"Cheers!"

Ivan returned from the bar with their drinks. They'd set up in a neglected corner with a good view of the whole tavern, so that he could decide who looked most promising as a source. He set the beers down on the oak barrel they sat around and shifted the stack of crates he sat on to sit closer.

"Some of the guys at the bar are definitely Brothers, and at the big poker table over there too. There's a couple of armed heavies and a brain looking feller in the opposite corner, but they don't seem to be Brothers. Might be a good starting point, unless you want to try your hand at some cards. You spotted anything from here?"

Ivan cast his eyes around the room again, hidden mostly behind his dropped locks. Nothing but the earlier hiccup with Cilius had gone wrong yet. The supplies were safely stored away in a docking crate Ivan knew to be as legit as it got in the Harbour, and they'd secured lodgings at Widow's Walk for a good price. Getting this next part right was going to be key.

Tristaan chuckled at Ivan's implication that he try his luck at any games at all; he wondered if it was a bit of good-humored mocking or if the doctor was genuine. Whatever the case, it was amusing enough at the moment. The passive accepted his drink with a grin, despite the fact that being back in a tavern after his diablerie was a slightly nerve-pinching experience he didn't think the human would understand.

"Oes, I noticed th'armed ones. They're a bit twitchy if you ask me, which either means they're so green they don't know their own weapons or they're actually hopin' for trouble." He smirked, hoping it was the former instead of the latter, "Other'n'that th'smatterin' of other seedy folk about are prolly none too high on th'Brother totem pole t'care about."

He nodded in the direction of the on-going game of cards, "I think someone's workin' that already. I ent sure gettin' in their way would be in our favor."

"Also notice they keep looking over to the cards table. Do you see that? They're cautious or nervous or something."



"Yes, good idea."

They didn't really have enough money to sustain a game of cards on that table, and Ivan recognised a couple of faces amongst them. Too risky.

"Okay Tris, here's what we'll do. Buy 'em a round of drinks, before they can refuse. We're pirates returned from the Blue Hingle, we're looking for work, and recent news. Keep it friendly, see if they have some jobs or some information. Do you know the song 'Maiden Voyage'?"

As Tristaan and Ivan were speaking, four men at the bar were having a private conversation of their own.

"Twice his normal take," muttered Daddy Parr, a fat man in what should have been the prime of his life. "He's gettin' too big for his boots."

Dexter O'Malley snorted into his beer, running a bony hand through his thin hair. "It's not like he's been 'round longer 'n us."

"The King believes that he can bring about the end of the Drain," said a thick-necked Mugrobi man by the name of Koro. "We have been cowards to stay silent."

Black Jack Gershwin frowned at Koro, pushing his hat back so that his one raised eyebrow could be seen. "Speak fer yerself, Mug," he spat. "Some of us value our thumbs, is all. Speak ill o' Hawke's bulldog an' find yerself at the wrong end of a creative means o' punishment. He'd never believe it."

"But we all suspect it," said Dexter, looking at the other three men. "Right?"

They exchanged meaningful looks.

"Look, them little vacations of his ain't for his health, that's all I know. Man's got a skin condition an' it ain't gettin' better in the tropical sunlight." Parr chuckled darkly.

Tristaan kept a blank expression. It was quite obvious now that whoever the unsavories were, they were definitely interested in trouble. A little voice in the back of his thoughts groaned inwardly at the thought of another bar fight.


Pirates. Blue Hingle. Ships. Dze. I need an alternative line of work.

"Are we singin'?" He smiled wanly, standing and hovering at their table to hear Ivan's answer. Dancing was one thing. Singing was an entirely other matter. The passive arched a slim eyebrow, confident that he had no real desire to begin any altercations over the timbre of his voice.

He chuckled, adjusting his hat, "Buyin' drinks an' makin' friendly I can handle, but you must remember I was never on the performin' end of th'Circus. For good reason."

