2017-06-02: Seeing a Man About a Horse
- Log: Seeing a Man About a Horse
- Cast: Josephine Lovelace, Morgan Newkirk
- Where: Adlehyde - Adventurer's Guildhall
- Date: June 2nd 2017
- Summary: At Noah's suggestion, Josie heads out to find and speak to this 'Morgan Newkirk' he mentioned. A bet is made.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
The Guildhouse of Adlehyde has seen better days, but unlike many buildings around its still standing. Which is saying something either to the stubbornness of the residence or the strength of its construction. Possibily both.
One wall seems to have been caved in by something, beams and a tarp prop the hole from collapse and keep the weather out. Part of the back roof is simply gone, as if a great divot was removed by some unseen force. Burlap tarp flaps in the breeze over various other minor holes poked into the roof.
The front facing portion of the building is riddled with damage, from bullet holes to staved in parts that seem to have been done by metal beasts with too many claws and teath. Evidence of fire graces the south side but she still stands.
And at the moment seems to be a hive of activity.
Wagons and carts come and go from the front entrence, some loaded with supplies or building material. Some loaded with people. The doors to the building are flung wide and inside there are bedrolls and evidence that its being used as a shelter for some of the town.
A tall human with immanse mustache bellows orders to Drifters and volenteers as they work on finding more shelter and stupplies for the refugees.
And a tall Drifter with a pair of fox ears that make him seem even taller seems to stand off to the side. Talking to others over a maptable covered with...well...maps.
Morgan Newkirk is indeed deep into all this mess.
Usually he doesn't take such a front and center role, but this time. Well. Everyone needed to pitch in. So he did. At the moment he seems to be plotting patrol routes for the Guild with a military precision. Orders dispatched with a familiar ease as men and women come and go.
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
Josie's here to see a man about a horse.
It'll probably take some time -- and planning -- before the operation (so to speak) is underway, but there's no reason she can't cut out a little later work now. For a change, anyway -- but then one can't just waltz across a blockade without some ideas in mind.
Besides, Noah had made it sound like this one might be part of the plans, and if there's one thing the otherwise apparently happy-go-lucky archaeologist likes...
...It's to have some sense of what she's going to be dealing with.
She's tall, and she has rifle /and/ a pigeon. Those are probably the first few attributes anyone might notice as Josie quite casually saunters into what's left of the Adventurer's Guild. Some of the people here might even know her name -- assuming they're surviving staff from the Guild, that is. She's done a few odd-jobs for the Guild for cash, here and there.
'Archaeology alone doesn't put food on the table,' is what she'd said.
Josie's dark-eyed gaze casts this way and that. Sure enough, this looks like the core of the refugee operations. Her gaze lingers on the man with the mustache first, and she lifts a hand to her chin as if in consideration as he barks orders.
Then she shakes her head, ambling over in the direction of the table.
Not him.
Josephine Lovelace lingers by the table in silence, about as obviously eavesdropping as one can be, gaze drifting from one person to another as she appraises each silently.
'Standing there obviously listening in' is sort of the /point/, as far she's concerned. Why not have a little fun?
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
The man with the mustache she might actually recogonize. That would be Kev, technicly leader of the Guild here. Usually found behind the bar of the Guildhouse. His bellow isn't dimmed with age, and the massive double bit axe strapped to his back at least shows that he's kept in good shape.
The group around the table though is a slightly different story. Maps are layed out on the battered wood of the table. Mostly of Adelhyde and its surroundings, but some even larger. Hand drawn but suprisingly accurate the largest ones of the city are marked with various symbols over the scrawled surface.
As she walks up the fox seems to be deep in discussion with a man not from around here(the accent says Kislev) and a otter beatman.
"Waterfront is clear, Morg." The otter is saying. "Me and the boys made sure of that. Had a couple looters tryin' to run off but we chased em down. Kicked them out into the bay on a rowbot." The bestman grins a moment. "Might have forgotten the oars though."
