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The tavern was bustling as per usual. Glasses clink here and there or thud on the hardwood surfaces to summon one of the lovely waitresses obviously hired to sell more drink. The atmosphere of the cheap establishment claimed it was anything but cheap, as the merriment abound was well worth its weight in gold.
One soul was not quite so merry, however. Quinn sat quietly in an empty booth, thumbing through various papers with only brief respites for a sip of his gut-rot whiskey. The man was hard at work, analyzing the various applications of dozens of well-known warriors and scholars from across the various worlds. It was a mentally grueling procedure.
Had he known this would be so difficult, Quinn might have just slapped an advertisement onto the front billboard of the cheap tavern and called it a day. Hiring roughens would be less trouble in the here-and-now. Let future Quinn deal with the repercussions.
The age-worn man pulled a pocket watch to check on the time. “Thirty second and he’s--” the verbalized thought had to be eaten as his booth gained an additional occupant.
The slender elven man with hair like steel gossamer and very traditional attire. The black tunic held a bronze trim and a split deep enough to hide beneath a matching bronze-like belt and red sash beneath.
“Mr. Carson, I presume?” Inquire Quinn, a brow cocked. His only response from the gray-haired elf was a nod. Thirty seconds to spare; this man was very punctual. “Well, Mr. Carson, I assume you’ve read through the application. Essentially I’m looking for sell-swords and the like to earn a bit of gold for my research. You will receive a fair share, and along the way, you may benefit from my research directly. Does this sound acceptable?”
Again, there was another nod. Quinn took a moment to reflect on the unusual silence. “No questions?”
For a moment, the elf’s pale gray eyes lower to the table. When they return, his lean shoulders rose and fell.
“It takes a wise man to listen, but a fool not to question… So let me not be that fool and ask a question of you. Can you speak?” Quinn’s inquiry brought an amused smile to his guest’s pale lips. The man shook his head. “Ahh. Your application did not mention you were mute. Not that it matters. Can you write? How would you communicate?”
There was a long moment of thought from the elf. His first response came as the general gesture for writing. The next, his hands rose and did the speaking for him. The silent motions were kept brief, doubting even the old human knew the language.
“Pleasure’s mine, and please, refer to me as Q or C, whichever you prefer.” The brows elevated upon the elf’s face showed his surprise. “I’m almost sixty years old and hiring adventurers. Do you think I just sit on a stoop and talk about my grandkids all day?” Quinn said with a light smile. “I’m a scholar, and I find sometimes a few extra languages - spoken and non - make my line of work easier.”
The elf had simply greeted Quinn by his full name, spelling out Quinn Darcii for the majority of the gestures. With the friendly abbreviation offered, he returned the favor. You may use my first name. I would not trust a man who calls me Mister with my life.
“I wholeheartedly agree. Familiarity between allies,” Quinn said with his smile broadening. “Are you of the chatty type? I’ve known a few mutes who prefer silence.”
The latter, signed Cain. The elf, Cain Carson, remained poised with a proud posture though he too let a smile cross his lips. His next gesture was not to bring about silent words but to point out the eyes that were leering at them from across the room.
When Quinn followed the pointing finger’s direction, he too spotted the onlooker. She was not attempting to hide her gaze -- not that it would help. The luminance of the golden eyes among contrasting the non-human darkness of her flesh set her apart from the primarily human-colored folk bustling about.
The dark indigo-black skinned woman perked up when noticed by the pair. Quinn and Cain had only a brief moment to glance towards each other before the chipper young woman crossed the room. Quinn had opened his mouth to greet the new company, but paused when she simply plopped her derriere into the seat next to himself.
“Salutations! I heard you were hiring people for some money-making scheme right? Well, I’m your girl, you can count on me!” The disarming smile on her dark lips could melt hearts, but the deceitful charm was not quite so effective on the aged Quinn.
“I’m accepting applications for work,” he responded as politely as he could muster. “Adventurer types looking to make a little coin.”
“Oh…” There was a moment of hesitation and her glowing gaze darted around. “So, like, legal stuff, or…”
Now Quinn was curious. Another glance between him and Cain confirmed they both had the same question. Was she worried, or disappointed? “Completely legal,” Quinn quickly informed her. “Though sometimes we will be operating for the law… outside the law. Bounty hunting is a rather common mercenary work that pays quite well.” The woman’s lips pursed for a moment in thought. “Are you still interested?”
“Hmm?” A quick fluttering of lashes and the refocusing of her gaze was a telltale sign she had simply zoned out. “Oh, yea! Totally! I could totally do what you just said, you can count on me!”
