2017-03-31: She Can't Help But Play With Fire
- Log: She Can't Help But Play With Fire
- Cast:Morgan Newkirk, Cassidy Cain
- Where: Gentleman's Aisle, Adlehyde
- Date: March 31, 2017
- Summary: Someone is stealing from a longtime patron of Adlehyde's Adventurers Guild, and Morgan Newkirk has determined four suspects. In order to ferret out the culprit, he enlists the (initially unwilling) help of master thief and con artist Cassidy Cain. In the backdrop of a high stakes game of Generals, Cassidy is left juggling one game while attempting to execute another....and of course, it ends with people getting swindled, robbed, and getting set on fire, including herself.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
The Aisle is a handout for many people. Good ones. Bad ones. Fat ones. Thin ones. Mostly though cnoniving ones. Which means that when in town, the German Shepherd isn't the only genuine Beastman in attendance. The ears mark Morgan Newkirk as one, and they are damn hard to disguise. Not that he ever would disguise them. He's quite proud of them. And the tail. The fact that is draws no end of looks doesn't seem to bother him in the least.
Begin recongniseable never bothered him.
Well. Until he needs to be the opposite.
Tonight though that doesn't seem to be the case. As the man seem to be holding court. Seated around a table with a half-dozen people in the corner of the gameing room the man seems to be playing some game of chance.
Involving tiny paper figures.
And miniture flamethrowers.
Somewhat like chess, except when a piece gets taken it gets set on fire. Much to the amusement of the crowd.
Chair tilted back, wide grin on his face the man seems to be smirking slightly to himself as he glances around the table. The men there? Some nobles. Some criminals. Some smugglers...a bit of inbetween. Most of them concentrating more on the game or on the ladies in the room than on the fox himself.
Thats their mistake.
"Rufus!" One of the men, a shaggy redhead mountain of a man. "We still on for tonight?" He asks, seemlingly too far into his cups to watch his words. "Just one more load and we should be done, right?"
"Right-o, Morg." Rufus' words as the slow and careful picking of a man who is pretending not to be too drunk. "Should make a tidy turn for it too!"
Now Morgan should know better than to talk business at a time like this. Shouldn't he? Of course he should. Which is why this is mostly a plan. A quickly put together plan, to find out just who might be helping themselves to some of his friend's shipping concerns. However for a plan like this? Its best to go for a partner. Which is why he asked his 'sister' to meet him here.
...and why he promised Cassidy Cain (the sister in question) a 50/50 split of the profits.
...or was it 60/40.
...they'll likly have to renegotioate all this eventually.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
This is not the first time Morgan Newkirk has attempted to secure her services before they could negotiate properly.
There are many sorts in their line of work; loyal ones, disloyal ones, the ones who stick to their guns and the ones who fold quickly. There are those who keep a tight-knit circle among them, at the exclusion of others, choosing only to work with people who have paid their dues and who have become known entities to the rest. Cassidy and Morgan do /not/ have such an arrangement between them; there are occasions in which they were comrades in one job, and outright rivals the next, but despite the on-and-off nature of their working connections, they still manage to be mostly friendly. It is, after all, just business and nothing personal.
When Morgan's 'sister' arrives, she is a lithe, golden-haired, green-eyed figure, dressed in worn leathers and blessed with a smile that shears the air like a blade, cutting and sharp. She slips through the scattered tables of the gambling den with a long-legged stride and a subtle, confident, feminine swagger that leaves every step pinging with the tinny ring of tarnished spurs attached to her boots. A surprisingly elegant set of fingers curl over the back of a chair, pushing it back before she settles upon it, sliding next to Morgan. Perfectly timed. Right on cue.
She looks /nothing/ like the fox man.
Before Rufus could open his mouth, as if anticipating the question, she slings an arm around Morgan's shoulders and turns up the glare on that brilliant megawatt smile. "I hope you've been taking verra good care of my wee brother here, luv," she says. "Years, y'ken. I begged my mum and da for a /bloody puppy/ for /years/, and this is what they get me." She effortlessly slips in the implication of a wayward adoption. "Eats everything. And I mean /everything/. He once tried tae eat a bicycle, y'ken, and it caused him no end of doctor's visits and every time I try tae tell him tae stop, he says nae, and keeps saying he likes the oily parts the best. And I dinnae even want tae /start/ on trying tae housebreak him. We tried everything from letting him out at night tae folded newspapers on the kitchen floor. You'd think he'd learn but /nae/. There he is, arse hung low, scraping his bottom across and leaving skid marks everywhere. Tae this day I still dinnae know if he's at all familiar with the glorious functionality of a roll of toilet paper."
She sighs dramatically.
"But beggars cannae be choosers, ay? He's my bloody brother now. Besides..."
Her fingers move to cup underneath Morgan's jaw, and if she manages it, she squeezes lightly, to make his lips pucker and his cheeks puff out. "Who could /ever resist this face/?"
Oh, yes. She is willing. She is able.
But that doesn't mean she won't make Morgan Newkirk /pay/ for this, in her own way.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan's eyebrow twitches just every so slightly as Cassidy launches once more into one of her stories. He really has to remember for things like this to be more specific. Much more speicifc. In fact he should just stop doing things like this...
...but where would the fun be in that.
"Its a mystery for the ages." He drawls out just before he gets his face squished. Jerking away with a motion that nearly causes him to overbalance in his chair and tumble backwards the Fox saves himself at the last moment, catching one foot against a tableleg to prevent himself from ending up on his back.
