Jai + Rhys // Secret Meetings
Who: Jai and Rhys
When: Night of August 18
Where: ~Secret Hideouts~
Ratings & Warnings: PG for an instance of improper language
In which Whispers are being Whispers.
Any gang who had any hopes of surviving past a year or two had several places to meet, hide, and discuss their exchanges. From the open, public plains of the Fox’n’Crown to the seedy, reeking underside of the city’s paltry sewage system, the Whispers had laid stake their claim on a plethora of locations to conduct their business. Some were known by all, others by a chosen few, and naturally everyone had their own personal hideouts to run to in times of dire need.
The secondary HQ was one of the second category, which Jai kept from all but a chosen few who had already proved themselves reliable on that level. Rhys was one of those chosen few, and it was for the youth that Jai now lay in wait. He waited in a room above an inn, not in the market square where most people assumed the Whispers’ strength coagulated, but in the whores’ district, deep in the heart of another man’s turf. There were few better places to remain hidden than under the enemy’s very nostrils. The room was a modest one that contained a table, a few chairs, and boasted a single window - but two doors, one of which lay as a trapdoor in the rear corner. It lead not to the floor below, but into an abandoned fireplace, long since bricked up by the innkeeper, and which led out into a passageway beneath the streets.
While he waited Jai limbered up his fingers by flipping coins and playing cards. Any and all conversation he held in private with Rhys was silent, the better for keeping secrets, the better for ensuring his grasp of the boy’s sign language remained constantly updated. He enjoyed the exchanges, liked sitting with the youngster and adapting the language to fit in and around the constant shift in coded signs that the gang had as a whole.
Today, though, was purely business.
Though his feet were as soundless as his voice, looking worthless was the better camouflage when it came to navigating such districts. Truthfully, Rhys had lingered in this one earlier that evening. Rhys would not be late. Rhys never dared to be late. Even so, he always found Jai waiting for him first when he slipped into their meeting places. Today was no different.
He nodded his greeting to Jai before setting a linen pouch on the table, tugging a draw string to let it slip open and reveal the chunks of fatty soap bars. Stowed with them was a small bottle of fragrance-- something simple and floral-- to cover what a good cleansing couldn't. Rhys pulled the bag shut before he took a seat across from Jai, gesturing with a quirked brow to mark it a question: What job? The sentences were always simple, struggling for grammar conventions that were a luxury of the spoken word.
There was always a stab of guilt when Rhys began a signaled conversation with Jai, but it faded quickly. Being able to speak with his hands was an immense relief that overpowered how he felt about having shared the technique. He figured Siegmund would have understood, but Rhys enjoyed the private language while it was theirs. Some of the words still were: words that would have been useless to one's boss.
Jai looked up as Rhys entered, nodded to him, and allowed a flicker of amusement to filter through his expression when he saw the soap. His fingers itched to collect the fragrance and sample it, but that was not the action of a male gang leader, and so he propped his traitorous fingers under his chin, a resting place. It was the other hand that replied.
I am absent for one two weeks. His fluency was far from perfect, the sentences strung together without the little intricacies that made their language flow. Between the numbers he added in a sideways slant of his palm. Maybe one, maybe two. Guard cunt too hot for me. He reached for a pitcher of ale, pouring them each a cup, and pushing one across to the boy on the other side of the table. Need messenger. You game?
Rhys' gaze slid toward the ale when it was passed his way, eyes lingering briefly to confirm the battle to come. The sips would be infrequent and small. The sun could rise before he'd finish. With any luck, it'd only look as if he was taking his time to enjoy a rarely indulged treat, not that there was an inexpensive way to poison him. Not being able to stomach hard drinks didn't seem like a desired quality in a gang member.
For now, the conversation was a good excuse to delay drinking, Rhys keeping his full attention on Jai. He returned with his own signals after a nod, remembering slow himself a notch to remain clear: I am game. Handle anything you need.
Jai remained oblivious to the hesitancy in Rhys' drinking methods, not confident enough with the subtle gestures to remain as observant as he otherwise might. A faint frown appeared on his forehead as he parsed the unfamiliar word Handle, but context enabled him to put it together. He nodded and took a strong swallow of ale.
Nobody to know where I be. Lips flap.