The fox chuckles lightly. "Ya always had an evil humor to you, Fitch. But good." His accent is hard to place, the drawl pleasent enough on the ears. "Mack?" A glance is cast towards the human.
"Got a group of bandits comin up from the east. Think the outside camps might be easy pickins." The gravely voice of the man is tired, and he seems haggard and wounded. Recovering from the battle. "...I can send em off if ya like."
Morgan shakes his head. "Naw, the brothers are gettin' restless. I'll send them after it." He adds with a smirk as he reaches up to click a odd piece of gear that is fit around his neck. A microphone, reciever, activation swich. The speakers arn't big or powerful, but with ears like his they don't need too.
He speeks into the microphone for a few moments and chuckles again at what he hears.
"Poor bastards. I shouldn't let those three out after em but..." A shrug. "...bandits. Right?"
The other two Guildsmen nod with a smirk.
"Mack, go on and get some rest. You've been on duty for nearly twenty hours. Fitch, can you head on down and see the progress of the supplies? Want to make sure Hawthorne's stuff keeps comein in."
With a chorous of 'Yes, boss!' the pair of them trundle off leaving the Fox alone at the table.
He studies the map for a moment more, and then a playful tone creeps into his voice as he next speaks.
"Somethin' I can help ya with, pretty eyes?" Bright eyes creep up and cant over towards Josephine's, laughter hidden deep in them. "Or ya just feelin' like standin' there all day?"
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
Josie was never a regular around the Guild, per se, but even she realizes after a moment or two that she /does/ recognize the large man -- she's seen him hanging around behind the bar once or twice before the city went to hell in a handbasket, which adds to her current count of 'definitely not a match for the name Noah gave her'. Besides, now that she thinks of it, she's pretty sure the large man's name begins with a K.
That's a familiar accent, if only because she's heard it often enough out of the mouth of someone she knows fairly well by now. Folding her arms over her chest, she can't help but smile a little. Seems only fair to dump a looter more or less literally up the creek without a paddle.
Her gaze flickers down to the map.
Bandits, and more problems besides. Lifting one snowy eyebrow, Josie glances sidelong at the pigeon on her shoulder.
Just a little while standing here, and she's already learned quite a bit already, she thinks, as she watches the men trail off. Perhaps she should take up spying full-time?
The waiting around part might be boring, though.
"Well, it's about time someone noticed! I thought I might be standing here all day," she says, all-mock offense for the moment. "Still, you get points for novelty, I think. I've never had a man call me 'pretty eyes' before," she says, putting on her most cheerful smile for the man with the fox ears. Approaching the table, she leans across to offer him her left hand.
"That other one called you 'Morg', right? So, I think you must be who I'm looking for. Noah Hawthorne sent me." She pauses, gesturing towards herself with her right hand. "I'm Josephine, Josephine Lovelace. An archaeologist. But, just call me Josie, alright? After all, we might be working together for a while."
Well, that's forward.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Again a laugh from Morgan, bright and amused as he reaches across the table and takes her hand. "Well then, Josie. I hope I can keep ya on your toes. I got a few of em I hope most people havn't heard before." His shake is firm, the bare hint of tightly controled strength as he shakes in greeting. Its greeting of an equal to an equal as his quick eyes appraise the woman introducing herself to him.
A pet pigeon. A rifle. But introduced as a scholar. An Archaelologist in point of fact. And no fancy title to go with a name.
He decides that he likes that.
"Morgan Newkirk, at your service. Call me Morgan, or Morg if you're rushed for time." Again his eyes dance with humor as he lets her hand go. "I've heard of ya, somewhat at least. You've done some work for the Guild?" He asks curiously as he reaches up to pull the comsystem off of his neck and lay it on the table.
A smirk crosses his face though as he shakes his head. "Well if Noah sent ya, I'm gonna ahve to say either I'm gonna love this working together, or I'm gonna regret it. Either way, it won't be boring. And the company might be nice."