"You see what I have to put up with? But like she says beggers can't be choosers, and family makes good business partners. At least you know where most of them sleep." He says with a smirk towards her. "Do you want to wake up bald again? I know a half-dozen people who might pay to see that."
A grin at that before he looks towards the flabergasted face of Rufus who is still trying to wrap his mind around Morgan draggin' ass round a kitchen floor.
"I didn't know you had a sister, Morg?" One of the other gentlemen cut in.
"Well you see why I don't trot her out very often!" Morgan replies as he turns to give Cassidy a well deserved poke in the ribs. "She knows all the embarassing stories."
THAT SHE JUST MAKES UP.
"Anyway gentlemen, I'll have to talk to her for a bit. You...enjoy setting things on fire!" He adds with a laugh as he raises up from the game, watching at Rufus eyes them and starts to stand himself.
Leaning close to Cassidy the Guildsman smirks slightly as he drops his voice. "I forgot what it means to get you on a job. Rufus is never going to let me live this down." He drawls. "No one is ever going to even question that I have a sister after that damn story." A longer pause. "But I'm never going to live it down. Even if you know I wouldn't drag ass along the ground!" A beatpause. "It would get my tail dirty and thats just disgusting."
A smirk again towards her before he nods his head towards the table. "Four people, one of them is snagging a friend of mine's goods. Dunno which one yet, but...I narrowed it down to those four. The heriess, the black marketeer, the war profiteer, and the thief."
The Heiress, a rich lady sitting on one end of the table with a black look angled towards Cassidy. The Black Marketeer, a sharp faced man with a oily dark hair concentrating on the pieces. The war profiteer, a beastman judging from his overly sharp teath with a shaved head and a massive tankared in one hand. And last the Thief, a rat-faced man with sharp and darting eyes who never seems to let his gaze rest at once point for too long.
"The baits out, but now we just have to wait to see who takes it."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Bald, eh?
It's like he hasn't learned.
Without batting a lash, or even addressing the comment, she turns her attention to the innocent bystander. "Of course he doesnae," Cassidy tells the gentleman lightly, her smile ever-present. "He's a wee bit co-dependent, my baby brother. He has this idea in his head that I'll somehow find a wonderful man tae marry every time I venture out intae the sun, and he will nae abide by such nonsense. He doesnae think anyone /deserves/ me, and I cannae say that I blame him. So sweet and protective, he is. Nevermind that /he's/ the one who's gotten married a dozen times before. Men, women...chickens. Goats. I mean, if /he/ doesnae have tae be picky, why cannae I? There's simply no justice!"
Not surprising that Morgan /immediately/ asks to be excused from the table, and take his sister with him. She gives him another bright grin, long fingers wiggling faintly in a goodbye to Rufus before pivoting and falling in an easy step next to the fox man. Those fingers bring a pack of cigarettes to the light; for all of Cassidy's particular preferences in how to filch whatever she desires, her sleight-of-hand remains a thing of subtle beauty. Lips tug a slender stick out and away from its cousins, her silver lighter moving to burn into the end.
"You know, denial is the first step in acknowledging that you have a problem," she tells Morgan, glade-green eyes brimming with mischief. "You should talk tae Blackhand about that, luv. Honesty is important in a marriage, y'ken."
Banter aside, she rolls her head sideways, to angle towards the cluster of four in one of the tables. "So the game's started without me, ay?" she murmurs. It's a different challenge; normally /she/ is the one who takes, not the person who unmasks the taker. But suddenly, the reasons why he asked for /her/, specifically, to help with this is suddenly much more clear.
"So how are the goods being snatched?" A slender brow inches higher. "Or you dinnae know that either?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"He's MARRIED?!" The Heiress' voice raises to a near shriek as Cass delivers more of a story. The little flame weapon in her hand vibrating with the force of her grip. The woman staring daggers at both of them as Morgan makes his escape.
"Not officially! Unless you were made a bloody priest when I wasn't looking. And the goat was YOUR fault! Double besides! You should settle down! Someone should make an honest woman out of you! ...wait no, pretty sure thats impossible." Comes Morgan's return shot as they make their way out of voice range. His back turned to the table so Cassidy can get a good look at the table.
"Those are my cigarettes arn't they?" The first words out of Morgan's mouth as she lights up, a smirk on his face. He knows the answer. "I'm still trying to dodge his goons that want to know why their boss is so mopey! Thinking that if they bring back his true love he'll perk up again. The things you put me through, Cassidy Cain..."
A smirk at that before he nods once to the question.
"Oh yes, the game's been going for a bit now. They are getting snatched en-route. Quietly. The boxes just dissipear. I've tried hiding the boxes among other shipments. I've tried running different routes and different backers, but someone has their ear turned pretty hard to stopping all this. Its mostly foodstuffs and medical supplies, but wartime...thats profit..."
A smirk at that. Its always about profit.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
'He's MARRIED?' shrieks the woman in pearls.
Uh oh.
Before Cassidy can make things worse, as per her usual wont, she's taken to the side and given a briefing of sorts to what the game is truly about, but while the Fox man describes the problem, she's already quietly assessing the individuals at the table. The woman, first, a blithe smile teasing over languid lips, as if she were smiling instead of glaring at them with the kind of fury that could flay lesser mortals alive from where they stand. That virid stare falls on the next one, the thief, brow inching higher up the longer her examination goes. The Black Marketeer, next, then the War Profiteer.
