[M'try] M'try totally spies on the Istans.
RL Date: 2/6/10
IC Date: 12/18/21 --Played on Too during downtime. T'rev and Nenita are playing the NPCs, I think. (I should really start keeping better track of that.)
One of the larger islands off the coast of Ista. It sports the usual things, leafy tropical looking trees and plants as well as a fair amount of beach. It also has quite a few decent sized rocky coves, complete with dark mysterious caves.One of the larger islands off the coast of Ista. It sports the usual things, leafy tropical looking trees and plants as well as a fair amount of beach. It also has quite a few decent sized rocky coves, complete with dark mysterious caves.
Just one large ship waits by the island today, its come as close as it can without bottoming out and the men are unloading things one or two little boats at a time. The ship is clean, as in, no outward markings and the sails are currently drawn up with nothing exciting about them either. Farshon is manning (with the help of a few others, he is getting old, isn't he?) one of the smaller vessels heavily laden down with goods onto shore.
Without any identifying marks but his face, Chaes is making sure that his own little crew of people are doing what they need to be doing and going over the goods that need to be gone over before they have a chance of making it to the market. Taineth is no where in nearby sight and he hasn't been anymore than necessary but it's likely he's ready to be nearby if that's necessary, too. Fetch has been around but not with any of them precisely and without his telling breast plate.
M'try's a snoopy little bastard. Just in case that hadn't been made abundantly clear. As such, when his Spidey Senses start tingling, he doesn't generally lay off until things are duly exposed. (And, yes; considering his side-job, 'exposed' may not be the best term, but whatever.) Today, rather than kicking around his own Weyr, he's got Mohraith, uhmn, stretching his wings out Ista-ways, following the coastline of the big island for a ways, then oh-so-casually veering off toward a smaller isle here and there, finally spotting something like activity. Of course, it's a long damn hike from where Mohraith sets down to some place where the brownrider can hunker down and spy, and he's a sweaty wreck by the end of that hike, but oh well.
As has become some custom, L'hai hovers in step behind the other bronzerider, similarly unmarked and looking as inconspicuous as he can. It's a look he pulls off rather well without that knot, and the way he blinks drearily at the proceedings from behind a pair of glasses. They're sitting oddly low on his nose so that he can only look through the tops, but that hardly seems to matter. And if he happens to be standing about twice the distance from Ch'son than usual and without glancing in the other's direction, well, what does that matter, either. He still has propped in his palm a small journal - in fact, one a certain snoop should recognize - and he regards it occasionally as goods move.
Farshon's dingy full of goods comes into the shore and he hops off, with more grace than someone of his age should rightly be pulling off. The underlings that have come with him are ordered around expertly (move this here, what the hell are you doing with that, go back, shut up, you're a moron pick that up) before he breaks away and heads towards Ch'son and L'hai with a dirty little sack in his hands. He might be in good shape but his vision probably isn't terrific, so it's unlikely that even though he's facing the jungles behind the two men that he'll notice snoopy mcsnoopy right away.
Among the workers is 'Toothy' Lou, moving cargo and he eyes Farshon for a moment as the older man heads over to the riders. The riders are considered for a moment, the grimy-faced seaman's regard oddly impassive, then he bends to heft up the box he was maneuvering again. Across its side, a label proudly proclaims "Product of Boll". Yeah that'll need to go.
Doing his best to more or less ignore the other bronzerider's existence, Ch'son isn't really offering any looks back. In fact, he seems rather focused to the fore and even moreso when Farshon starts heading their way. He moves forward, further away from L'hai, with that easy grin of his across his face and he notes in a complimentary fashion, "Looks like y'all is doin' real good for yourselves."
That all suits L'hai, whose owlish staring goes from the ships being unloaded to that which already has been. There's a last chance look around them, to all that jungle and beyond, before his focus becomes fixed. For each box or item, there's a tight mark on the hide that will eventually turn into calculations. Till then, he just watches, counts, and raises a hand of protest at the spotted Boll markings. "Ah--!" But his part is silent, so his mouth snaps shut.