"Haha, no we're not singing. The Blue Hingle crew wrote that song, s'well known. I spent a little time on board - infact, I wrote one of the lines. I'm hoping incase we get asked anything we can blag our way through. I mean, don't let me stop you if the feeling takes you! You ready?"

Tristaan looked relieved. He laughed. Ivan was very multi-faceted it seemed; an onion with never-ending layers each revealing something else unusual just when you thought you had heard it all. Or, he was simply a fantastic habitual liar.

The passive decided the verdict was still out on that.

"Oes. Let's go pretend that both of us're nice kovs instead of just one of us." He grinned with obvious humor, turning on his heel and heading toward the bar to order drinks.

Tristaan stood next to the four shady fellows in their own conversation, leaning against the bar casually on his elbows, hoping to catch the barkeep's attention with a wordless wave of his hand so he could specify who the round of alcoholic beverages was for. He rapped his fingers on the tabletop and tried not to be too curious about the discussion going on next to him.

He smiled once Tristaan's back was turned. Information gathering for Ivan was more fun and interesting than mindless action, and the better the former was performed, the less the latter was required. Showtime!

Ivan got up and followed, hoping to look as inconspicuous as possible. He stood on the far side of Tristaan at the bar and tried to remember how to speak like a pirate.

Yellow bellied, lilly livered, land lubbering sonofagun...yarr...arr? Yarr. Something.

Mr. Spitz was watching one of the particularly nice looking women in the front of the tavern. She was a fine, busty wench with a face like a bucket of smashed crabs, but busty all the same. It would be a lie to say he wasn't leering at her over the bar. Then there was a drumming on the bar counter. With a scowl, he turned his head to the noise, seeing a pretty boy in a pirate get up wave him over. Spitting on the floor, Spitz came over and rested his hands on the wooden top.

"Whatche wan'?" He grunted.

Tristaan had no talent in pirate speech, but he could, when the situation called on it, lay Tek on thick like so much tar. Sure, it didn't sound like anything on the ocean, but it was better than nothing. He supposed, to some, it might even be exotic. Honestly, he had no idea. The passive hooked a thumb towards the slightly twitchy collection of folk across the room, near the card table and mustered up a warm grin.

"I'd like tae s'prise some ol'friends o'er there wit'a benny round'o'drinks. All'o'em if'n y'don't mind." His emphasis was on surprise. Somewhere inside, he was wincing. It had been quite sometime. At least his smile was genuine.

Spitz looked at Tristaan for a long while, sucking on his teeth, till finally, he grunted, pushed away from the bar and pulled down a variety of bottles and a few glasses. After a bit of fiddling, he presented Tristaan with Chrove's Erses.

"Two tallies." He grunted, hand outstretched.

"D'arr, y'll av t'excuse Gerard 'ere, lad spends more'n a moon a-sea 'n' e comes on all Tek-nical, like."

Ivan gave Tris a fake dose of stinkeye and made a quick wink. He turned back to Mr. Spitz and nodded quickly.

"Much obliged."

There was definitely something terribly enjoyable about creative lying for Ivan, and he wondered wether Tristaan would be ble to keep up.

The passive produced the coins and deposited them in the man's hand without losing his grin. It was a challenge.



You did not. Tristaan blinked, but otherwise did not look phased by the snide remark, realizing that the only apparent real difference between speaking like a pirate and throwing around enough Tek was a bit more guttural noises, some squinting, and a few more y-oriented grunting sounds. Easy enough.


The passive shoved some drinks at Ivan with a broadening grin, "Git on, then. These drinks ent gonna walk themselves tae th'table on their own, eh?"

Ivan grinned back, now that the games had begun. He wondered what pirate name Tristaan would bestow upon him if he didn't introduce himself first. He hooked some fingers around the mug handles and walked over to the table of their target, then set the spare beers down.

"This rounds on us, lads. I'm Smithers, 'n' thas Gerard. We been a-seafarin' praps a wee bit too long, 'n' the lay o' the land up 'n' changed on us. I be wandrin' if ye fine gents'd be able to fill us in on t'comings and goings o'late. And there's more where that came from, if ye'll be so kind!" he said, pointing to the pints. Hopefully these were thirsty men.