She'll have to get their names later, but with the present objective, that isn't really necessary.
The quip about the pack of cigarettes has the blonde returning her attention to Morgan, shaking her head. "What, you mean these?" She tosses him his own pack of smokes. "Nae, these aren't your cigarettes." She wiggles the pack that remains in her grip, nodding to the set that she just tossed to him. "Those are. Wouldnae want tae be /too/ predictable now, ay?" Lifted from around the time she threw her arm around his shoulders and pinched his cheeks, all the while regaling the rest of the table embarrassing childhood stories about her wee baby brother. "So what's your friend's name, the one whose goods are being targetted?"
There's another pensive glance at the table of players.
"Mmm," she murmurs at the last, taking a slow, contemplative drag of her cigarette. "Well, we'll nae find anything out standing around here. Just so we're clear, luv, this is nae for free." She pokes him at the side. "So expect a /verra/ pricey invoice when this is all over. Unless..." Her eyes glitter. "You want tae settle for an I.O.U."
In a way, it's a more dangerous prospect, but she was always one to gamble and after years of dealing with Morgan, she knows he is the same. That, and considering his current ambitions for the Guildmaster seat in Adlehyde...
But the game is afoot and she feels the call of it, the way her heartbeat rachets up just a little bit faster, the electric tingle thrumming from the tips of her fingers and setting her blood on fire. She is accustomed to being the chased, never the hunter; there is something novel in this sudden switch of roles and she is quick to submerge herself in this rarest of experiences. Twisting on her heel, she moves, to interject herself back into the table.
"You've got room for one more, dinnae you, Rufus?" she wonders, a smile turned to the rest of the group. "Morgan extends his /heartfelt/ apologies for having tae cut his game short due tae the press of business, but I'm hoping tae be an adequate stand-in for him. Go easy on me, luvs, I'm a right beginner tae this one."
She reaches for the ashtray; she's not a /savage/. Her earlier mischief returns. "Morgan also says that drinks are on him," she continues. "In case his apology and my presence are nae enough."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
With careless agility Morgan snatches the pack in two fingers, a smirk on his lips again. "Cass, if there is one thing that you will never be. Its predictable." A pause. "Housebroken? Really?" A longer pause. "Is /this/ how my little siblings felt?" He adds with a shake of his head before he draws a deep breath.
THe subject of payment comes up as it always does and a smirk works its way across his features. Reaching back to the table he snags his drink. "I'm going to need to be medicated before I talk about this." He mutters as he glances out of the side of his eyes towards her. He already had made up his mind though, and he knew he already had her hooked on the chase.
Something different. The hound and not the prey. Just a little nudge in one direction. He /might/ get her to agree to join the Guild yet.
Hope springs eternal.
"Put it on my tab," He finally mutters towards her. The I.O.U. The gamble. The dangerous non-specific that could get them both in trouble.
But was sure to never. Ever. Be boring.
"Hank," This with a nod towards the Thief. "Matilda." The Heiress. "Cutter." The Profiteer. "And Terr." The Black Marketeer. A quick introduction for her ears only before he draws a deep breath. "Delvin, would be who is loosing the shipments. And I'm not sure if its him, or me thats the target." He adds after a moment.
He smirks though as she passes him. "No rest for the wicked, and business never sleeps. I'll be back as soon as I can. But first...since she managed to embarass me worse than I embarassed her...she wins."
And he sets a little case on the table next to her. A pair of sparkling saphire earrings sit inside. Diamond cut and sliver fittings.
"Communicators, I'd like them back." He adds with a smirk towards her as he lowers his head and drops his voice for her ears only. "But call if you need me."
But of course then she's saying that drinks are on him, and everyone is ordering another round. "Dear god woman, leave me with some kind of profit!" He says as he shakes his head.
The table eyes Cass with gazes that range from openly hostile, from the Heriess. To openly curious from the Black Marketeer.
Its Cutter though that makes the first growling comment. Low and slow, the gravely voice of a methodical man. "If'n you know the rules, yer money is as good as his. Just watch the eyebrows if yer a first timer."
The Heiress just snorts.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
On his tab, then. Cassidy gives him a sidelong glance, with those almost-feline, lidded eyes, and while she says nothing else regarding what he owes her, the expression is clear on that eloquent visage: one day, she /intends/ to collect.
With the case handed, she opens it deftly with a flick of her thumb, and stares disbelievingly at the diamond-cut sapphire earrings resting on dark velvet, and while she is most certainly /not/ immune to the allure of beautiful, expensive jewelry, the idea of wearing such finery with her current outfit earns Morgan a flat look. "One," she says, plucking one of the earrings out of the case, and stows the other one with the case in the pocket of her jacket. "If I wear this fine bauble with the rest of my dusty-arsed clothing, I might as well put a spotlight tae the damned thing, y'ken? Especially tae the lass with the pearls. Second of all, what makes you think this is my style?"
Then again this is probably /why/ he asked for her help specifically in the first place. She sighs, a small smile curling up on her lips. She reaches out with a hand, to pat Morgan's cheek.
"Ach, luv. You're lucky I like you enough."