"Aye, you're right. Doin' really good business lately if you know what I mean." Farshon replies with a good humored look on his face. The grimey sack is hefted up and he tosses it towards the bronzerider. "That's your cut of the stuff we sold off last time. I have to say, Big Bay was more than receptive. Seems they got a knack for-" Whatever he was about to say is halted when his wandering eyes scope out 'Product of Boll'. "Hey! What's that you got, Toothy? Bring it here. Amateurs." The last is muttered around his breath while he shakes his head. "Who's that guy?" A dirty finger points to L'hai. "He takin' inventory or something?"
"Going to put that with the rest that need to be scrubbed, 'Toothy' says with a jerk of his chin that way and he too is eyeballing L'hai again. The box is hefted and put down next to a couple of others and Lou toes it with one foot. "Should get them to take that stuff off before they even drop it off," he says with a snort and ambles a little closer. Could be he's shadowing Farshon as 'backup' after all, no matter how nerdy he looks, L'hai is a new guy.
Good business is something that Chaes supports, of course, so he's still grinning. It means more money for them, after all! He catches the sack that's tossed toward him without a thought for its griminess. "Thank ya," he says, testing the weight and taking a moment to glance inside before closing it again and tossing it back in L'hai's general direction as he glances at the marked stuff. "Somethin' like that," Ch'son returns for the question. "Don't gotta worry none 'bout him."
If L'hai looks up over those glasses at them eyeing him it's only detectable for an instant before he keeps staring down at the hide in front of him like he hasn't the gumption to do much else. There's even a bit of weight shifting as he leans away from the 'businessmen', a sort of fumbling as he seems to lose his grip momentarily on his quill before steadying the hand again.
To Toothy, "Remind me to talk to the Cap about bringing some soap or somethin' on board for the next run. Don't like standin' around like this. Makes me nervous, you know what I mean?"
Farshon's eyes roll skyward as if he's worried about being watched from overhead before he flickers his attention back to Toothy and L'hai. His eyes narrow a bit when the marks are tossed towards the other man. "You gotta keep records?" His tone sounds a little suspicious as he focuses again on the smiling bronzerider. "You're welcome."
"Some of these got to burn off," Toothy says with a shrug. "Or have to pull it out and re-pack in a non-marked container." Lou eyes L'hai for a moment longer as the glasses-guy fumbles his quill. "Careful there son, don't want to mess up your records," he says evenly enough though it's possible he agrees with Farshon. They're keeping records? And he squints up at the sky for a moment. A blue firelizard flicks away from those clustered along the dinghy's edge and pops between with a green scolding after him, though the crewman she looks to, lifts a hand to soothe her and then pops a tidbit into her mouth to distract her.
There are times when it sucks to have a dragon with a big mouth, and then there are times like these, when Mohraith's blatant, open, loud friendliness seems to come in handy. His 'introduction' is sudden and unmistakable, like getting hit by a truck when stepping off the curb-- a truck that you didn't even see coming. << I HAVE A QUESTION! >> he informs Kolniveth (seeing as his rider and Ch'son haven't been introduced yet). Far from him, still hunkered down in the treeline, Pern's very own 007 cocks his head.
Watching Farshon and then Lou in turn, Ch'son decides to focus on the subject of marked goods rather than soap. "Re-packed," he states then glances briefly back toward L'hai without really actually looking at him. "More t'make sure that our records don't start gettin' suspicious lookin' than t'keep the records themselves, aye? Money don't just fall from the sky, do it?" Yes, he's very clever. Fetch is still around, probably rather thrilled with other firelizards despite not having his shiny breast plate to show off, but he's still not giving any particularly telling attention to Chaes or any of his men.
Although he may be apparently staring down, L'hai catches what's being said, most specifically what is directed right at him. Tapping the quill experimentally against the side of his journal to make extra goblets of ink fall off, he mutters aside, "Not records." Since everyone's throwing that around. And far, far away from all this, a truck comes barreling into a city. It will find that there is plenty of traffic to halt its progress; in fact, a roadblock ready to take that impact. The smell of such a collision rises up in smoke and rubber, bent metal. Kolniveth: << I don't give a shit. >>
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Fire, boxes, soap. Re-pack. Apples and oranges. Remind me not to forget, okay? I'm an old man, humor me." Farshon shoots back with an annoyed look to Toothy before folding his arms across his chest. The re-direction from Ch'son is met with a welcome expression and though he still glances towards the other man suspiciously, it's possible he's taking this explanation. "I 'spose so. Guess that makes sense. Wouldn't want to think you guys were cheatin' us or anything like the sort." Point.