He eases away from the table, gesturing towards the Guildhouse. "Come on, I need to check on the supplies we got left here. And I think I might can russle us up a drink if you and your friend are thirsty." A nod towards the pigeon, the smile bright and easy as he begins to amble towards the Guildhouse. "...and you can explain just how we might be working together? Not that I'm complainin'. Just curious."
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
Her grip's firm -- not of the 'hand-wrecking' variety, but firm. "Hmm, let's hope so! It's no good if things are too predicatable~" She does lift an eyebrow at 'a few more than most' though, her dark-eyed gaze tilting downwards as if she could see through the table to his feet on the floor.
She releases his hand. "Morgan. Got it! It's good to meet you. Noah said you might be able to assist with this and that." She pauses, shrugging with the shoulder that's not currently occupied by a pigeon. "Like getting me a horse for example. ...Oh, have you? I guess it's been a little bit, here and there." She waggles the fingers of her left hand, as if to emphasize the hazy nature of this. "What with the exhibition and all, my living expenses were a bit much." The subject of which prompts a rueful smile. "...A pity, really."
It's none of her business, and remains none of her business, but...
As he leads, she follows, similarly pulling away from the table. She gestures, vaguely, at the black-and-white fancy pigeon on her shoulder as she heads after him. The bird blinks at Morgan dourly. "A little water for her should be enough. As for me..." She pauses, looking thoughtful. "Whatcha got? --Oh, and this is Penelope, by the way. She's coming along, too."
Her voice drops down a touch -- enough to lower the volume but not so soft that it carries too far. "I can't argue with curious. It's the sign of an inquiring mind, you know. Anyway, let's just say..." and here, she gestures again rather vaguely, though the point of her finger lingers near anyone hanging around to be reasonably in earshot before halting a moment near her left ear.
Translation: shhh.
"...There's the find of the century somewhere out west."
Translation: out very west. Past the blockade.
"And I might need a little help getting there. Excavations can be difficult on your own."
Translation: we're breaking through the blockade.
Josie smiles, brightly. "...You know what I mean?"
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Well then, pleasure to meet you too Penelope." Morgan nods towards the bird, head slightly tilted back over his shoulder at the stoic pigeon. One ear twitches and his tail swishes from one side to the other in a lazy manner as he strolls though the open door. First thing is fished out is a small saucer in which some water goes. The second is a pair of glasses.
"Mmmm, for us...well whiskey. Mead. Wine. Whats your pleasure." He asks as he leans back against the bar, the long piece of wood now hosting several missing and shattered pieces. "Mine's mead. But people tell me I got a bit of a sweet tooth."
The inside is fairly empty at the moment, the coming and goings of Guildmembers are the only thing that seems to disturb them and most seem to leave Morgan be. There are nods, smiles, tipped hats. The Fox seems popular with the Guild, and its worth noting that most of those people from out of town seem to be from elsewhere.
Which would mean from beyond that blockade.
The smile on his face grows, his eyes dance as she speaks.
"Well first off, a horse is an easy thing to find. For a partner, espicially one with pretty eyes, that one is free." The fox leans back against the bar again, picking up the bottle of mead and canting it towards her in silent question. "For the rest...well. I have some passing familarity with getting people out west. I have friends in transport."
Translation: He knows quite a few smugglers.
"I'm sure the'll be willing to help."
For a price of course.
"So I think its a good thing Noah sent you and Penelope my way. I'm beginning to like excavations. And I know I like mysterious finds." His silver encased hand flexes slightly, plates of metal moving smoothly over themselves to allow a perfect range of motion. "I'm guessing it'll be lively out west?"
Translation: We are totally going to get shot at arn't we?
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
"You'll have to excuse her, she's a bit shy around strangers," Josie jokes, taking obvious delight in the comment. No, she'll never ever ever get tired of making the same stupid excuse for her mute friend.
Josie's met a few beastmen before -- out in Aveh largely, but also fairly recently a feline nun -- but never one with vulpine characteristics. Her gaze lingers a moment on the tail. She's always wondered if a tail gets in the way.