Fitting the earring into her left lobe, she hides it the best she can by gathering the rest of her hair over one shoulder well before she joins the table and takes in the faces she will have to deal with during the game. The quick introductions were helpful, but with her pieces set, she leans back against the chair and taps the growing buildup of ash off her cigarette and into the ashtray.
"I like your pearls, lass," she tells Matilda casually, angling her head towards her, because of /course/ she goes after the openly hostile one, first. "Not really all that accessible in land, ay? Usually they get snatched up by the wealthy sods in the coastal towns well before they even get tae the dustbowl parts of Ignas. Someone in the Guild must really like you." There's a faint smile, and a slight perk of eyebrows upwards.
"Dinnae let the dress fool you, though. I know sommat about the business, you can say it's an expertise. And I know better than tae travel looking like I'm shipping valuables every day." She lets out a small laugh. "I think I'd be dead a hundred times over, if people knew."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"I'm pretty sure you'll figure something out," Morgan replies with a smirk. "I have faith in ya," The smirk transforms into a grin. "And besides, I'm pretty sure that is just about exactly your style. Beautiful, dangerous, and entirely more than a person expects. Besides..." His smile turns razor sharp and mischivious. "...its not like it'll make ya a target or anything." He adds with a wink before he slowly raises a hand in a backwards wave and passing out of view.
A quiet voice sounds in her ear a few moments later. "You can just whisper and I'll hear." Comes Morgan's voice. "Just in case, not that I think you'll need me."
A pause.
"Just point me at a room if I need to take a closer look at anyone's things."
The woman she addresses raises a hand to her pearls as if to make sure they are still there. "Yes, a rare find. For a rare person." Matilda replies in a hauty tone of voice, her head angles up just slightly at Cassidy. Eyes fix on the earring and narrow. Hostility still there, but it seems she decides to channel it into the game. Going after Cass's little pieces on the board with singleminded agression.
Its hard to tell who its directed at.
Maybe she just doesn't like competation.
But...she does like to talk about herself. That much is true. "My connections with the Guild and various trade concerns are quite grand. Not that most people would understand such things."
The thief, Hank. He eyes the pearls with intrest, professional intrest. But he doesn't make a move on it. Instead he just chuckles. "Hiding in plain sight, best way to work that angle." He adds with a nod.
Cutter frowns slightly. "You in tha' transport or trade business?" He growls towards her. "Its gettin' crowded round here with the damn blockade." Obvious doesn't like transportati
"Don't be so rude, Cutter." Terr cuts in, his voice oily as his features. "I'm sure the lady isn't going to be setting up shop. But if she was..." His eyes seem to slide past Cassidy's features and to the subtle curves hidden under her dusty getup. "...well I'd be happy to work out some kind of deal. I'm sure we could come to an arrangement..."
Cutter just grunts, and Matilda just rolls her eyes.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"Ay, rare, indeed," Cassidy says with a laugh; if she tastes the hostility from the woman across from her, she doesn't show it, and for the time being, she moves to sacrifice some of her pieces on the board, one here, one there, each get torched by the haughty, pearls-wearing heiress even as she moves the rest, fumbling slightly on the positioning of some of them. "Dinnae I say tae take it easy on me lass, you're killing me, here."
Morgan's transmission fills her ears, but for the most part, she ignores it and lets her eyes wander among the other players. Hank barely gets a glance, but Cutter and Terr do attract her attention next. At the mention of the blockade, she exhales. "Well, what do you expect? Nasty business, all of that. It doesnae help that there's highwaymen and the like tae contend with on top of patrols. But business is as business does, humble merchants like me will simply just have tae adapt in the growing challenges of the environment. I'm sure you can all relate, ay?"
Gold-green eyes lower at her pieces, dropping her voice in a murmur, words slipping out in an absent, almost contemplative fashion. "Besides, I've nae failed a client, yet. Somehow I have a knack getting things tae where they need tae be. Tricks I learned from a Baskar guide I met a few years ago, worked the Badlands for most of his life, and if you can get around there with your skin and goods intact, you can get around almost everywhere." She furrows her brows, an overt show of hard thought, before deciding to pluck one of her more important pieces and set it to the back of her line....a direct target to Hank's cavalry, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"Probably why Delvin practically begged me tae come see him and hear him out." She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "Poor sod, wonder what that's about. He must be really desperate tae get this latest thing out and through."
At Terr's oily invitation, she leans back on her seat and gives him a long, considering look. There's a slight dip of her gold-green eyes, sliding down the front of his shirt, with a stare weighty enough to be a near-tangible caress. They linger at his belt buckle, the barest hint of her front teeth clipping faintly into the fuller curve of her bottom lip...but the stare isn't overlong, before they slide right back up to the Black Marketeer's face, smiling faintly.
"I'm nae one tae dismiss the prospect of business when so graciously offered," she tells Terr. "This is hardly the place tae hammer out any lasting terms, though. Where are you rooming, luv?" Her lashes lower, gold motes glittering over fields of deep green, voice growing soft and unrepentantly suggestive. "Maybe I'll stop by after the game."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Transport instead of selling then," Cutter's gravely voice mutters as he shifts back. His pieces in a more consivertive defense over his main castle on the board. His offences are quick thrusts before retreating. A reacting player instead of active. Waiting for the others on the board to exaust themselves before acting.
Hank is a more fluid battler. His pieces shifting with the field, a man of quick oppurtunity. Which is why he moves his cavalry to attack, running rampant though Cass' abused line. His little flamethrower flicking in his hand in anticipiation of a easy kill and easy money.