<< GREAT! >> Mohraith, the undeterred. << I'm not asking you for a shit, so that's perfect. >> Smash-crash-screech goes the wreck, sparks and craziness and one boisterous personality somersaulting through the middle of it like this is just the best thing he ever encountered. << Who are these men? >> Images of Ch'son and Farshon as seen from afar, with M'try smart enough-- at that point-- to start his retreat back where he left his muscle (Mohraith), picking the pace a little on the way back since anyone smart enough could likely figure out where he was just based on how Mohraith envisions the scene.
"Sure thing, boss," Toothy says smoothly enough and looks up at the sky again. That blue reappears from Between and wings over to land on the man's shoulder, winds his tail around Lou's neck and is rewarded with a bit of meatroll for his troubles. "I'm sure there's no cheatin' goin' on." Which could just be indulgent agreement or could be ... a warning? At any rate, Toothy Lou turns back to the dinghy and does a little more triage such that there's eventually five boxes that need to be 'unlabeled' before they're ferried on for resale.
Ch'son will pretend to be oblivious to the needs for warnings, if that's what they are, since he's, well, probably not picking up on it anyway and, of course, completely on the up and up. "Pretty sure I like the way things are just as they is right now, man," Chaes reassure Farshon's comment on getting cheated.
There's a jerk of surprise from L'hai, who glances up sharply but then forces himself to look down again. Maybe it will just seem like his twitchiness as before. Scratching down a few more things, he casually strolls up towards Ch'son, though not next to. "You'll just need to check this..." He suggests, dipping the journal slightly forward to indicate what he means to the other rider. There's no coinciding pause from Kolniveth to parallel this, no, the city is always doing multiple tasks at once. That's progress. Except when it's muscling this boisterous personality out with loud horns and the stench of pollution covering its tracks. Middle of nothing. << Why don't you figure it out, yourself. >>
"That's right, boss it is." More muttering under his breath from Farshon. All the firelizards that are popping in and out are given a nasty look from the older man. "Fuckin' things." Yet another mutter. His attention is on the one that pops up by Toothy so he gets a nice good look at the jerk that overtakes the other man. L'hai is given a good long, hard stare before he turns to Ch'son to say, without any hint of worry, "He's a strange one, you got there. All them number crunchers act real weird." It's almost sounds like pity for Chaes having to put up with him.
<< Well, buddy, >> Mohraith begins like he's some paragon of reason and rationality. << If I could do that, I wouldn't be asking, now would I? >> But he's not going to let it keep him up nights, either, already retreating from the encounter like a drunk at two in the morning: you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. << That's okay. Maybe your Weyrwoman'll know. And, if not, maybe mine will. M'try'll find out one way or the other. >> With stumbling-drunk confidence to boot.
Toothy keeps himself busy with the unloading until there's nothing left in the dinghy. Then there's a call over: "All set boss." And whatever that firelizard was up to, well there's no immediate evidence for it.
Turning his head slightly toward L'hai's comment, Ch'son glances briefly at the journal then up more directly to the other bronzerider. To his credit, all he gives the other is a put upon scowl, a quick, "Okay, great," and his brows lift up as if to ask 'is that it?' Then his attention returns to the pair with a flicker of irritation that probably isn't feigned at all. "Good at what he does, least ways," Ch'son notes, totally accepting of that pity. He glances toward Toothy, then back to Farshon with a nod.
L'hai only watches his companion with an expectancy this side of bland, but an intensity in his eyes. This he dispels when he rolls them in exasperation at the things being said like he isn't /right there/. He drops back, though, slapping the book shut and tucking it into a front pocket. Now that he's with it, he seems to search around for something to stare at, instead. In reality-- for remaining firelizards. The city plugs along, not a pity penny spared for any hobos wandering off. << Whatever. It's his time to waste... >> And that's that. The towering sheen of metal is still there, but admission is closed.
