2017-05-17: Fifteen Percent of a Plan
- Log: Fifteen Percent of a Plan
- Cast: Cassidy Cain, Noah Hawthorne, Morgan Newkirk
- Where: Snout 2 Tale Bar and Pub, somewhere in east Adlehyde
- Date: May 17, 2017
- Summary: Time is running out, and Noah and Cassidy scramble to get their respective plans in order, but they need additional resources to pull them off. On that end, they turn to the only other person they can trust in Adlehyde - Morgan Newkirk, an old, mutual acquaintance, and one of the front-runners of the Guildmaster's seat in Adlehyde. Through it all, Cassidy realizes that none of the people she actually gives a damn about intend on leaving the city, which will inevitably spark another gambit under the noses of her closest associates.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
There are many little hole-in-the-wall establishments on the docks of the city. They cater to a wide rage of things. Some wholesome, some not, some inbetween. This perticular establishment caters to individuals who happen to have a intrest or a habit of moving small quanities of high value goods without bothering the locals about it.
You know. Honest businessmen.
Its a single room bar. A bit run down. The polished wood floors having seen its share of blood, sweat, and tears. The weasly looking man behind the bar stares sullenly out across the light scattering of customers. Mostly dock types.
One though stands out.
Mostly because of the ears.
For all the fact that he can hide almost everything else. Morgan Newkirk can't hide the ears. The tail is a bit of a problem too. But in this case he doesn't feel the need of an elaborate hat or headpiece. Leaning back in a rickety wooden chair in a corner of the bar he balances the battered piece of furniture on two legs. The top of its rounded back just touching the wall behind him. The remains of a set of drinks seem to be laid out infront of him. More than he could have drunk alone. Seems that he was doing a little bit of trading just before.
Now though? Now he's relaxing. A bit of business done and a smile on his face. A touch of a wicked one to be exact. Apparently he got a good deal on something.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Someone is about to ruin his day.
The culprit wouldn't be seen as of yet, but the doors of said hole-in-the-wall establishment suddenly explodes open, the bartender looking up with the start, shotgun in hand, girding himself for the sudden stampede of...
...children?
Yes. Children.
Of all ages, sizes and races, ranging between five to ten years old. Some of them are clothed well but others wear their status as orphans clearly on their sleeves. They glance around, various pairs of eyes slipping through the interior in an attempt to find what they're looking for, and they do, eventually. Because while Morgan can hide many things about himself, his ears and tail give him away.
All eyes swivel towards him once they see him. For a moment, there is nothing but blissful, blessed silence.
Until the oldest of the group points a finger, and exclaims a single word that would drive the thumbscrews of fear into any hot-blooded bachelor anywhere:
"DADDY!!"
The single word ripples through the group. The younger ones follow suit:
"Daddy! Daddy!"
And the group starts to flood towards Morgan, hands outstretched, eyes wide with adoration. They are all expecting a hug.
And child support.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Outside of the hole in the wall, out on the street:
In a thin scrim of shade cast by a modest wooden overhang -- a ledge balcony on the second story of the building across the street from the bar into which a fat pack of children just swarmed -- sits Noah Hawthorne atop a wooden barrel, dusty boots on a shorter crate, leaning forward into his elbows on his knees, mint-soaked toothpick in his mouth. As the last of the tiny, noisy children disappears through the door and into the booze-soaked, smoke-hazed shadows of the interior and the door swings shut to muffle the raucous outcries of DADDY!!!, Noah lazily turns his right wrist and drops his gaze down to the complicated face of the ARM on that wrist, something that looks like a watch, only More. He rolls the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "Hnn. How long do you give him?" A question for the blonde nearby, though he transfers his gaze directly from the watch -- or whatever -- to the door, letting his hand dangle between his knees again. "I'm going with less than two minutes." Pause. "I know that sounds like a long time, but I'm feeling generous."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
Leaning next to Noah and quietly watching the world pass her by, evergreen eyes fixed on the foot-traffic of Aldehyde's ever-vibrant nightlife, she gives the man's wrist a glance, before her gaze tics upward. An easy grin tugs on the corners of Cassidy's mouth, the slight incline of her head causing a pale-gold tress to fall and curl against her cheek.