I don’t think this one’s all there, signed Cain. He took note that the newcomer looked dumbfounded by his waving hands. She has the look of a street urchin. ill-begotten gains polish her wardrobe.
“Hey! Don’t go casting any spells on me, I have friends in high places. Don’t try me, bucko!” She was lying through her teeth, obviously. “Look, my name’s Maeve. I’m here, but I can be anywhere we need to be at a moment’s notice. Need work, will travel. And I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty or chip a nail. Common, you guys need a gal, who wants to hire a sausage fest, huh?”
“Well… you drive a hard bargain.” The near pleading of Maeve had pulled at a few heartstrings. She was very childlike, though he had no doubts she was close to her twenties. While he never had kids, he imagined this is what a parent might feel like trying to tell their offspring no. “Very well. I have a spare application, why don’t you--”
“Aww, paperwork?” The disheartened slump of Maeve’s shoulders once again weighed on Quinn. “Alright… Just give me the darn thing…”
Quinn handed her a crisp piece of paper. Hours went into the formatting and questions, but he doubted she would care how streamlined he had made it. “It’s only one page, and rather informal. Why don’t you have a drink while you work on it?”
She was happy to take him up on that offer. As she slid out of the booth and dashed off wordlessly, he caught an almost mischievous grin on her ebony lips. When his gaze turned back to Cain, he was primed and ready to sign; You know she is going to put that on your tab, yes?
“You caught that too?” He sighed the response. “Well, at least she is out of our hair for now. Back to the topic at hand.” Once again, the elf nodded. He felt no need to sign, so his fingers laced together and rested promptly upon the table.
“Very well,” Quinn began, quickly regaining what composure he could muster. “I selected you for your martial talents. You claim to be a novice tactician, with a focus on exotic weapons and controlling the battlefield. I take it the whip on your hip is the chosen exotic weapon?” He had no tone of disapproval, but the curiosity was evident. The elf’s lips curled in a content smile at the seasoned human’s reaction and once again offered a slow nod.
“I can imagine the tactics a master of the whip might employ. And you read the agreement, yes? In a party of five, your cut of all proceedings would be ten percent with--”
I understand. Ten percent to each of the five members employed, with fifty percent to a shared pool for major expenses and outfitting. The wording was exactly as printed on the briefing. I request enchanted whips when it is my turn to be outfitted.
It was Quinn’s turn to nod his acknowledgment. He took a brief moment to jot the note down on Cain’s application. “What is an exotic weapon master without appropriate exotic weapons?” He offered the rhetoric with a casual smile. “I can tell you’ve read over the information I’ve offered, so let’s move to a few questions. I hope you don’t mind, I would rather ask these in person…”
The gentle sway of steel gossamer gave the understanding nod an extra level of elegance. “Thank you. First question… Why do you seek to join a group with no direction?”
You mentioned coin. You mentioned adventure. In between those lines, I read a full stomach, a little spending money, and all the chance in the world to hone my skill in a multitude of situations I would not think to train for alone. The lengthy silence while Cain signed gave a moment for Quinn to sip at his sour hash. Even after the elf finished, Quinn took a moment to reflect.
He rather liked that explanation. “Adventuring for personal gain is common, but yours is not avarice. Good answer.” He paused after the praise to glance over his notes. “Alright. What can you offer both myself, and your fellow teammates? What are your useful skills?”
This one gave pause to the signing hands. After a moment of consideration, there was a hint of defeat in the hands that sign; I can offer my hands. Be they wielding weapons or offering friendship. I cannot think of any other useful skills.
“I’d consider humble a skill, and we can attribute that to a friendly atmosphere in the party dynamics.” Another satisfactory answer. Considering he expected many of their activities to require physical combat in pursuit of higher coin, a focused tactician was well needed. “Moving on, before I bloat your ego too much… Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
I prefer to live in the present. In ten years, I see myself alive. This was the first unsatisfactory response. It was not a terrible response, but the questions were designed to give insight into one’s personal drives.
This was a far more confusing question. “A tactician with no plan for the future? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”
I plan to survive. The last gesture was slowed for emphasis.
Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. His plans would be anything for survival. “And what of your potential allies? Would you cross us to survive?”
If we were but coworkers, perhaps. However, I’ve heard the hard life of so-called adventuring often forges bonds far stronger.
“So you come looking to make friends?” To Quinn’s cross-examination, the elf merely shrugged and smiled. His hands did not move, but Quinn understood. If it happens, it happens, and the pale pretty-boy was not against the idea.
“I understand,” Quinn sighed with something akin to relief. “Last question,” Quinn paused briefly to regain his proverbial footing. “What is the airspeed of an unladen swallow?”
However fast the wind carries it.