IC Date: 12/18/21 --Played on Too during downtime. T'rev and Nenita are playing the NPCs, I think. (I should really start keeping better track of that.)
One of the larger islands off the coast of Ista. It sports the usual things, leafy tropical looking trees and plants as well as a fair amount of beach. It also has quite a few decent sized rocky coves, complete with dark mysterious caves.One of the larger islands off the coast of Ista. It sports the usual things, leafy tropical looking trees and plants as well as a fair amount of beach. It also has quite a few decent sized rocky coves, complete with dark mysterious caves.
Just one large ship waits by the island today, its come as close as it can without bottoming out and the men are unloading things one or two little boats at a time. The ship is clean, as in, no outward markings and the sails are currently drawn up with nothing exciting about them either. Farshon is manning (with the help of a few others, he is getting old, isn't he?) one of the smaller vessels heavily laden down with goods onto shore.
Without any identifying marks but his face, Chaes is making sure that his own little crew of people are doing what they need to be doing and going over the goods that need to be gone over before they have a chance of making it to the market. Taineth is no where in nearby sight and he hasn't been anymore than necessary but it's likely he's ready to be nearby if that's necessary, too. Fetch has been around but not with any of them precisely and without his telling breast plate.
M'try's a snoopy little bastard. Just in case that hadn't been made abundantly clear. As such, when his Spidey Senses start tingling, he doesn't generally lay off until things are duly exposed. (And, yes; considering his side-job, 'exposed' may not be the best term, but whatever.) Today, rather than kicking around his own Weyr, he's got Mohraith, uhmn, stretching his wings out Ista-ways, following the coastline of the big island for a ways, then oh-so-casually veering off toward a smaller isle here and there, finally spotting something like activity. Of course, it's a long damn hike from where Mohraith sets down to some place where the brownrider can hunker down and spy, and he's a sweaty wreck by the end of that hike, but oh well.
As has become some custom, L'hai hovers in step behind the other bronzerider, similarly unmarked and looking as inconspicuous as he can. It's a look he pulls off rather well without that knot, and the way he blinks drearily at the proceedings from behind a pair of glasses. They're sitting oddly low on his nose so that he can only look through the tops, but that hardly seems to matter. And if he happens to be standing about twice the distance from Ch'son than usual and without glancing in the other's direction, well, what does that matter, either. He still has propped in his palm a small journal - in fact, one a certain snoop should recognize - and he regards it occasionally as goods move.
Farshon's dingy full of goods comes into the shore and he hops off, with more grace than someone of his age should rightly be pulling off. The underlings that have come with him are ordered around expertly (move this here, what the hell are you doing with that, go back, shut up, you're a moron pick that up) before he breaks away and heads towards Ch'son and L'hai with a dirty little sack in his hands. He might be in good shape but his vision probably isn't terrific, so it's unlikely that even though he's facing the jungles behind the two men that he'll notice snoopy mcsnoopy right away.
Among the workers is 'Toothy' Lou, moving cargo and he eyes Farshon for a moment as the older man heads over to the riders. The riders are considered for a moment, the grimy-faced seaman's regard oddly impassive, then he bends to heft up the box he was maneuvering again. Across its side, a label proudly proclaims "Product of Boll". Yeah that'll need to go.
Doing his best to more or less ignore the other bronzerider's existence, Ch'son isn't really offering any looks back. In fact, he seems rather focused to the fore and even moreso when Farshon starts heading their way. He moves forward, further away from L'hai, with that easy grin of his across his face and he notes in a complimentary fashion, "Looks like y'all is doin' real good for yourselves."
That all suits L'hai, whose owlish staring goes from the ships being unloaded to that which already has been. There's a last chance look around them, to all that jungle and beyond, before his focus becomes fixed. For each box or item, there's a tight mark on the hide that will eventually turn into calculations. Till then, he just watches, counts, and raises a hand of protest at the spotted Boll markings. "Ah--!" But his part is silent, so his mouth snaps shut.