Matilda continues her offensive, spending her peices like candy. Heedless of losses or profit in her assault, but also heedless of her losses or her vulnerability.
Terr is more cautious, his pieces moving like serpents. Snipping at edges before going in for the kill.
However its not until she mentions Delvin and her prostegious skill that Terr and Matilda both seem distracted. The former making a poor move, and the latter nearly torching one of her own pieces as her hand shakes with suprise.
Hank just stolidly moves his pieces, a quirked eyebrow. "Devlin? Heard he's had a turn of bad luck, poor bastard. Wasn't Morg helping him?" A smirk. "You better keep your money if you think he'll make you any profit."
Cutter just shrugs slightly. "Bad business is bad business, maybe he didn't pay off those highway men that you..." A nod towards Cassidy. "...mentioned. Or..." A smirk. "...he needs to talk to your Baskar scout." A pause. "He got a name? Always on the look out fer talent."
Terr recovers quickly enough to his credit. She might not have caught anything if she hadn't been looking. Finishing his move and about to say something entirely different when Cass turns her sharp gaze at him. That look on her face brings an unhealthy light to his eyes before he gives her a smirk. "The Long Swan, room six. Its one of the better hotels in the town. Very comfortable beds."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"It's a niche business but especially with the blockades and whatnot, it's getting mighty lucrative," Cassidy tells Cutter, flashing him an overtly appreciative smile; the very look of a woman who can find many commonalities with a man who knows how to accurately assess risk, like anyone with a specific head for the economy. "Less overhead, and you dinnae have tae worry about insurance either, if you're clever enough tae foist it on the actual owners of the goods."
She keeps making those foolish newbie mistakes; Hank decimates her small squad, and Matilda attacks her flank. She makes the conservative moves expected from a woman who hardly knows what she's doing, as a beginner of the game - just enough, to give one the impression that she is familiar with the rules, but has had hardly enough practice to be a true threat on the board. Despite the token gestures of attack and defense, she keeps her attempts to hand them easy, distracting victories subtle.
Games of skill such as these remind her of home, back in the years when she had been inured to this way of thinking, and while she is certainly not arrogant enough to think all too highly of how she performs in these, /faking/ losses is a skill that she has practiced many times, if not just to observe how the board peels back the layers of the others engaged in the game. Who is aggressive, who is passive, who is invested and who isn't - who cares more about the money, and who cares more about the brag.
It is an early lesson, and one that she has always taken to heart: the Win, the opening, that precious, vulnerable space on the side of one's neck, ripe for the bleeding when cut with the right stroke, is a temptation not many know how to resist.
The stuttering from Matilda and Terr, after that timely deliverance of Delvin's name while everyone is chasing after the small pockets of victory she offers them on her side of the board, catches that sharp, emerald-gold stare.
"I dinnae know about that now," she tells Hank. "I'm trying tae tell him tae recoup his losses and pull back, but my wee baby brother is the loyal sort and he always sees contracts through. I wouldnae have come here, y'ken, if he dinnae bat his eyes at me and asked me tae help. Like I said, hardly anyone can resist that face. Still, Delvin's holding ontae /some/ luck. Whatever he's got's probably huge, otherwise he wouldnae be making doubly sure that this next shipment is secure. But God only knows what that is. I've nae talked tae him yet. I'll find out soon enough."
To Cutter, she rolls her head back, expressive face turned towards recollection. "Barrett," she tells him with a snap of her fingers. "Vin Barrett. Good lad, the adventurous sort. Dinnae let the face fool you, he knows what he's doing." A slow, feline smile tugs on the corners of her mouth. "Kinda infamous, actually, if you know where tae look. His face is /everywhere/ these days."
Terr's pursuit of his presumably-accepted invitation has her winking at him. "The Long Swan," she repeats, for Morgan's benefit. "Room six. I hope you'll make it worth my while, luv. I'm a busy lass."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
There is a horrible guffaw from Hank. "Not just his face if tha' rumors are true!" The rakish humor coming though as he systamaticly destroys Cassidy's defenses before decapitating Matilda's offence in one fell swoop. Oppurtunist to the core.
"/Vin/ Barrett? You can't mean you know him." This is Matilda as she watches her assault come apart with growing annoyance as Hank gleefully takes advantage. "This novella he's in is the talk of the town." A pause. "My ladies will want an autograph." She adds with a sniff. "If," A sneer as Matilda thinks that is highly unlikley. "You actually can."
Terr glances with some annoyance at Matilda as his own advance becomes stymied by Cutter's sudden and vicious attack on his flank.
"Sorry mate," Comes the rumbling voice of the Profiteer. "You came too close."
He doesn't look very sorry.
Terr throws a glare Cutter's way as he listens to Cassidy and Hank talk. "I thought Morgan had more sense, there always comes a time to cut losses and run." He adds casually. Too casually by Cass's estimation. There is a forced distraction in his manner, the way he won't look at her. The way he focuses on the pieces and not her. A casual dismissal that is a bit more that casual. He's trying to con and conwoman.
Thats a hard sell.
Matilda sniffs again, her dissaproval plain. "I have /never/ accused Morgan of having good business sense." Her annoyance clouding even her sense of insulting superiority towards Cassidy.
Morgan's voice sounds in her ear though. "Got it, on my way. Gimme at least ten." Comes the confirmation. "And man, Matilda can defintally hold a grudge can't she?"