His own arrogance flapped too, if he was strictly honest. That, at least, Jai could control, manipulate, stir up whatever fervour he felt necessary to maintain the ebb and flow of thrill and motivation that made up his life. All report direct to you, you to me. A pair of sharp eyes rested on Rhys' to ensure the import of the responsibility - and the opportunity - that Jai was implying. If Rhys was savvy, this could be a step up.
Forgetting about his ale just got easier. Rhys' eyes widened he watched Jai's hands. His mind's eye replayed the gestures one more time, digging for alternatives. Maybe Jai had slipped somewhere, but there was too much context for Rhys to make himself believe that.
Opportunity was a timid creature in Rhys' list of priorities. Responsibility, however, was not. He straightened, somehow growing more attentive than he was. Rhys almost cracked a smile in good humour-- or nervousness-- as he made his next gesture, but the weight of the request reminded him not to. My lips never flap. You. Invisible to everyone.
The changes in Rhys' posture were stark, and Jai had to hold back an entirely inappropriate sort of smile. Being mute did not render one disadvantaged in this particular game, and it was good to see a little reliability rewarded.
Good, his fingers whispered. I am at Citadel. More detail later. No doubt he would be able to move Burrell to the Citadel without aid, and even Rhys was not to be privy to Jai's exact location through the coming weeks. A crossover point would be organised. Thank you for soap.
The gangster boss took another swallow of ale, and reached into his jerkin, pulling out a hefty pouch. He slid it silently across the table. Money. Half for expense, leftover you take. Big job. If Rhys were canny with the money, he would make a killing off it, but embezzling too much would teach him all too quickly what happened when the coffer ran dry. That all. Any news from front?
Those must have some wild details if Jai was staying at the Citadel, but Rhys knew he wouldn't be hearing the half of it and pushed curiosity from his mind. You are welcome. He hadn't been sure Jai was serious about the soap, half expecting to be taking it back himself.
There was a moment's hesitation before Rhys took the coins. He wouldn't look now, but he didn't have to. He could feel well enough how much he was slipping into his cloak. More than he'd ever held in his life. Rhys had heard-- and seen-- people come into new money and lose it enough times to be more afraid than excited. No. Don't be afraid. Jai knew what he was doing. And right now, Jai trusted Rhys with this. That meant Rhys could do this.
Understood. A simple, but solid signing. His posture didn't change, even as the subject of conversation slid on. It made him more confident. He'd need that. Trey fell in heist. The name Trey had been spelled out in a crude hand alphabet. Few people were elevated to their own personal signing. Bad leg. Healing. Up soon.
Man takes too many chances.
Jai rose to his feet, stretching kinks out of his lean frame. One hand scooped up the soap, dropped it to a chest at the side of the room. He returned with a pitcher of water, absently replacing it for Rhys' tankard of ale. His inattention had been noticed. Who is second when he is out?
Rhys winced, but reigned his expressions back in quickly. He'd let himself get too in the habit of displaying everything he felt clearly on his face. Less was more, he told himself as he took a sip of water. It was still a slow, careful drink, and he did not begin to sign again until he was certain none had drained into his lungs instead.
Micah. Not wanting to give the two any more trouble than they had gotten themselves, Rhys quickly added the follow up report. Investigated. No one heard. No one saw. Just a gang member who had hopefully learned his lesson by now.
A nod. Does he have enough to tithe? Trey would not qualify for too much leniency if he didn't, more's the pity. An injury through a choice, an idiotic mistake, and one that likely put others at risk - not something to be encouraged. No doubt one week could be slipped under the mat, but no more.
Rhys responded with a nod for Yes. No. Rather, he did now. Rhys has provided the rest of what remained. Just enough, barely, trusting Trey not to repeat the mistake. But as far as anyone else knew, everything was fine. And would be fine.
Aside from that incident and inconsequential arguments, Rhys couldn't think of anything worth mentioning. Quiet nights, he signed, eyes briefly unfocused until he remembered he would need them to listen.
He needn't have worried. Jai nodded again, and then took his gaze off Rhys entirely. The brief lack of contact meant his mind had turned to other things, the meeting coming to an end. I am in touch, he signed, then, taking the boy back into his sights. Wait for word. Keep up good work.
Rhys nodded firmly, and signed again. Understood. The weight of responsibility flickered back in his mind. Jai was not going to be disappointed, though. Rhys silently promised them both that.