"Aye, you're right. Doin' really good business lately if you know what I mean." Farshon replies with a good humored look on his face. The grimey sack is hefted up and he tosses it towards the bronzerider. "That's your cut of the stuff we sold off last time. I have to say, Big Bay was more than receptive. Seems they got a knack for-" Whatever he was about to say is halted when his wandering eyes scope out 'Product of Boll'. "Hey! What's that you got, Toothy? Bring it here. Amateurs." The last is muttered around his breath while he shakes his head. "Who's that guy?" A dirty finger points to L'hai. "He takin' inventory or something?"
"Going to put that with the rest that need to be scrubbed, 'Toothy' says with a jerk of his chin that way and he too is eyeballing L'hai again. The box is hefted and put down next to a couple of others and Lou toes it with one foot. "Should get them to take that stuff off before they even drop it off," he says with a snort and ambles a little closer. Could be he's shadowing Farshon as 'backup' after all, no matter how nerdy he looks, L'hai is a new guy.
Good business is something that Chaes supports, of course, so he's still grinning. It means more money for them, after all! He catches the sack that's tossed toward him without a thought for its griminess. "Thank ya," he says, testing the weight and taking a moment to glance inside before closing it again and tossing it back in L'hai's general direction as he glances at the marked stuff. "Somethin' like that," Ch'son returns for the question. "Don't gotta worry none 'bout him."
If L'hai looks up over those glasses at them eyeing him it's only detectable for an instant before he keeps staring down at the hide in front of him like he hasn't the gumption to do much else. There's even a bit of weight shifting as he leans away from the 'businessmen', a sort of fumbling as he seems to lose his grip momentarily on his quill before steadying the hand again.
To Toothy, "Remind me to talk to the Cap about bringing some soap or somethin' on board for the next run. Don't like standin' around like this. Makes me nervous, you know what I mean?"
Farshon's eyes roll skyward as if he's worried about being watched from overhead before he flickers his attention back to Toothy and L'hai. His eyes narrow a bit when the marks are tossed towards the other man. "You gotta keep records?" His tone sounds a little suspicious as he focuses again on the smiling bronzerider. "You're welcome."
"Some of these got to burn off," Toothy says with a shrug. "Or have to pull it out and re-pack in a non-marked container." Lou eyes L'hai for a moment longer as the glasses-guy fumbles his quill. "Careful there son, don't want to mess up your records," he says evenly enough though it's possible he agrees with Farshon. They're keeping records? And he squints up at the sky for a moment. A blue firelizard flicks away from those clustered along the dinghy's edge and pops between with a green scolding after him, though the crewman she looks to, lifts a hand to soothe her and then pops a tidbit into her mouth to distract her.
There are times when it sucks to have a dragon with a big mouth, and then there are times like these, when Mohraith's blatant, open, loud friendliness seems to come in handy. His 'introduction' is sudden and unmistakable, like getting hit by a truck when stepping off the curb-- a truck that you didn't even see coming. << I HAVE A QUESTION! >> he informs Kolniveth (seeing as his rider and Ch'son haven't been introduced yet). Far from him, still hunkered down in the treeline, Pern's very own 007 cocks his head.
Watching Farshon and then Lou in turn, Ch'son decides to focus on the subject of marked goods rather than soap. "Re-packed," he states then glances briefly back toward L'hai without really actually looking at him. "More t'make sure that our records don't start gettin' suspicious lookin' than t'keep the records themselves, aye? Money don't just fall from the sky, do it?" Yes, he's very clever. Fetch is still around, probably rather thrilled with other firelizards despite not having his shiny breast plate to show off, but he's still not giving any particularly telling attention to Chaes or any of his men.
Although he may be apparently staring down, L'hai catches what's being said, most specifically what is directed right at him. Tapping the quill experimentally against the side of his journal to make extra goblets of ink fall off, he mutters aside, "Not records." Since everyone's throwing that around. And far, far away from all this, a truck comes barreling into a city. It will find that there is plenty of traffic to halt its progress; in fact, a roadblock ready to take that impact. The smell of such a collision rises up in smoke and rubber, bent metal. Kolniveth: << I don't give a shit. >>
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Fire, boxes, soap. Re-pack. Apples and oranges. Remind me not to forget, okay? I'm an old man, humor me." Farshon shoots back with an annoyed look to Toothy before folding his arms across his chest. The re-direction from Ch'son is met with a welcome expression and though he still glances towards the other man suspiciously, it's possible he's taking this explanation. "I 'spose so. Guess that makes sense. Wouldn't want to think you guys were cheatin' us or anything like the sort." Point.