Terr's smile grows wide and oily with her words. "Oh luv, I can promise I will. I /never/ have complaints."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"Ach, I try not tae hear about the other rumors, he /is/ family, and thinking about him in that context is enough tae kill my own libido for a century," Cassidy says with a laugh and a point of a finger towards Hank. "Besides, I know a bloody distraction when I see one. I might be new tae this table, but I'm /learning/." All said gamely and with genuine good humor.
Morgan's words fill her ear, but he may as well not be speaking with the way she carries on with everyone else on the board. To Matilda's challenge, there's an easy, languid smile and a lift of her slender shoulders. "Well, he /is/ a Baskar guide, lass," she reminds her. "Meaning that any of those that are worth his or her salt wouldnae be so easy tae find in the sands. And it has been a /verra/ long time since I've had the pleasure of his company, but if I ever come across him again, I'll certainly ask for you. The least I can do, ay, when you're so busy destroying my poor troops."
The look of annoyance Terr flashes at Matilda has her burying a smile around her cigarette. Smoke curls around her lips at the deliverance of a slow, deliberate exhale.
"Well," she replies to the Black Marketeer. "I may have tae see tae that myself." Her smile grows faintly helpless. "Curse of the business, luv, you understand, ay? Have tae sample the goods tae know what they're worth. But if the beds are as comfortable as you say, I s'pose if nae else, that would get me curious. I dinnae think I've ever stayed in the Long Swan." She taps her dusty jacket. "Frugal, y'ken, saving up for a /ridiculous/ retirement while I'm still fit and able enough tae enjoy it."
There's a teasing grin over at Matilda. "You seem tae be a woman of taste, lass," she remarks. "You agree with what the lad says about the Long Swan? You seem tae be the sort who'd park her pampered arse in nothing less than a two bedroom suite overlooking a view. No offense, luv." The last to Terr. "But when it comes tae luxuries like the one you're suggesting, experience dictates that a woman's opinion is infinitely more credible."
Mirth underscores her expression; the assertion is patently false and she /knows/ it, but she falls into it as easily as she does with the rest. If not to provoke a reaction, then certainly to keep up with it in the spirit of light, ribbing banter. And these days, she has /plenty/ of practice in that.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Can't blame me for tryin', can ya?" Hank replies as the old thief flashes a sharp grin towards her. "You'll have to learn quick though, you hardly have anything left. Thanks to 'tilda there." He nods towards the fuming woman opposite Cassidy. Though Cassidy's words give her a smirk and that sense of supriority creeps back in. She can't do it. She can't deliver. HA. Matilda knew she was just a fraud, and that proves it. No matter how smooth she seems.
"Of course you can," The woman replies with a superior smirk and narrowed eyes. "Well when you do, Morgan knows how to get ahold of me." She adds with a hauty air. As if she's dismissing it from ever happening.
"No one is going to begrudge a little bit of excess once in awhile," Terr replies with a smirk as he leans back. His eyes watching the table and flicking up towards Matilda now and then. Trying to gage the woman's thoughts.
Cutter seems more intrested in the game, and he seems to be winning. Picking off Terr's fleeing forces before methodically moving out.
Matilda though rises to the bait, ignoring the warning look from Terr as she engages with Cass over the rapidly dwindling forces on the board. "Offence taken. At least try to curb your tounge when in my company. Morgan's sister or no. But yes, there is a room at the Long Swan. A nobles suite, it is not the finest in the city but it is passable. The beds are...acceptable."
Terr seems to grind his teath a bit before cutting in. "I think my opinion, and your personal opinion later..." A wicked smile again from Terr while ears him a glare from Matilda this time. "...will be plenty credible."
Morgan's voice is in her ear again. "Alright, on site." His accent is slightly less. His voice more clipped than usual. "I'll be headed in, I'll let you know if I find anything."
Hank smirks slightly at the play between Terr and Matilda, again taking advantage to advance his cause on the board. "I never knew Morgan was adopted, man doesn't talk about his past much." He makes the comment, eyes flickering towards Cass with curiousity. As always, serching for some advantage to use. Leverage.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Well, Matilda isn't /entirely/ mistaken. Cassidy Cain, under the present circumstances, /is/ a fraud. And as that sense of superiority returns, the blonde lifts her shoulders in yet another shrug, smiling faintly from where she sits. With her green eyes flicking back to her pieces on the board, she attempts to re-route her forces in a more secure position on her side, though at this point, she doesn't appear to have much hope salvaging her pieces. If she didn't play a more aggressive game, she was done.
Morgan was going to have to hurry.
Inwardly, she sighs; either she lets the clock run here, or the clock run out on Morgan, and she's still trying to think about where her priorities ought to lie in her current situation when Terr makes that remark about excess. Ignoring Matilda's ire, and knowing full well doing so would only incense her further, she leans towards the man, her head tilting to the side and shifting the angle of her stare until she's looking at him from under her half-lid lashes. "Ay?" she murmurs, propping her chin on one hand, elbow braced on the table. "You seem verra sure of yourself, luv. Are you this well practiced in making people see things your way, or just us impressionable bonny lasses?"
Her lips lift upwards in a more visible smile. "And if you are, I hope you're nae /too/ practiced. It screams of efficiency and when it comes tae certain negotiations, I like tae take my sweet, thorough time." Her brogue shapes around the words, and gives them their due emphasis.
