Old dogs, new tricks. [closed]

[Storm Veritas]

The port of Tylermande has a sort of loud silence to it. With the sun high and sails about the seas full, a sturdy wind continued to whip across open water at the muddy-red faces of the sailors, traders, townsfolk and visitors moving in and out at a steady pace. Despite the clang of bells ringing as they slowly drifted into the floating wooden docks, and the loud chatter of barter being negotiated, the wind seemed to cut any carry out of noise. Here, with the briny scent and choppy sea, there was usually a pleasant demeanor. People’s eyes grew more blue with their focused pupils, and teeth shined whiter against tanned skin. Perhaps it was the ability to pass gas with relative impunity that led to a better overall temperament.

Regardless of the cause, today’s feeling about the port was nearly solemn. All the traders – typically the drivers of conversation – worked in lighter tones, clearly conscious of the tandem who had been seen perusing the books. Rates of transfer were posted clearly in thick chalk today, and the chalk pieces beneath the display boards were still thick and long – obvious signs of very little transactional activity.

On their best behavior. So the traders are in on it, too, or they wouldn’t know to watch their own asses.

Ever one to lighten the mood, Storm Veritas walked with his friend atop the docks. His metal-soled shoes (which granted him a propulsion not so different from flight) clacked loudly on the water-worn pinewood, and he carried a tall glass of a creamy yellow beer that was already half-gone. They laughed a bit at the rocking docks with each passing wave, Storm nearly having to call upon his flight to keep him upright.

“Mix in a water, you light-weight pussy. We have work to do.” Shinsou was trying to joke and promote a less ominous tone, but his eyes betrayed his mouth. Those focused, hawkish globes were sometimes too quick and intelligent for his own good, and none would buy him for some half-drunken lout.

“Relax, gramps. Don’t forget we’re here with honey, not vinegar. Not that it matters; can you hear them pucker their assholes from here?” Storm finished his drink in a long gulp, at least partly designed to spite his friend preaching temperance.

“Loud and clear; these people are terrified.”

The eyes of the strikingly handsome man running the wheat stand could be found anywhere but on the two approaching leaders. He clenched his hands, combing fingers through his thick, straw-blonde hair as he nervously bounced from foot to foot. Storm joined him in scouring the docks for modes of escape; clearly the entrepreneur was strongly considering the option of making a dash for it. With a booming greeting, the wizard made certain that he was heard clearly across the cutting wind.

“Goldenlocks! Relax, my friend, today’s a lucky day for you. You’ll tell your grandkids about it if you’re smart.”

The thin, almost waifish salesman was frozen now, his sea-blue eyes rolling up slowly towards the oncoming legends. Storm Veritas and Shinsou Vaan Osiris had abandoned the song-and-dance routine, moving quickly with raised hands and open palms towards him. Extending a hand, Storm broke the ice immediately.

“Sit. Relax. Don’t shit yourself; I don’t want to deal with the smell, the fish around here is bad enough. If you’re scared that means you know us, and if you know us, you know what a damned fool’s errand it would be to try and run.” Storm gestured to a sealed barrel of wine, where the young man reluctantly sat.

“I, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that… I just…” He was trying to talk through a lie that he had run out of time to practice.

Storm considered leveling the man to smack a layer of sense into him, but optioned against it. Instead, he squatted, lowering to stare the man in the eye, speaking slowly after the terrified man trailed off.

“Easy… Play this through in your head. If we were going to do something, and thought you the source of the problem, we wouldn’t be talking, would we?” Storm stifled a small belch as his eyes shot around to the other tradesmen. A row of booths were staring intently, but none dared venture out beyond their tables.

“Your tariff rate is on the books for three times the normal rate. That means you’re tipping out at three-to-one on what we agreed with Alerar. Now, there are three possible scenarios that I see taking place here.” Storm was focused now, scanning about with sharp and concise gestures, pulling taut on his dress clothes and ensuring his teeth were clean by rapidly flicking his tongue across the top row behind his lips.

“One: you two have a deal in place, and you’re chopping the excess free cash on each shipment in some form. With two-hundred extra crowns for every few boxes, you can wet a lot of beaks…”

“Two: you…” Storm was interrupted too late as they only heard the faint pop of gunfire from somewhere behind them.