forward to next time! Might be a new hat." Reknar is all grins, all too pleased with the deal. Apparantely thinking he came out on top on that one. The market is bussling around him as he walks, roses and wardens, customers and merchants. At times someone takes to following him but it never lasts very long. He walks, he turns and eventually comes upon what must be Robin. Three cages made out of iron, just barely enough to house a person in them are set up behind a stall. One's empty and the other two have some malnourished strange creatures within, forced to stand by the construction of their prison. The merchant herself, Robin, is a Lost, a Beast by the looks of it with violet scales covering her body and yellow unblinking eyes. Clad in a dress vowen together with multicoloured vines, beautiful to look at, and at odds with her wares. Along the stall's table are a selection of limbs which look just a bit off. At closer inspection both the limbs and the caged slaves are .. changed, they look strangely human for a start. For this place. Not Lost by the looks of them, but parts of them seem to have started to change. One of them has an arm covered with strange calloused spikes pointing out, but hangs limp and purple as if the limb itself was dead. The other, the girl seems to have lost her eyes, but has strange antenna growing out of her skull with eyes on the ends. The severed limbs along the bench look less strange, just the limbs taken from Lost and hobs, maybe? It's clear Weaver wasn't 100% sure what to expect, but even he wasn't expecting this. His eyes widen at the menagerie of changed people, and then his gaze fall to the collection of limbs. "Well. That's a fucking thing," he mutters. "Robin," he calls out with a look for the marketeer. "You're losing out on a customer so I'd like some service right about, I don't know, now." Unblinking eyes find Weaver quickly when called out and Robin steps closer with a smile. "Am I?" her tone pleasant, very much so, a forked tongue seen briefly. She eyes Weaver appraisingly as she continues. "What can I do for you?" The caged poor souls barely move, one of them maybe flinching at the movements around them. Weaver nods, "But of course." A slow tug at his lips form a devilish smile for the Marketeer as he looks around. "I do have a few questions, first. I don't like shit merchandise, and there's always people willing to give you a raw deal. Even in a market as noble as this one. Astonishing, I know, but it's true." He clears his throat, and breathes a plume of smoke in the process. "What, pray tell, are these things?" "Well." Robin smiles, that forked tongue slipping for just a moment again. "Collector's items you see. You won't find much like it, untouched people who got lost in the hedge." she gestures with a hand to the two caged slaves. "I'm afraid it doesn't do much for them as workers, but some are intrested in the more unbelished and strange." then to the limbs "These are just from those that did not make it." her smile is sweet, even at such a grisly subject. " "Humans that get lost in the hedge, changed before appearing in or before arcadia?" Weaver mulls that over, and simply nods in acceptance. "I see. You must be quite the explorer, dear Robin, to come across these people, and wrangle them all up. Just how do you do it, hmm?" As the question comes he pulls out what looks like a normal enough pocket watch, but it carries the pungent stench of tuna. "And what of the ones that don't make it?" "Changed here." Robin reveals easily, still all sweet smiles. But it is short lived, soon turning into a grimace as she puts a hand over her face. "Jesus christ, what the fuck is that?" taking a step back away from him, looking sick. "No idea, but can tell me where it is you get them from. Or how. I'm just oh so curious!" Weaver smiles, all rainbows and kindness save his obvious predatory visage. He holds up the watch, flashing the time in her direction. "We only have so much daylight, and, well, I don't mean you any harm. I'll make it worth your while, too, dear Robin." "Fucking hell." Robin steps back again, wafting her other hand infront of her face. "Get that shit away from me." the smell is getting to her, clearly. "We just grab the people when we're told, fuck. These are just the ones they didn't wanna keep so we're trying to sell the shit." her grimace. "Get the fuck away." "I haven't laid a single hand on you, dear Robin, nor do I threaten any kinda violence." Weaver pouts, tilting his head to the side as he studies the beast. "Who's we, and why're you doing it? It's not like I can do any harm to you, and I'm always just me by myself - I pose as much a threat to you as these people do." His last is mentioned with a nod towards the caged slaves, and he starts swinging the pocket watch around to fan the funk further in Robin's direction. "You're just fucking disgusting, is what." Robin snerks, forked tongue slipping again. "It's just a job. And I don't have to do any business with you, so fuck off." and she seems resolute with that. Turning away from him, to flee into the "back" of her stall. Weaver shrugs in response. "A shame, then. I know someone who'd pay a life's ransom for each of those, but if you insist." As the smell soon fades he puts the pocket watch back into his jacket, and turns on his heel to continue looking around the market. Even if Robin had nothing more to say he might as well look around while he's here.