She finally eases from her lean, to settle against the back of her chair again. A long leg hooks the back of her knee on top of her other, her left arm adopting a leisurely drape behind her. Deft fingers pluck out her cigarette to stub it into the ashtray, moving them towards her pieces, though she lets her fingertips linger on top of them.
"Well, I wasnae kidding about what I said earlier," she replies to Hank easily. "My wee baby brother is protective, especially of me, and especially after mum and da died. Pack of roaming wolves and too much of the drink, it was very tragic. It took years for Morgan and I tae recover." She rolls her eyes skyward. "He thinks he's trying tae protect me, but really, I can handle myself just fine." Mischief fills her eyes. "Maybe not against your troops on this board, y'ken, but I'm nae a wilting, delicate flower that needs looking after." There's an amused glance to Matilda. "Besides, far be it for me tae horn in on the monopoly the lass has on that in this table, not when I've so terribly offended her already."
And is only doing more of that by implying that she is both dainty /and/ helpless in one breath.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
At the Long Swan...Morgan was doing just that. Hurrying. Getting the key wasn't that difficult, if you knew the right people at least. Tossing a room without making it look like he was tossing a room? That was the more difficult part. There had to be something somewhere.
"If they have something hidden here...personal items. Trophies. Ledgers. Thats where any evidence would be..." He murmurs as his eyes swiftly scan the room. Old instincts kicking in. Ears perked up and attentive. His fingers tingle. His eyes wide. This excitement, this feeling. /This/ is what he's missed over the years. This is why he still does what he does. The rush of doing something he /knows/ he shouldn't be doing...but then going on and doing it anyway. "I'll have something in five..."
At the table it gets worse as she turns up the charm with Terr. The man buys it, hook line and sinker. Leaning forwards. Eyes dipping down towards her neckline. The very obvious look that she is getting an almost physical thing. As if he expects to see what under the cloth and the leather and the dust soon. Letting his imagination run rampant. "Well, you allow time for a good business deal. All the parts must be throughly felt out." He allows as a smile slithers its way onto his features.
Matilda chooses that time to angle her little flame unit just /too/ far up, and nearly burns off one of Terr's eyebrows. The man yelps and leaps back in a very ungraceful display, nearly sprawling himself over in his chair. Matilda glowers towards him, then turns her attention towards Cassidy. "You little guttersnipe." She hisses. "You come in here and speak like that? To me? Helpless. I'll show you helpless...you trash. I'll have you thrown out!" She almost hisses that last word as he raises a hand to fling the lit flame unit at Cassidy.
Hank just winces slightly. "...and the game was going so well..."
Cutter just shrugs. "Was gonna win."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
She would have been happy if they all just kept talking. But with Matilda's ire, blazing anger and fury twisting those elegant features, the opportunity beckons to Cassidy like a moth to flame...and whenever it flickers, she is, as always, helplessly drawn.
The flame unit flies across the table, and the green-eyed blonde /lets/ it hit. Heat licks at the dry dust and leather of her jacket and it isn't long until her sleeve is on /fire/ and it doesn't take much of her skills in playing a role to make it convincing, because /nobody/ wants to be set on fire, no matter how permissive this is. She yelps, jerking up from the chair, arms flailing and overall causing a ruckus that would do nothing but call attention of the entire room to this specific table. "Ach!" she cries. "Fire! I'm /on bloody fire/!"
Yes, she is, and in more ways than one.
In her panic, she stumbles /right/ into Terr, finishing the leaning tilt of his chair while he tries to prevent his eyebrows from getting too burned off, knocking him onto the ground, though she tries to be a good person and grab his sleeve with the arm that isn't burning. The table /lurches/ to the side in her efforts, other pieces, flaming or otherwise, sliding off the felt, tumbling forward and should any of the other players be unlucky, they, too, might catch on fire. Still crying out, still flailing, Cassidy twists, her arm going wide, tripping /right/ across his lap and her hand attempting to regain her balance, grabbing the other side of him. The balls of her feet /push/ in an effort to get up, but Cutter is /heavy/ and all she does is tilt her /and/ him right into Hank.
It is a chaos of shouts and tangled limbs, and as Cassidy /shrieks/, rolls away from the two men and finally manages to get to her feet, she manages to unlatch the zipper and tear her flaming jacket off her. She, blindly, recklessly, ends up flinging it in a wild arc towards Matilda.
It's an accident.
Honest.
"Oh, /shite/!" the blonde exclaims; with so much makeup, so much fabric and probably perfume, the heiress would probably go up like a torch. "Dinnae worry, I got this!"
She snatches a pitcher from a passing waiter and moves forward. She /trips/. She falls, following the cascade of water that just /drenches/ the woman and her jacket as she tumbles towards her....
...after robbing the rest of them blind, and this last take being the coup de grace.
She was being honest when she said she liked those pearls.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
When dealing with Cassidy Cain. There comes that moment. That moment where the fates align. Where the Lords of Chaos look down upon the woman and those surrounding her at that moment slowly nod to themselves. Where it seems the capricious spirits themselves bless time and space with the perfect confluence of events to take advantage of.
This. This is that time.
Fire bursts into existance. This is not an uncommon event for a place like this. It is fairly common in points of fact. However the screaming and flailing and /people/ being on fire...
...thats new.