When: Night of August 18
Where: ~Secret Hideouts~
Ratings & Warnings: PG for an instance of improper language
In which Whispers are being Whispers.
Any gang who had any hopes of surviving past a year or two had several places to meet, hide, and discuss their exchanges. From the open, public plains of the Fox’n’Crown to the seedy, reeking underside of the city’s paltry sewage system, the Whispers had laid stake their claim on a plethora of locations to conduct their business. Some were known by all, others by a chosen few, and naturally everyone had their own personal hideouts to run to in times of dire need.
The secondary HQ was one of the second category, which Jai kept from all but a chosen few who had already proved themselves reliable on that level. Rhys was one of those chosen few, and it was for the youth that Jai now lay in wait. He waited in a room above an inn, not in the market square where most people assumed the Whispers’ strength coagulated, but in the whores’ district, deep in the heart of another man’s turf. There were few better places to remain hidden than under the enemy’s very nostrils. The room was a modest one that contained a table, a few chairs, and boasted a single window - but two doors, one of which lay as a trapdoor in the rear corner. It lead not to the floor below, but into an abandoned fireplace, long since bricked up by the innkeeper, and which led out into a passageway beneath the streets.
While he waited Jai limbered up his fingers by flipping coins and playing cards. Any and all conversation he held in private with Rhys was silent, the better for keeping secrets, the better for ensuring his grasp of the boy’s sign language remained constantly updated. He enjoyed the exchanges, liked sitting with the youngster and adapting the language to fit in and around the constant shift in coded signs that the gang had as a whole.
Today, though, was purely business.
Though his feet were as soundless as his voice, looking worthless was the better camouflage when it came to navigating such districts. Truthfully, Rhys had lingered in this one earlier that evening. Rhys would not be late. Rhys never dared to be late. Even so, he always found Jai waiting for him first when he slipped into their meeting places. Today was no different.
He nodded his greeting to Jai before setting a linen pouch on the table, tugging a draw string to let it slip open and reveal the chunks of fatty soap bars. Stowed with them was a small bottle of fragrance-- something simple and floral-- to cover what a good cleansing couldn't. Rhys pulled the bag shut before he took a seat across from Jai, gesturing with a quirked brow to mark it a question: What job? The sentences were always simple, struggling for grammar conventions that were a luxury of the spoken word.
There was always a stab of guilt when Rhys began a signaled conversation with Jai, but it faded quickly. Being able to speak with his hands was an immense relief that overpowered how he felt about having shared the technique. He figured Siegmund would have understood, but Rhys enjoyed the private language while it was theirs. Some of the words still were: words that would have been useless to one's boss.
Jai looked up as Rhys entered, nodded to him, and allowed a flicker of amusement to filter through his expression when he saw the soap. His fingers itched to collect the fragrance and sample it, but that was not the action of a male gang leader, and so he propped his traitorous fingers under his chin, a resting place. It was the other hand that replied.
I am absent for one two weeks. His fluency was far from perfect, the sentences strung together without the little intricacies that made their language flow. Between the numbers he added in a sideways slant of his palm. Maybe one, maybe two. Guard cunt too hot for me. He reached for a pitcher of ale, pouring them each a cup, and pushing one across to the boy on the other side of the table. Need messenger. You game?
Rhys' gaze slid toward the ale when it was passed his way, eyes lingering briefly to confirm the battle to come. The sips would be infrequent and small. The sun could rise before he'd finish. With any luck, it'd only look as if he was taking his time to enjoy a rarely indulged treat, not that there was an inexpensive way to poison him. Not being able to stomach hard drinks didn't seem like a desired quality in a gang member.
For now, the conversation was a good excuse to delay drinking, Rhys keeping his full attention on Jai. He returned with his own signals after a nod, remembering slow himself a notch to remain clear: I am game. Handle anything you need.
Jai remained oblivious to the hesitancy in Rhys' drinking methods, not confident enough with the subtle gestures to remain as observant as he otherwise might. A faint frown appeared on his forehead as he parsed the unfamiliar word Handle, but context enabled him to put it together. He nodded and took a strong swallow of ale.
Nobody to know where I be. Lips flap.