The four men stopped in their conversation and stared for a long time at "Smithers," wondering collectively who the hell he thought he was fooling with that phoney accent. But free ale was free ale.

"Sure, sit yer bones a while," said Dexter, kicking out a nearby chair for Ivan to sit and accepting a mug of ale. "Aye," echoed his friends.

"What is it you need to know?" asked Koro, always the patient one.

The passive smirked, realizing he was not offered a chair. Without complaining, however, he found his own from a nearby table and seated himself, turning the chair around so his arms rested on the back, sword still over his shoulder. He wondered how long Ivan could keep up the pirate act before he caught himself in his own accent; it would be fun to wait for, dangerous or not.

Tristaan decided he'd spend the first round observing before speaking, getting a feel for these men and their thoughts before jumping into the fray.

"Thankyee kindly! Any grand news really. What int'rests me most be the tradin' o' precious med'cine, in particky-lar stick, and by the bar. I been known to move certain things from place to place in the past. O cors o'late me 'n' "Compensating Gerard" 'ere been pursuing other opportunities."

Ivan paused, glanced at Tris and smiled. "Don't ask 'im why he's called "Compensating Gerrard" - or 'bout his great big chopper either, for that matter."
He jerked a thumb at Tristaan's claymore.

"Anyways, on one of our recent exploits we happen t'come across one or two islands wi many a hectare o' poppys a-growin', an' the landowners seem eager t'find a worthy buyer, wholesale like. I wonder if ye lads might know who we'd best go with that sorta business? Who be running the ope trade nowadays?
Oh! And afore I ferget. I heard tell o' some, ahh, let's say, trouble at the top, but I know precious little of the details. Surely there aint no new kid on tha block? Be there anymore to tell on th subject?"

Ivan was good at lying, but rubbish at accents. Quickly he formulated a plausible fabrication as to why he might affect such an outrageous dialect, incase the men grew suspicious.

Tristaan did his best to keep his expression as unaffected as possible, smiling bemusedly as if it was an inside joke. He was content with the knowledge that some may argue otherwise.

He also made a mental note to bring up the doctor's choice of fake names for the passive as soon as they found themselves in any form of danger. It would assuredly make for the best kind of conversation should Ivan find himself in need of rescuing for any reason.

"Cut the crap," said Black Jack impatiently. "Every sailor who lays anchor in this port-"
"Or sails the seas," cut in Koro.
"-right, every sailor worth 'is salt knows the Vein. What's yer game?"

"He's askin' about the Drain," said Dexter, frowning at his mates. "An' it ain't like it's our civic duty to defend the Vein. We're on break."

"Sure, Dex, it's perfectly safe to sit around gabbin' about the Drain in front'a total strangers, in the bloody Dove, for godsake." Daddy Parr rolled his eyes. "Ye lookin' for an early retirement or are ye just suicidal?"

Koro seemed very calm, despite the turbulent subject matter, and he decided to take over the conversation. His booming voice commanded attention.

"There is a rival company forming, parallel to the Vein," he said, waving his hand to dismiss his fellows even as they shushed him. "Its origin is a mystery. It is not to be trusted, for it uses arata currency."

"That means golly money," explained Dexter, who seemed mutinous against the others as well. He snorted. "But it's doin' well. Good enough to get Hawke riled, anyway."

"Any more information," said Parr suddenly, slamming down his empty glass, "will require more beer, lads."

Tristaan listened carefully, but realized quickly that Ivan was the one who knew this side of things from a more ... personal perspective.

It was obvious, however, that these men were on the cusp of something dangerous. The passive concluded that whatever they knew was assuredly contributing to their restlessness. Alcohol may very well have been the best solution to loosen their tongues and grease the wheels of their conversation. It might also end up serving to lower the risk in sudden combat should the four decide their inquisitive new acquaintances had asked too many questions.