“Very zen. As expected from everything else I’ve seen. I think I’ve heard enough,” Quinn said in conclusion. With a glance at the silver pocket watch sat open on the table, he realized the interview had already taken almost thirty extra minutes. “Why don’t you go have a drink? You may add it to my tab as well. I know that Maeve lass already has.”
With as much poise as his original approach, Cain slid from the booth and offered a polite bow. I do not drink… though, I do smell a lovely roast calling my name.
“Then a plate on me. Please stay for an hour or so, I believe I’ll have a few more words to share when next we speak.” Quinn’s phrase brought a bright smile to the regal elf’s expression. Most would recoil when using that particular word on a mute. The older gentleman had no qualms.
One soul was not quite so merry, however. Quinn sat quietly in an empty booth, thumbing through various papers with only brief respites for a sip of his gut-rot whiskey. The man was hard at work, analyzing the various applications of dozens of well-known warriors and scholars from across the various worlds. It was a mentally grueling procedure.
Had he known this would be so difficult, Quinn might have just slapped an advertisement onto the front billboard of the cheap tavern and called it a day. Hiring roughens would be less trouble in the here-and-now. Let future Quinn deal with the repercussions.
The age-worn man pulled a pocket watch to check on the time. “Thirty second and he’s--” the verbalized thought had to be eaten as his booth gained an additional occupant.
The slender elven man with hair like steel gossamer and very traditional attire. The black tunic held a bronze trim and a split deep enough to hide beneath a matching bronze-like belt and red sash beneath.
“Mr. Carson, I presume?” Inquire Quinn, a brow cocked. His only response from the gray-haired elf was a nod. Thirty seconds to spare; this man was very punctual. “Well, Mr. Carson, I assume you’ve read through the application. Essentially I’m looking for sell-swords and the like to earn a bit of gold for my research. You will receive a fair share, and along the way, you may benefit from my research directly. Does this sound acceptable?”
Again, there was another nod. Quinn took a moment to reflect on the unusual silence. “No questions?”
For a moment, the elf’s pale gray eyes lower to the table. When they return, his lean shoulders rose and fell.
“It takes a wise man to listen, but a fool not to question… So let me not be that fool and ask a question of you. Can you speak?” Quinn’s inquiry brought an amused smile to his guest’s pale lips. The man shook his head. “Ahh. Your application did not mention you were mute. Not that it matters. Can you write? How would you communicate?”
There was a long moment of thought from the elf. His first response came as the general gesture for writing. The next, his hands rose and did the speaking for him. The silent motions were kept brief, doubting even the old human knew the language.
“Pleasure’s mine, and please, refer to me as Q or C, whichever you prefer.” The brows elevated upon the elf’s face showed his surprise. “I’m almost sixty years old and hiring adventurers. Do you think I just sit on a stoop and talk about my grandkids all day?” Quinn said with a light smile. “I’m a scholar, and I find sometimes a few extra languages - spoken and non - make my line of work easier.”
The elf had simply greeted Quinn by his full name, spelling out Quinn Darcii for the majority of the gestures. With the friendly abbreviation offered, he returned the favor. You may use my first name. I would not trust a man who calls me Mister with my life.
“I wholeheartedly agree. Familiarity between allies,” Quinn said with his smile broadening. “Are you of the chatty type? I’ve known a few mutes who prefer silence.”
The latter, signed Cain. The elf, Cain Carson, remained poised with a proud posture though he too let a smile cross his lips. His next gesture was not to bring about silent words but to point out the eyes that were leering at them from across the room.
When Quinn followed the pointing finger’s direction, he too spotted the onlooker. She was not attempting to hide her gaze -- not that it would help. The luminance of the golden eyes among contrasting the non-human darkness of her flesh set her apart from the primarily human-colored folk bustling about.
The dark indigo-black skinned woman perked up when noticed by the pair. Quinn and Cain had only a brief moment to glance towards each other before the chipper young woman crossed the room. Quinn had opened his mouth to greet the new company, but paused when she simply plopped her derriere into the seat next to himself.
“Salutations! I heard you were hiring people for some money-making scheme right? Well, I’m your girl, you can count on me!” The disarming smile on her dark lips could melt hearts, but the deceitful charm was not quite so effective on the aged Quinn.
“I’m accepting applications for work,” he responded as politely as he could muster. “Adventurer types looking to make a little coin.”
“Oh…” There was a moment of hesitation and her glowing gaze darted around. “So, like, legal stuff, or…”
Now Quinn was curious. Another glance between him and Cain confirmed they both had the same question. Was she worried, or disappointed? “Completely legal,” Quinn quickly informed her. “Though sometimes we will be operating for the law… outside the law. Bounty hunting is a rather common mercenary work that pays quite well.” The woman’s lips pursed for a moment in thought. “Are you still interested?”