"Ten seconds," she tells him. "Unless Jordie goes for the tail, in which case I give it five. If nae just tae reflect the fact that you're an infinitely more generous soul than me."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
There is much hooting and hollering from inside the bar. Some shouting from inside. The shouting raises and lowers in volume and cadence. Men shouting. Children shouting. Its hard to tell just what is happening.
At least until the smoke happens.
Black. Dark. Smoke.
Roiling out of a side window.
The door flies open a few moments later revealing the ruddy glow of a fire swiftly growing. A strange and horrifying creature is framed in the flames of hell behind it. Many armed and headed. Like a demon from the abyss. Much yelling and shouting in many voices comes from the creature as the arms and legs and heads move indipendantly of each other. As if a dozen minds are in control.
It staggers out into the street as a single voice is raised above the others.
"CAREFUL OF THE GORRAM TAIL!!!"
The voice of Morgan Newkirk comes out loud and clear as the view of the creature solidifies to one Beastman. Carrying a lot of kids.
And yes. Jordie is gleefully hanging onto the tail as Morgan drags him behind.
Its a fairly prodigious feat of strength to carry them all out. Two on his shoulders. A few under each arm. One around his neck. One onn top of his head.
And of course Jordie. The one that started it all. On his tail.
Total time? Sixty seconds.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
"You don't need to undercut my bet to prove that."
They coast past the ten second mark, and Noah arches a wry, pointed look over at Cassidy, one brow cocked upward. It's another fifty long seconds of muffled shrieking after that, and by the end Noah's head is tilted over to the side, brows knit, watching plumes of smoke spill out of the window and cracks in the wall.
"Should we...maybe...do something about that?"
He doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to get up off of his ass and follow through on that suggestion, though, and his tone is mellow enough to suggest that he's asking more as a token gesture of decency than anything else.
And then Morgan solves that non-dilemma for him by staggering out of the building covered in children.
"Yikes," Noah says, the word quiet, also mellow. "Maybe we should do something about that." Still doesn't sound like he actually plans to, though.
And then someone pops up beside him with a piece of paper. "Another message from the cube, Mr. Hawthorne."
He's been getting these all day. Responses to his job postings on the Guild Hall board, all of them, so he thinks nothing of taking it and popping the little seal on it to have a look. His back pocket is currently stuffed with a full fan of paper missives just like it.
This one isn't like those, as is increasingly evident as his eyes gradually draw into a squint, expression collapsing around skeptical unease.
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
She tilts her head up the moment she smells smoke, however. It is unmistakeable. She knows the scent of fire very well. With a glance at Noah, Cassidy turns a furrowed brow-look over towards the hole in the wall establishment that has, amidst the throes of parental neglect, suddenly caught on fire due to the ruckus inside. Privately she wonders whether she has managed to wrangle one of the firebug orphans as part of the wolf pack she has set on the fox man inside.
"....ah, fook," she murmurs. "Did I mistake Lionel for Remy again? I did, dinnae I? God damn it."
Should we...maybe...do something about that?
"Nae, luv." Lighter finding her fingers, her head dips to light a cigarette that seems to have just materialized caught between her lips like magic. "This is one of those problems that will solve itself....see? Look." As a line of concerned citizens armed with buckets vanish inside the bar, she lifts a hand to wave towards Morgan. "Morgan!" she calls from across the street. "Do my eyes deceive me? Did you just save a dozen orphans from a burning building? Tae think I heard you dinnae have a single paternal bone in your body! Your popularity with the wee lasses of this town is gonna skyrocket overnight, methinks! I think that calls for a drink!"
She would say more, but the messenger that suddenly arrives has her stare ticking over to the new arrival, and the message that is deposited in her companion's palm. The expression that follows on the relic hunter's square-jawed features has her brows climbing over her hairline, before trying to take a peek as to what's in the paper.
"Ex oh, ex oh, ex oh," she quotes from the message, irises alight with mischief, reaching down to lightly draw her fingers on the dark brown bristles on top of Noah's head. "Working as intended, Mr. Hawthorne."
With that, she pushes away from the wall, taking a deep drag from her cigarette, gray smoke curling upwards from the parted seam of her lips. "C'mon, Morgan. I'll buy this time. The least I can do."
And by 'buy', she inevitably means 'swindle a poor bartender out of free drinks.'
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Noah doesn't try to keep her from looking at the note in his hand, so it must not be particularly sensitive information -- probably confirmed by the little piece of it that she quotes aloud. He does let a theatrically petulant, irritated look flit through his features when she reaches out to pet him, though, knitting his brows and twisting his head away, his hand on that side lifted up to knock her more slender one away. "Mind the merchandise," he mutters.