With a chuckle that broke his rather lengthy silence, he leaned back a bit from slouching over the back of his chair. While he had no problems fetching another round, Tristaan glanced at the doctor, wondering if the planned on pushing their conversation further before they were rewarded for their cooperation.

"Oh, will't'now?"

Ivan stroked his thin beard thoughtfully and stared disengaged through his drink, then after a moment snapped back into focus and smirked.

"Clever, that. If ye skip convertin' ye cash t'Kings, makes it easy to avoid paying dues - any importer exporter wi big ideas would be drawn immediately to this "Drain". An' no wonder Cilius wa so upset! Still it's driven his rates down, and no mistake. Nothin' like a bit o competition for that..."





"Ye lads a-been mighty helpful indeed! Ye more'n deserve another round!"

Ivan nodded to Tris, and under his breath said, "Hard stuff for them, light for us. There's no telling what they'll say when they're sloshed."

Ivan turned back to the group and continued.

"Me, I'm an old school pirate. Kings worked for me an' it's what I know. Can't trust arata as ye call it, any old Joe can carry that, I been a pirate too long not to know it.
Now from what I remember of Silas, he's no man t'put up with competition - an there's but two ways to fight competition - one's wi gold, and the other's wi steel. Mister Hawke always seemed to favour steel, if memory serves me correct, so either the Drain is operatn' secret like, or they're a muscle heavy gang. Which is it?"

Tristaan excused himself with a nod, standing as the doctor finished his question and wandering back to the bar. He considered how noticeable it would be to place obviously different drinks on the table between the two of them, curiously contemplating his own level of tolerance and wordlessly weighing the amount of subtle suspicion their new acquaintances had tried so hard not to display. As much as he understood Ivan's sentiment, the passive had a feeling it might have been a bit early in the conversation to be revealing their intentions through their choice in alcohol.

He hoped the human could hold his liquor as well as his opiates. Or at least pretend to.

Leaning against the bar and placing another two tallies down as both payment and motivation for attention, Tristaan looked to Spitz, " 'Nuther round o'those Chroves for us'n'our new friends there, if'n y'don't mind."

Dexter seemed to make certain that Tristaan was ordering another round before he spoke.

"Slimy little buggers, they are," he said under his breath. "Like ghosts. We can't find 'em so we're lost as to how they're operatin' and how they're gettin' past our armadas. It's a scam to fool the bargain-hungry mainlanders, is what it is. They get all fat on the golly money an' then find they can't buy a tick's tock with it, bein' scummy low-down dealers."

"Let me tell you this," said Daddy Parr indignantly, somewhat riled by Ivan's claims about the money. "Birds haven't gone anywhere but up in the last fifteen years. Wanna know what's happened to the squares? Plummeted harder than the Queen tryin'a get down a staircase on her own steam. It's suicide puttin' yer faith in that economy."

"The Drain must be pulling in ignorant people," mused Koro. "People who do not know what is going on in this country of yours."

"Or just people wantin' out of the monopoly," muttered Black Jack.

The others glared at him menacingly.

Spitz retrieved Tristaan's Chrove's Erses without hesitation, but he did give the passive the 'eye' as they exchanged currency for beverage. He could see what was going on, but it wasn't his business. Turning away, he eyed a cage behind the bar. A white chicken eyed him back with a bbbuuurrrk!

The passive grinned mischievously despite Spitz's glare, making an obvious point of depositing an extra tally on the counter top. He winked cheekily. Then with a laugh, Tristaan managed to delicately balance all the drinks with both hands and a tilt of his chin before wandering back to the table.

Setting the drinks down with a flourish (but without spilling a drop), he paused only to flash Ivan a bit of apology with his gray eyes, grin still set upon his face. Briefly, he wondered how the doctor would react to his direct decision to not take his suggestion on their drink orders.

Maybe next round, doc.

Catching the last bit of conversation, the passive was more than a little curious at the shady lot's implications. He returned to his chair with his own drink, watching the men's faces as if trying to discern where their loyalties really were through their positions in conversation.