<< GREAT! >> Mohraith, the undeterred. << I'm not asking you for a shit, so that's perfect. >> Smash-crash-screech goes the wreck, sparks and craziness and one boisterous personality somersaulting through the middle of it like this is just the best thing he ever encountered. << Who are these men? >> Images of Ch'son and Farshon as seen from afar, with M'try smart enough-- at that point-- to start his retreat back where he left his muscle (Mohraith), picking the pace a little on the way back since anyone smart enough could likely figure out where he was just based on how Mohraith envisions the scene.
"Sure thing, boss," Toothy says smoothly enough and looks up at the sky again. That blue reappears from Between and wings over to land on the man's shoulder, winds his tail around Lou's neck and is rewarded with a bit of meatroll for his troubles. "I'm sure there's no cheatin' goin' on." Which could just be indulgent agreement or could be ... a warning? At any rate, Toothy Lou turns back to the dinghy and does a little more triage such that there's eventually five boxes that need to be 'unlabeled' before they're ferried on for resale.
Ch'son will pretend to be oblivious to the needs for warnings, if that's what they are, since he's, well, probably not picking up on it anyway and, of course, completely on the up and up. "Pretty sure I like the way things are just as they is right now, man," Chaes reassure Farshon's comment on getting cheated.
There's a jerk of surprise from L'hai, who glances up sharply but then forces himself to look down again. Maybe it will just seem like his twitchiness as before. Scratching down a few more things, he casually strolls up towards Ch'son, though not next to. "You'll just need to check this..." He suggests, dipping the journal slightly forward to indicate what he means to the other rider. There's no coinciding pause from Kolniveth to parallel this, no, the city is always doing multiple tasks at once. That's progress. Except when it's muscling this boisterous personality out with loud horns and the stench of pollution covering its tracks. Middle of nothing. << Why don't you figure it out, yourself. >>
"That's right, boss it is." More muttering under his breath from Farshon. All the firelizards that are popping in and out are given a nasty look from the older man. "Fuckin' things." Yet another mutter. His attention is on the one that pops up by Toothy so he gets a nice good look at the jerk that overtakes the other man. L'hai is given a good long, hard stare before he turns to Ch'son to say, without any hint of worry, "He's a strange one, you got there. All them number crunchers act real weird." It's almost sounds like pity for Chaes having to put up with him.
<< Well, buddy, >> Mohraith begins like he's some paragon of reason and rationality. << If I could do that, I wouldn't be asking, now would I? >> But he's not going to let it keep him up nights, either, already retreating from the encounter like a drunk at two in the morning: you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. << That's okay. Maybe your Weyrwoman'll know. And, if not, maybe mine will. M'try'll find out one way or the other. >> With stumbling-drunk confidence to boot.
Toothy keeps himself busy with the unloading until there's nothing left in the dinghy. Then there's a call over: "All set boss." And whatever that firelizard was up to, well there's no immediate evidence for it.
Turning his head slightly toward L'hai's comment, Ch'son glances briefly at the journal then up more directly to the other bronzerider. To his credit, all he gives the other is a put upon scowl, a quick, "Okay, great," and his brows lift up as if to ask 'is that it?' Then his attention returns to the pair with a flicker of irritation that probably isn't feigned at all. "Good at what he does, least ways," Ch'son notes, totally accepting of that pity. He glances toward Toothy, then back to Farshon with a nod.
L'hai only watches his companion with an expectancy this side of bland, but an intensity in his eyes. This he dispels when he rolls them in exasperation at the things being said like he isn't /right there/. He drops back, though, slapping the book shut and tucking it into a front pocket. Now that he's with it, he seems to search around for something to stare at, instead. In reality-- for remaining firelizards. The city plugs along, not a pity penny spared for any hobos wandering off. << Whatever. It's his time to waste... >> And that's that. The towering sheen of metal is still there, but admission is closed.