The look clears, the paper disappears, and he slides off of the barrel he's sitting on in preparation to relocate to what he hopes is a slightly less on-fire establishment for the aforementioned drinks that she is definitely buying for everyone, and the talk that needs to be...talked.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan is trying to disentangle himself from the gaggle of laughing orphens. Oh the kids are really enjoying themselves. Espicially Lionel. Who is staring lovingly at the flames coming from the bar. However as those ears perk up and that familiar voice hits he slowly looks up to spy Cassidy and Noah.
"YOU TWO PLANNED THIS! WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS! I..." Then she continues and he pauses.
He thinks very hard about that statement.
"YOU'RE RIGHT I NEED A DRINK! And I'm totally a hero." His voice eases off the shouting as he starts over towards her. Only to be stopped by a tug.
He glances back over his shoulder and sighs as he plucks up Jordie and starts walking over. A smirk on his face.
Lionel is still riding on one shoulder and a little girl is perched happily ontop of his head, steadying herself with his ears.
"...are these yours?" He drawls as he drops Jordie off at her feet. "You know there are easier ways to get me a message! Ones where we don't burn down bars in the process." This said as he plucks Lionel off his shoulder. "...how did you get that match to fall right into that bottle of moonshine anyway?"
Boy just shrugs. He's got talent. What can he say.
Eyes flicker up from the kid to the other two. "...so. Drinks yes."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
It isn't long until they manage to situate themselves in a bar far away from the scene of the crime; as always Cassidy's trickster ways come with some degree of property damage, though thankfully the hole-in-the-wall that Morgan just left will live to see another barfight or ill-advised attempt at arson. Snout 2 Tale, popular among the locals for its very good pork dishes, rests in the eastern quadrant of the city's capital and the moment the blonde manages to speak with the bartender, the man - a well-meaning if nondescript middle-aged Beastman of the black bear variety that towers head and shoulders above almost everybody, who tends the counter with his very pregnant wife - ushers them to a booth at the back where they have a clear view of the rest of the room. The air within is wreathed with cigarette smoke, the lighting lowered in deference to the dinner hour.
Brume is someone Morgan knows, being a Guildy himself back in the day, but he is largely retired and has devoted himself to his true passion in life: pigs, and the very many, delicious ways in which to prepare them.
If nothing else, he is one individual in Adlehyde worth saving.
"Hey Morgan," he says once they're sitting. "Vivi's wondering if the ear-and-cheek hotplate is still your favorite, she'll make it for you in a jiffy. Hey Cass, who's this?" A massive paw gestures over at Noah. Because Brume is a bearman. A very large bearman.
Probably why his pub is still standing. Nobody wants to come across that in a dark alley.
"Brume Blackwood, Noah Hawthorne," the blonde introduces, sliding into the far side of the booth. "As for the hot plate, make that two. Dinnae know what Vivi does at the back, but she is magic."
Brume grins, exhibiting rows of very sharp teeth. Perfect, some say, for mauling and evisceration. "I'll tell her you said that."
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
People with greater stature than Noah's are a source of endless fascination for him, sheerly because it just doesn't happen that often. He cocks a brow as they're virtually loomed over, and holds out his hand for a ...paw-shake? Whatever. Beastmen get a lot of flak from regular humans, but Noah, it can be fairly said, is not exactly a regular human.
"Good to meet you." He drops into the booth opposite Cassidy, leaving Morgan in the unenviable position of having to pick his poison: which one of them does he think it's going to be safer to sit next to, ultimately? Think fast, hot shot.
"I'll have chef's choice, I guess. Sounds like I can't lose, no matter what comes out of the kitchen."
He reaches around behind himself and pulls the clutch of letters out of his pocket, setting them aside so that they're not digging a square dent into his backside. All of these are marked with the Guild seal.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Hey Brume! Tell Vivi we miss her cooking back at the Guild. You should check out the new place, got an upgrade!" The Fox's laugh is warm, bright, and honest. He likes Brume and his wife. Mostly for being good people. Also for occasionally saving his tail.
Sometimes quite litterally saving his tail.
"He's a good one Brume," Morgan vouches for Noah with a grin. "At least when he remembers he is. Sometimes he forgets. But don't we all."