"Down you go," she urges the bird, briefly stroking around Penelope's face with a gloved finger as if to coax her. "Poor thing, she's had a hard time lately," she says once the pigeon hops down onto the table, gazing at the bird sympathetically. "You wouldn't have any seed or bread, would you? She could use a treat. Oh, and for me, a little whisky sounds fine. Just a bit, though! It's still a little early in the day for /that/."
Says the woman who has been known to start drinking around 10 AM.
Good, there's some privacy in here. Still, when your plans are to thwart the lawful authority of a local power...
...In a way that can get you killed...
...Better safe than sorry?
Even if she's pretty much certain -- as if Ambrose and Noah's commentary hadn't already tipped her off -- that a few of the people in here have been evading the authorities for a few months now.
Paranoia: the Drifter's special friend.
"Good! Free is about as much as I can afford right now, anyway." She smiles, wryly. "It's not as if there'll be much call for the sort of work /I/ do around here for a while, so I'll need to make do with what I have."
With the statement of 'getting people out west', he's got her full attention. Penelope, meanwhile, nips at her dish of water. "Go on."
The mention of 'a price', though, earns a vague wince. "Actually, I think we can do a deal, there. Mr. Hawthorne," and she's probably only addressing the man as such when he's not in earshot because it'd annoy him, "owes me a bit of a favor -- his friend and I are old colleagues, you see. So, perhaps the two of you can work something out? I'll be needing him for assistance out west, anyway. Academic work, you know." Briefly, she clasps her hands together. "The more the merrier, though!"
Her smile is brilliant. Irrepressible.
"I'm sure it will be very lively~"
They're definitely going to get shot at.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Bread and whiskey. I think I can manage that." Morgan's reply comes tinged with laughter as he watches the woman and her bird. "After everything thats happened, I'm sure she needs a bit of a treat..." He pours Josie a finger or two of whiskey in the glass before hopping over the bar. One smooth athletic leap that is so unconcious of a manuver that its hard to tell if he's showing off or not.
A moment or two later he comes up with a hard crust of bread that he hands over towards the archelogist.
"Not a whole lot, and a bit stale, but its something at least." The fox replies as he sets one hand on the smooth top of the bar to hop back over.
"To be honest I think things will be a bit slow around here myself. Beyond building work, and I'm not that much of a builder." A twitch of a smile. "Unless its a Gear I've always been better at breaking things than putting them together. Gears I can at least help with at least."
His hand slides across the bar to collect his own glass as he watches her curiously. One ear flicks left, then right. Listening, feeling for any obvious or not so obvious interlopers. Finding none he gives her a smile.
"I was thinking of relocating anyway, the Guild offices further west are tiny little things. They need a bit of help on occasion. "As for Noah, well we can defintally work something out. So out west sounds perfect for me."
He takes a sip, his own smile growing in responce to hers. He can't help it. "Well...my friends. The ones into transport. They happen to be into moving small quanities of highly valuble goods places where tarrifs and taxes arn't as much of a problem. I figure I can find out some ways out that direction. Where we arn't bothered by bandits or...other people willing to shoot first and ask questions after they loot the bodies."
A flicker of a roguish smile comes up at that.
"So when were you wanting to be leaving, Miss Lively?"
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
"I would certainly hope so!" Josie afirms. "I haven't had a drink since the invasion, if you can believe it." It's what happens when your flask runs dry -- but to be fair, she had totally legitimate reasons for draining it at the time.
Whether or not he was showing off, she /is/ a little impressed, to judge from her expression. Beastfolk do tend to be more athletic. Well, usually...
It's definitely stale. Josie's lips tilt upwards briefly, before she snaps the bit of crust in half and hands it over to Penelope. Read: puts it on the counter. "I think she'll appreciate the challenge, actually."
For her part the pigeon squints at the bit of crust. Then very carefully, begins to investigate it with her beak.