His own arrogance flapped too, if he was strictly honest. That, at least, Jai could control, manipulate, stir up whatever fervour he felt necessary to maintain the ebb and flow of thrill and motivation that made up his life. All report direct to you, you to me. A pair of sharp eyes rested on Rhys' to ensure the import of the responsibility - and the opportunity - that Jai was implying. If Rhys was savvy, this could be a step up.
Forgetting about his ale just got easier. Rhys' eyes widened he watched Jai's hands. His mind's eye replayed the gestures one more time, digging for alternatives. Maybe Jai had slipped somewhere, but there was too much context for Rhys to make himself believe that.
Opportunity was a timid creature in Rhys' list of priorities. Responsibility, however, was not. He straightened, somehow growing more attentive than he was. Rhys almost cracked a smile in good humour-- or nervousness-- as he made his next gesture, but the weight of the request reminded him not to. My lips never flap. You. Invisible to everyone.
The changes in Rhys' posture were stark, and Jai had to hold back an entirely inappropriate sort of smile. Being mute did not render one disadvantaged in this particular game, and it was good to see a little reliability rewarded.
Good, his fingers whispered. I am at Citadel. More detail later. No doubt he would be able to move Burrell to the Citadel without aid, and even Rhys was not to be privy to Jai's exact location through the coming weeks. A crossover point would be organised. Thank you for soap.
The gangster boss took another swallow of ale, and reached into his jerkin, pulling out a hefty pouch. He slid it silently across the table. Money. Half for expense, leftover you take. Big job. If Rhys were canny with the money, he would make a killing off it, but embezzling too much would teach him all too quickly what happened when the coffer ran dry. That all. Any news from front?
Those must have some wild details if Jai was staying at the Citadel, but Rhys knew he wouldn't be hearing the half of it and pushed curiosity from his mind. You are welcome. He hadn't been sure Jai was serious about the soap, half expecting to be taking it back himself.
There was a moment's hesitation before Rhys took the coins. He wouldn't look now, but he didn't have to. He could feel well enough how much he was slipping into his cloak. More than he'd ever held in his life. Rhys had heard-- and seen-- people come into new money and lose it enough times to be more afraid than excited. No. Don't be afraid. Jai knew what he was doing. And right now, Jai trusted Rhys with this. That meant Rhys could do this.
Understood. A simple, but solid signing. His posture didn't change, even as the subject of conversation slid on. It made him more confident. He'd need that. Trey fell in heist. The name Trey had been spelled out in a crude hand alphabet. Few people were elevated to their own personal signing. Bad leg. Healing. Up soon.
Man takes too many chances.
Jai rose to his feet, stretching kinks out of his lean frame. One hand scooped up the soap, dropped it to a chest at the side of the room. He returned with a pitcher of water, absently replacing it for Rhys' tankard of ale. His inattention had been noticed. Who is second when he is out?
Rhys winced, but reigned his expressions back in quickly. He'd let himself get too in the habit of displaying everything he felt clearly on his face. Less was more, he told himself as he took a sip of water. It was still a slow, careful drink, and he did not begin to sign again until he was certain none had drained into his lungs instead.
Micah. Not wanting to give the two any more trouble than they had gotten themselves, Rhys quickly added the follow up report. Investigated. No one heard. No one saw. Just a gang member who had hopefully learned his lesson by now.
A nod. Does he have enough to tithe? Trey would not qualify for too much leniency if he didn't, more's the pity. An injury through a choice, an idiotic mistake, and one that likely put others at risk - not something to be encouraged. No doubt one week could be slipped under the mat, but no more.
Rhys responded with a nod for Yes. No. Rather, he did now. Rhys has provided the rest of what remained. Just enough, barely, trusting Trey not to repeat the mistake. But as far as anyone else knew, everything was fine. And would be fine.
Aside from that incident and inconsequential arguments, Rhys couldn't think of anything worth mentioning. Quiet nights, he signed, eyes briefly unfocused until he remembered he would need them to listen.
He needn't have worried. Jai nodded again, and then took his gaze off Rhys entirely. The brief lack of contact meant his mind had turned to other things, the meeting coming to an end. I am in touch, he signed, then, taking the boy back into his sights. Wait for word. Keep up good work.
Rhys nodded firmly, and signed again. Understood. The weight of responsibility flickered back in his mind. Jai was not going to be disappointed, though. Rhys silently promised them both that.