The decision on where to sit comes quick enough. Since Cass was the one that wanted to talk, she's the one he needs to face. So sitting next to Noah is the only answer.
Otherwise it just gets awkward and spine twisting.
"So," He drawls as he slips into the booth. "What in the hells are you two up ta, because you're planning something. And Noah you seems to be tryin to buy out the entire town on foodstuffs and necessities." A glance at the man with a book series named after him. Sorta. "So spill." Back to Cass. "You two in something together." A longer pause. "...thats bloody well terrifing."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"Good to meetcha, Noah," Brume says, his paw squeezing around the relic-hunter's palm, dark eyes falling on Morgan. "Yeah? Well, if you need caterers, you know who to call. Lemme go tell her right now." And with that, the big bearman moves through the pub, to speak with his wife. It isn't long until Vivi is heading back into the kitchens.
With the rest of them situated in the booth, Cassidy pauses when Morgan postulates, and accurately, that she and Noah are in on something together. Calmly, wordlessly, she reaches into her kit, and pulls out the much coveted bottle of the McLellan forty-year, pure, beautiful, delicious liquid gold. The bottle is half-empty, considering its label, however, it is umistakeably the real thing. She slowly slides it to Morgan.
The gesture will probably only terrify him further.
"I think you ought tae savor a couple of sips of that before I tell you this," the blonde says with a smile, but it doesn't touch her eyes.
Propping her chin on her hand, she exhales. "Look, if I get tae the entire story, it's going tae be long, and we're going tae be here forever. So here it is - a cataclysm's going tae hit Adlehyde. People are going tae die. I was told about it a few weeks ago with a contact who wanted tae hire me for a job in the future, something big and well within my wheelhouse. But before I can get there, I have tae deal with something that is decidedly nae in my wheelhouse and it turns out tae be this. Aldehyde's going tae go to hell, Morgan. So if you know people you care about who you know cannae handle the widescale disaster we're projecting, tell them tae get the bloody hell out of Adlehyde immediately."
She glances over at Noah when he unpacks those letters, before fixing her stare on Morgan again. "We think we know how it's going tae happen. Something tae do with the Lolithia golem that Professor Hetfield dug up from the Tomb. She assured us that it has nae any hope of being activated, nae without the speciifc biometrics necessary, and she told us that these things were used by the Metal Demons or sommat tae wipe out three-fourths of the world's population thousands of years ago. Since my contact has been annoyingly non-specific as tae how this is going tae go down, and since Noah and I dinnae find anything else in the Exhibit that may pose any significant danger, this is probably the glaring red button we've been warned about. The odds are good."
Slowly, the conwoman leans against the booth. "Nae gonna lie, Morgan. I dinnae think there's any way tae stop what's going tae happen, but at the very least we can try and mitigate the damage. Hence the rumors and the guild notices, trying tae convince others tae get out of town. We're going tae hit the Tomb, also, see if we can find something useful. But failing that..." She lifts her eyes to lock into the fox man's across the table, a reckless smile curling on her lips.
"We're gonna break intae the palace, and sabotage the Lolithia. Probably break a thousand royal decrees during, but the alternative's worse than nae trying. We were wondering if you want tae help. Will nae judge if you decide tae cut and run. If I had a choice, if I dinnae have other shite riding on this, I would...but I cannae."
Complicated by the fact that everyone she knows is staying. Her decision to cut and run would have been easier if Noah and Jude had been willing to go. But they aren't.
And knowing Morgan for as long as she has, something tells her his decision would be the same.
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Morgan's concern about this little professional collusion between Noah and Cassidy gets a small smirk from the taller of the two in that pair -- a satisfied one, because lord knows he works hard to cultivate that outsize reputation -- but it doesn't last long, which may have something to do with the way Cassidy attempts to pad things with a bottle of outrageously nice liquor.
He's quiet for the most part, though he does interject when she glosses over the historical parts of the thing. "See, this is why she needs me," Noah says to Morgan confidentially. "The Golems were used to wipe out the Metal Demons, not by them.. After the Metal Demons wiped out three quarters of Filgaia." He gives her boot a push with his under the table. "The details matter, Cassie! You and your selective hearing when it comes to things that happened more than ten minutes ago, honestly."
It's just ribbing, friendly but pointed, as though her head for history is a point of contention between them for more extensive reasons than are immediately apparent.