Terr is just righting himself when Cassidy cannons into him. His newly won balance is lost again as he takes a tumble. Over he goes in a tangle of smouldering ashes, limbs and chair. His shirt on fire at this point as he tries to put himself out.
Cutter catches several burning pieces in the chest and his own shirt starts to flicker to life. The stolid man reaches down to start to pat himself out, seemingly unconcerned. Then she's tugging on /him/ and he feels gravity betray him as he goes over. There is a sigh and his stoic expression never really changes, and the cigar firmly clamped in his mouth hardly wavers.
This is his life now.
Hank...poor Hank...Cutter is about three times his size. And even with Cassidy helping the small thief takes a shoulder check from the huge profiteer and they both go down. Hank bowled over by Cutter's bulk with a groan.
Poor Matilda seems to escape it all. She's safe, starting to stand. An island of calm in the middle of the growing chaos. Yes. She is nobility. She will get away scott free.
...or at least she would have. If not for one hastily thrown jacket.
It catches her high in the side and shoulder. And a whoosh of flame indicates where it comes into contact with the fine silks of her outfit and her hair. She /screaches/, the banshee like noise catching the attention of the entire establishmennt.
And before anyone can do much of anything she takes a pitcher of water to the face. Good news is the fire is out. Part of her hair is blackened. Part of her dress is gone. Her makeup is running in lies down her face making her look very clownish indeed. She stands there stunned, hands up. Eyes wide. Not even knowing what she can say...
Which is when the follows up the water with a Cassidy to the midsection.
Too stunned to even dodge.
Down they go in a heap.
For the record, Cassidy has mysteriously acquired a small black book. A nice golden broach. A red lether bound notebook. Several cash pouches. A few rings. A small ceramic unicorn. And a folded picture of Cutter and his Mum (signed Love Mum). The family resemblence is uncanny.
Through the quickly growing chaos though, Cass might can pick out a familiar voice. One not over the little com system anymore. "....so...." Comes Morgan Newkirk's voice as he leans against the doorframe. Watching the chaos spread. "....I see you're getting a hang of the game."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Even in this hive of high stakes and blatant irresponsibility, there are good samaritans and it isn't long until several others crowd around the table to help the beleaguered victims of the Dancing Blonde on Fire act. Cassidy manages to retrieve her jacket after pulling it off Matilda, deft fingers relieving her of her string of pearls in the process, and lets the pressing crowd swallow her whole. There's a frown as she inspects the blackened sleeve of her jacket, but otherwise puts it on; she needs the pockets.
As she picks her way through the throng of bodies eager to rubberneck over what just happened, her emerald-and-gold stare finds Morgan by the door. Turning towards that direction, she lifts the black book she has managed to snatch from Terr, depositing it on the man's hand and cocking a brow. "Never thought I would /ever/ say this tae you, luv," she tells him wryly. "But like all the other women whose hearts you've broken, I managed tae burn for you after all."
Drawing out the string of gorgeous pearls that she managed to lift from Matilda, she smiles in faint satisfaction, admiring their luster as the perfect spheres reflect the light of the room behind her, before returning it to her pocket. As stressed earlier, while she's not immune to the allure of fine jewelry, her tastes, in the end, are much simpler than expected. Pearls are her favorite, and was that so surprising, given the woman's proclivities? They start out their lives as insignificant grains of sand, by chance swept into the gaping maws of ravenous oysters, and left to develop over time into small, beautiful and precious things only to be discovered by those brave enough to dive deep and suffer peril in order to find them and bring them to the surface.
"I'm keeping these," she tells him with a humored look. "Terr and Matilda are partners, by the way, but whatever arrangement they've got's become tenuous, probably because the poor sod cannae keep it in his pants. Would make sense, methinks. He dinnae strike me as the sort tae have too many legitimate connections, while the lass certainly has them in the Guild and she's probably got a few that feeds her the information, before she passes them off to Terr, who uses whatever network of ne'erdowells he's got tae snatch the shipments en route tae their final destinations. You're gonna need tae ferret them out, or use them tae dig further intae what her beef is with Delvin."
She withdraws her pack of cigarettes, tapping one out. "And I dinnae think I havetae point this out, but everyone in that bloody table was out tae screw you, and I dinnae mean the game, luv. I could taste it once I started telling our made-up childhood stories growing up, no one ever looks /that/ interested in that kind of prattle unless you're trying tae get tae know someone whose throat you want tae slit." She lights one up. "Hank's keen on it, but it's Cutter you have tae watch out for."
It may have been the reason why Cassidy switched out with Morgan during the game without consulting him - to introduce an unknown element while shielding him - or it could have been so she could be in complete control of her deceptions, and use that prodigious ability to adapt to her ever-shifting circumstances to satisfy her own curiosity and for her personal gain. She /is/ who she is, so there are equal odds of that.
Lifting her head, she flashes Morgan a blithe, easy smile, reaching up with a hand to flick the tip of one of his ear. "And with that, I think my job's done," she says, turning with every intent to return herself to the night, and whatever other surprises it brings.
She pauses in her steps before she gets too far. And just in case Morgan forgets, that pale-gold head cants back and sideways, to let a single, glittering eye peer at him over her shoulder, her smile implied through the glimpse of it through the shadows.
"You poor bastard. Now, you owe me."
She continues on after that, her departure signaled by the faint metallic pings of those spurs, and the slow, sinuous curl of cigarette smoke.