"Gears, huh... familiar with them, are you?" Josie leans against the counter, picking up the glass to swirl it idly. "We found a few broken ones out in Lahan during an exploration of the site. I'm not that familiar with them, to be honest, but the parts were very interesting once disassembled..."
She takes a sip. "Not bad."
Glancing over at Morgan, Josie nods. "I'll need to speak to him again before things get underway, anyway, so... maybe I can take it up with him for you?" She gestures, with the glass. "Assuming you don't beat me to the punch, that is."
She might not have anything to say as she takes a drink, listening to him explain the business with his 'friends', but she does nod. In approval.
Something will work out. She's got a good feeling about this.
Once again, she lifts an eyebrow and gives Morgan a long, appraising look. Well, that's a new one. "Hmm. Well, I imagine there's planning to be done, first... and I have a few loose ends I'll want to tie up before I head out. I imagine I won't be able to come back this way for a while, so I should say my goodbyes while I can."
And there's that unsettled business between herself and a certain nearby ruin. Possibly two.
Yes, there /is/ more important business at hand, but the thought that she was defeated -- twice -- by a well-explored ruin nags her. Maybe she should drop that woman -- Molly, wasn't it? -- a line and see if she can round up a group. Lifting the glass to her lips, Josie takes a sip.
Gazing at Morgan over the edge of the glass, she smiles faintly. "It's better not to have any regrets, right?" she says, after lowering her glass to rest on the counter.
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"Well I'm glad I can provide, because thats entirely a shame. Not to have any drinks for that long." The beastman replies with a laugh as he drains quite a bit more of his glass. It doesn't seem to impair him that much. Of course mead isn't /that/ strong a drink either.
His eyes flick to the bird on the table as she sizes up the bread as if it was an enemy. Eyes twinkle with mirth before that gaze turns back towards Josie. "Well I'd happily show you mine, but I kinda got it a bit broken up fighting. Apparently one of those Metal Demons took umbrage that I was driving around in it. But yes, I'm orginally a pilot. Well thats what I call myself, and what they called me in the Battle Arena in Kislev when I fought there. But left that behind when I decided to join the Guild."
He's free with information, but its easily found information.
Its not like he's hiding much there.
"I tell you what. Its a race then, whoever talks to Noah about it first wins. Looser owes the other drinks." That roguish grin edges back in. "Or dinner. Winners choice."
Again the golden mead is brought to his lips before he quirks one sharp eyebrow in her direction. "Thats true. That is very true. Do you have some regrets you need to clear up before you can move on?" He asks. The ears of his isn't the only fox-like thing of his. His curiousity seems to match too.
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
"I suppose it is what it is, what with the state of the city?" Josie says, shaking her head mournfully. "Still, I was half-tempted to hit the road to see if I could find a place to drink at. Now /that's/ a sorry state of affairs, huh?" She smiles lopsidedly as she glances over at him, and takes another drink.
All the more reason to get out on the road.
Penelope, meanwhile, has begun to rip into the crust. With force.
It's the phrasing. It's all Josie can do not to choke on her drink. Her lips quiver, as in private, forcefully muted amusement at something he's said. Clearing her throat, she straightens before looking over at him. "--Interesting! I don't think I've met a pilot before," she says. "Gears have expensive upkeep, don't they? Most of the ones I've seen were owned by larger excavation teams or militaries." Aveh, for example. "...I can't say I know much about Kislev, though. I've never been."
First one to talk to Noah about their plans wins the prize, so to speak.
"Hmm." Tilting her head to one side, Josie regards Morgan for a long moment. Then, setting down her glass with a thump on the counter, she reaches over towards him. Her hand's palm up. "You're on. If I catch up to him first, I'll make you regret it~" She says it sing-song, but that's no idle threat lingering in her voice there.
Not from Josie, destroyer of livers.