That doesn't last long, either. He glances at the stack of memos, too, and nods, sobering. "If the rumors work, Newkirk, there are going to be a lot of displaced citizens with nowhere to go. Refugees are easy targets. If nothing comes of this then...you know, I'll be out some gella, though I'm going to count on you to help me smooth things over with the merchants I have rerouting goods. If the worst happens, though, there'll be some provisions hopefully outside of the blast radius for keeping people fed and warm until they can be accommodated some other way."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan pauses a moment as Cass turns serious. What is this. This is strange and awkward already. It only gets worse when she pulls out a bottle.
Not just any bottle.
The Bottle.
He stares at it for a long moment as she warns him he'll need it. No. It can't be that bad. Whatever she can say can't be that bad. I mean really. Nothing seems to happen around here.
...but the time she's halfway done he's reaching for the bottle.
By the time she's mentioning a break in he's on his second glass of the liquid gold.
By the time Noah starts in he is on his third.
When they both wind down the man is leaning back in his booth, eyes half closed and a pleasent glow warming his insides.
"...that is a mighty fine drink." He finally concludes as he puts the glass down. Not that he actually filled up all the way any of those glasses but it defintally takes the edge of the panic that is starting to grow.
Slowly he sighs, feeing the wind burn though the sensitive membranes just recently kissed by the whiskey.
"Well. Never broke a royal decree before. First time for everything I suppose." He finally replies with a smirk towards the pair of them. Which of course means he's in.
The face-down on the table came in the beginning. Because he knows these two long enough to be able to pick out when they arn't lying. At least on the big things.
"I've seen the bones of the Metal Demons. The Metal Dragons they call em. Big as buildings, so I believe it." A frown at that. "...so you're thinking this'll have something ta do with the golem activating? Or with the metal demons coming back? Cause it sounds like it could be either."
"Alright, I'll get word ta what contacts I got. Send word ta Guild assets in Kislev to get them movin this way. They won't make it anytime soon, well beyond some emergency assets that I got nearby. If we can't stop it, we can at least make sure most people survive it."
A beatpause. "And of course I want to help. Fuck. If you two were dead who the hell would I drink with then. World would be as you say 'feckin' boring'." A smirk at Cass for that before glancing back to Noah.
"Thats what you're up ta though, buying up supplies for the fallout?"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
This is why she needs me.
A spark of humor slants towards Noah at his remark, the blonde's expression utterly unapologetic there.
When Morgan says he's in, Cassidy's eyes lower to fix on the bottle. Of course he's in. Of course.
The curdling, sour feeling at the pit of her stomach doesn't abate; anyone would be grim, but at least gratified that another person has thrown their lot into the rest of their suicidal cards, because what she is actually asking isn't easy. Especially for the likes of them - generally self-interested people who live their lives in the endless pursuit of fun and profit, and every single second they can wring out of Life to make it as interesting as possible for them before it was time to dance with the Reaper. Given Morgan's mercantile leanings, some part of her had hoped that he would say no. She wishes that he said no.
But of course he said yes.
Noah wasn't leaving. Morgan wasn't leaving.
She expects to have this same conversation with Jude and she doesn't even want to think about what he will say. Because he might also want to stay.
Fuck me.
She drags the bottle back to her, taking a swig directly out of the bottle. The gears in that ever-active brain spin relentlessly, thoughts falling deep into the well of her own self-interest. As she listens to Noah and Morgan talk about supplies, and the possibility of refugees with nowhere else to go, of other people's safety...
She thinks about her own. Her own people, what little there are and no matter how nebulous or complicated her relationships with them are. Their own safety.
And most importantly, she thinks about her hide and her safety.
Fuck me running.
"Will leave that tae you both," she says, finally, after savoring the shot of gold in her mouth. She passes the bottle over to Noah. "And you with the guild business. I'll see what I can do tae case out the palace, about time something about this fell in my line of expertise, ay? Will need tae figure out entry points, exit points, where the things are actually held, who we can bribe for information. His Majesty's guards are notoriously uppity, but every man or woman's got a pressure point. It's just about finding the right ones tae push."
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
"Not buying, exactly. Reserving. I haven't paid for any of it yet, because if nothing happens I really don't want to own--" He reaches over with one hand, flipping through the pile of missives until he finds one marked a certain way and splays it open, leaning to read: "'Three hundred cuccos, sixty pigs, twenty-six heifers...'" He lets the note flip closed and shoots Morgan a sidelong look, drawing his shoulders up into a low shrug. "Which is why I'd need help smoothing it over. The worst does happen then..."
It's his turn to look uneasy, for altogether different reasons than Cassidy. He avails himself of the bottle then, and turns his eyes down to look into the neck of it, exhaling slowly. "Then I guess I'm about to be very, very poor. And possibly the de-facto ruler of a tiny, brand new country, because like hell I'm going to feed and take care of all of those people without getting something out of it." He brings the bottle up and puts away two shots in one very practiced swallow, setting it aside and hauling a sniff in through the vapors that rise through his sinuses. "Honestly, at that point I'm hoping the King or somebody decides they want to compensate me for the trouble."
It's a dim hope, but he seems committed to pissing away what must be a not-inconsiderable sum of gella just to keep people from being preyed on by profiteering. "At least I oughta get a few solid contacts out of it, worse comes to worst."
He braces his elbows on the table, leans into them, and trains his gaze on the scarred tabletop while Cassidy discusses her specific plans, the callused tip of one of his fingers tracing nonsense patterns in the rings of condensation there.
"You just let us know if you need us." That isn't his forte -- subterfuge. He can muddle along well enough in shallow waters of that sort of thing -- pretending to be an obnoxious aristocrat on a riverboat full of drunks, say -- but breaking into a palace is well beyond his capabilities, and he has literally nothing to offer on that front.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan's brow arches up as Cassidy's mood seems to dampen. One ear twitches slightly as he watches her go for the bottle. The almost sullen movements. The responce after the drink.
"What, you didn't really think I'd leave the both of you in tha thick of it?" The words aimed towards Cassidy before he glances at Noah. "Did ya think I would?" A shake of his head as his ears flatten slightly.
"Your stayin. I'm stayin. Damn I mean you just told me ya couldn't go. Not like I can pack up half the Guild and skeedadle either." He points out before leaning back in the booth and pulling his glass towards him.
There isn't much left but it makes him feel better just having something to fidget with.
A smirk though finds its way to his face. Its not like he can stay down for long. "King Noah. Wouldn't that be a thing." He contemplates for a moment before he ponders things slightly. "...I'll see what contacts I have. Work things out with the merchants. Maybe set something up with the Guild. They at least have the resources to buy some of it off ya. Espicially if we spread it round to more impoverished Guilds on the contenant. That might help if you're worried about becoming a 'your majesty'. Which ain't all its cracked up to be. People want to kill ya more often than not."
His gaze returns to Cassidy before he frowns slightly. "...you're goin to Lolithia's Tomb though? I just got back from there earlier today. Fought a bloody huge turtle down at the bottom, but didn't see much of anything else impressive. You have some more intel on that?"
A pause again.
"...and...well Cass. Your mysterious contact know if this was gonna be about the metal demons or somethin' differnt?"
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
You just let us know if you need us.
"Ay, well. It's nae as if I can break in a palace by myself, sabotaging something I dinnae know from my giddy bloody aunt," Cassidy tells Noah. "I'll take care of collecting the information, but when it's time tae strike, I'll need you, Morgan..."
And probably Jude.
Cassidy's jaw sets, the glimpse of it brief when she takes the bottle being passed around, taking a swig of it directly from the lip. "Probably someone else I know that's got ties tae the press in the continent. He's been covering the Exhibit in Adlehyde, chances are he's been tae the palace already, so he might know something I dinnae manage tae get from third-party sources. Was going tae try and secure his help too in getting the word out. Dinnae know if he will, but if I ask, maybe. Anyway, once those details are settled, I'll send word and we'll meet and...try our best tae get this off the ground. Risk's high, dinnae know what's going tae happen, but as Noah loves pointing out ever since he heard, doing nothing is worse."
When Morgan informs them that he's been in the Tomb, she smirks. "Ay, well, we're looking for something specific. Nae exactly the typical fortune and glory type situation, but whatever party you're with dinnae have Noah, who knows more about the thing we're looking intae than maybe Professor Hetfield, so I like our chances. Plus if we dinnae and something can be found there, we may not have tae do Plan B. And I'd rather we not do Plan B, though if you ask me, Plan B is probably going tae happen no matter how hard we wish the Tomb's gonna yield answers that the Professor's people have nae excavated yet."