"...Hm?" Again, she tilts her head as she considers the vulpine beastman. "Only little ones, this time! Call it my professional pride, right?" Pride that was slighted by the Ruins of Memory. She swirls her glass agian, staring down into its depths. "Besides, like I said, I met a few good people around here, so I might as well break off properly this time. Some of them, I might not see them again."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
Its /always/ the phrasing.
The foxes eyes are bright as he simply slowly finishes off his mead as Josie coughs. He tries to keep the twitching smile off his face, and fails for the most part. Though at least he covers it up with the drink.
"Oh she's a beast to keep up I'll give ya that. Point of fact I havn't used her much. But this..." He waves towards the mess of the Guildhouse and the town. "...seemed right to pull her out and at least try to do something with her. Not that I managed that well, but at least I slowed em down a bit."
A twtich of a smile. "At least thats what I keep tellin myself." He adds wryly. "Poor ol' Laughing Fox, gettin her repaired is gonna be a bit difficult. But..." A nod towards her. "...I'm gonna be in your line of business for a bit. Trying to find old parts and equipment to upgrade her. Don't worry. I'm not that much competition."
A grin at that, a grin that only gets wider at her reply.
"Darlin, I'll be looking forward to you tryin."
He might regret it, but he'll enjoy it too.
Thats just how it goes.
"Well then, if you want any company fixin' your professional pride. Consider my not-so-humble company. Eh?" He replies as he reaches for the bottle of mead again. "But, I should do the same. Most of the Guild members I know are staying here to help with rebuilding and protection. But some friends..." A glance towards her. "...old ones and new ones. Well. I'm sure the'll be headed on like we are. There are people that life just doesn't let sit still."
<Pose Tracker> Josephine Lovelace has posed.
By the time Penelope finishes with that bit of bread, there's only the smallest of crumbs left, trampled into oblivion by the pigeon's feet.
Meanwhile, Josie dares a glance at Morgan. Oh. He noticed.
...Oh well.
"So I hear. I bet it's especially tough right now, what with..." Josie gestures. People probably have more on their plates than ensuring that esoteric supplies come in.
And of course, even more than fuel there's the problem of /parts/. "Oh dear, oh dear..." Josie sighs. "I'll tell you what, if I find any parts, I'll sell them to you instead of disassembling them. I'll even give you a deal on the markup. Deal?"
There's a smile that could be called vaguely catlike. "We'll just have to see who gets to him first~" There's a pause, where she scoops up her glass again and takes a drink. "I won't lose, you know."
Not if she can help it.
"I'll tell you what, I'll add you to my short-list. Assuming I have the time between getting ready, that is." Depending on what needs to be done. "And saying my goodbyes."
She finishes off her glass at last, setting it down on the counter. "I suppose some of them might move on with the wind in time." Drifters drift. "But some of the others..." They wouldn't /really/ head into Aveh territory. Would they?
...Those idiot kids just might. Briefly, Josie frowns.
And then, she clasps her hands together. Turning towards him, she asks, all smiles again, "So! About that horse..."
<Pose Tracker> Morgan Newkirk has posed.
"I'll hold ya too that," Morgan replies with a laugh. A deal on parts is something he can appriciate. And if she's as good as she sounds? Well. She might have found herself a constant buyer. Nothing wrong with that at all.
The smile though. That looks...promising. Promising of what he's not sure, but he is perfectly willing to find out. "Time will tell." Comes his drawl on that subject as he starts to rack his brain on just where Noah might be now.
He can't help it. The competition gets his blood going.
Now though its his turn to turn that smile into a wide grin, vulpine and bright. Her own turn of phrase causes him to nearly laugh himself. "Oh will you now?" Again that promising drawl. "I'll be lookin' forward to that."
Talk though quickly turns back to the orgional purpose of the visit. A nod as he slaps his hand lightly on the bar and starts to stand.
"Right you are, about that horse. Come on, I'll show ya what you got to choose from.!" He adds as he, compleatly on a whim, offers her his arm to traipse off into the mess that is the reconstruction effort.
To find her a horse.