She scratches the back of her neck. "What the Professor told us about the golem is that it will nae be activated without the right biometrics - verbal commands, or non-verbal ones. So we're gonna try tae see if we cannae render it deaf tae these, somehow, in the event something happens that causes it tae cause mayhem and carnage or whatever the bloody hell. And my contact dinnae tell me fook all, save that a cataclysm is coming and that he would nae give the name of his source. Chances are that whoever this person is, he or she is magic. Nae other explanation, I think. All of this that we found is a direct result of me and Noah poking around where our noses dinnae belong and really, it's the only thing we've got that fits the bill."
Glancing over at Noah when Morgan asks about Metal Demons, she shrugs. "They're supposedly extinct, all I know is that there's a connection between the golem and them. Dinnae know fook all about them until this entire affair. But like I said, cannae rule anything out if we want tae keep our heads above the water."
Even if she has to force circumstances to allow this to happen.
Toying with the bottle, she takes another shot and slides it into the middle. "Otherwise, dinnae know what else we can do. Just got tae do what we can and strap ourselves in once shite goes sideways."
<Pose Tracker> Noah Hawthorne has posed.
Noah doesn't think Morgan's got the right read on Cassidy's sudden change of mood, but he's not about to open his mouth and chance putting his boot into it. All he has is a dim, fuzzy memory of a swift retreat from a Baskar tent, and he keeps that one to himself. Shoots for the safe line to walk in reassuring the beastman: "Nah, I didn't think that."
He makes an audible exhale through the nose when Cass says 'fortune and glory,' and he nods when she speculates that they'll probably wind up on Plan B no matter how well they try to tackle every other available option. Their luck thus far hasn't led him to believe that any other eventuality is even remotely likely.
He's been in her company long enough to sense when it's coming, and when she turns her head to glance at him he flicks his gaze over to meet it, and his shrug is timed almost precisely with her own, followed by another small, silent nod that confirms what she tells Morgan about the Metal Demons being extinct.
He has nothing to add. It's a heavy topic, but she's said what he would say: they're doing all they can do. The rest of it is waiting and trying to anticipate the direction of the first punch.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Morgan lets the matter drop as his mind turns to other things. There is a slight frown, a thoughtful one. Then he just sighs. He trusts these two enough to risk his life staying with them. "Alright. I'll get us some communication equipment so we can stay in contact and I'll get...some backup close to the city. Maybe inside it but that'll be harder. Just in case things go from Plan A to Plan F, very fast."
Which is always a posibility when working with so many unknowns. "I hate flying blind." He grumbles as he swirls the tiny bit of whiskey remaining in his glass around but doesn't drink it. At least not yet.
"There is...I'm not sure exactly. Some kind of religious cult that worships the metal demons. I saw a few of them when I found the skeleton of one in a dig, bowing down like it was some kind of holy relic. Might be nothing but just keep an eye out."
Biometrics. Genetic markers? That would make sense to code a weapon like that to specific bloodlines. He's just not sure how that would work.
"I'll be ready at the tomb though. You know me. Can't resist a bit of adventure. Espicially with adventure with a purpose."
Now he finishes the drop of drink in his glass.
"Well." A smirk. "We got about fifteen percent of a plan." A beatpause. "Thats totally workable."
<Pose Tracker> Cassidy Cain has posed.
"....a cult," Cassidy wonders skeptically, furrowing her brows. "Great. Just what we all need, ay?"
A shadow falls across the table as Vivi brings in plates of the house specialty in sizzling, castiron plates mounted on wooden trays. With cutlery and shotglasses passed around, the blonde conwoman lifts her fingers, to pluck the McLellan forty-year off the table so she can pour the golden drink into the small tumblers provided for them. In spite of the heavy subject matter, her appetite remains untarnished, and the smell of crisped pig ears and the best parts of the pig chopped up, tossed in a walk and spiced with the woman's secret blend and several slices of lime for an added tang, prompts a faint gurgle at the pit of her unhappy, but eager stomach.
"Well, lads," she says, lifting her shotglass up for a toast, a small smirk curling up on her lips.
What's a woman to do, really, when surrounded by stubborn, good-natured idiots?
She will have to take steps.
"Cheers tae the end of Adlehyde as we know it. And if you ask me..." Eyes glitter under lowered lashes.
"I like our odds."