“Hmm?” A quick fluttering of lashes and the refocusing of her gaze was a telltale sign she had simply zoned out. “Oh, yea! Totally! I could totally do what you just said, you can count on me!”
I don’t think this one’s all there, signed Cain. He took note that the newcomer looked dumbfounded by his waving hands. She has the look of a street urchin. ill-begotten gains polish her wardrobe.
“Hey! Don’t go casting any spells on me, I have friends in high places. Don’t try me, bucko!” She was lying through her teeth, obviously. “Look, my name’s Maeve. I’m here, but I can be anywhere we need to be at a moment’s notice. Need work, will travel. And I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty or chip a nail. Common, you guys need a gal, who wants to hire a sausage fest, huh?”
“Well… you drive a hard bargain.” The near pleading of Maeve had pulled at a few heartstrings. She was very childlike, though he had no doubts she was close to her twenties. While he never had kids, he imagined this is what a parent might feel like trying to tell their offspring no. “Very well. I have a spare application, why don’t you--”
“Aww, paperwork?” The disheartened slump of Maeve’s shoulders once again weighed on Quinn. “Alright… Just give me the darn thing…”
Quinn handed her a crisp piece of paper. Hours went into the formatting and questions, but he doubted she would care how streamlined he had made it. “It’s only one page, and rather informal. Why don’t you have a drink while you work on it?”
She was happy to take him up on that offer. As she slid out of the booth and dashed off wordlessly, he caught an almost mischievous grin on her ebony lips. When his gaze turned back to Cain, he was primed and ready to sign; You know she is going to put that on your tab, yes?
“You caught that too?” He sighed the response. “Well, at least she is out of our hair for now. Back to the topic at hand.” Once again, the elf nodded. He felt no need to sign, so his fingers laced together and rested promptly upon the table.
“Very well,” Quinn began, quickly regaining what composure he could muster. “I selected you for your martial talents. You claim to be a novice tactician, with a focus on exotic weapons and controlling the battlefield. I take it the whip on your hip is the chosen exotic weapon?” He had no tone of disapproval, but the curiosity was evident. The elf’s lips curled in a content smile at the seasoned human’s reaction and once again offered a slow nod.
“I can imagine the tactics a master of the whip might employ. And you read the agreement, yes? In a party of five, your cut of all proceedings would be ten percent with--”
I understand. Ten percent to each of the five members employed, with fifty percent to a shared pool for major expenses and outfitting. The wording was exactly as printed on the briefing. I request enchanted whips when it is my turn to be outfitted.
It was Quinn’s turn to nod his acknowledgment. He took a brief moment to jot the note down on Cain’s application. “What is an exotic weapon master without appropriate exotic weapons?” He offered the rhetoric with a casual smile. “I can tell you’ve read over the information I’ve offered, so let’s move to a few questions. I hope you don’t mind, I would rather ask these in person…”
The gentle sway of steel gossamer gave the understanding nod an extra level of elegance. “Thank you. First question… Why do you seek to join a group with no direction?”
You mentioned coin. You mentioned adventure. In between those lines, I read a full stomach, a little spending money, and all the chance in the world to hone my skill in a multitude of situations I would not think to train for alone. The lengthy silence while Cain signed gave a moment for Quinn to sip at his sour hash. Even after the elf finished, Quinn took a moment to reflect.
He rather liked that explanation. “Adventuring for personal gain is common, but yours is not avarice. Good answer.” He paused after the praise to glance over his notes. “Alright. What can you offer both myself, and your fellow teammates? What are your useful skills?”
This one gave pause to the signing hands. After a moment of consideration, there was a hint of defeat in the hands that sign; I can offer my hands. Be they wielding weapons or offering friendship. I cannot think of any other useful skills.
“I’d consider humble a skill, and we can attribute that to a friendly atmosphere in the party dynamics.” Another satisfactory answer. Considering he expected many of their activities to require physical combat in pursuit of higher coin, a focused tactician was well needed. “Moving on, before I bloat your ego too much… Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
I prefer to live in the present. In ten years, I see myself alive. This was the first unsatisfactory response. It was not a terrible response, but the questions were designed to give insight into one’s personal drives.
This was a far more confusing question. “A tactician with no plan for the future? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”
I plan to survive. The last gesture was slowed for emphasis.
Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. His plans would be anything for survival. “And what of your potential allies? Would you cross us to survive?”
If we were but coworkers, perhaps. However, I’ve heard the hard life of so-called adventuring often forges bonds far stronger.
“So you come looking to make friends?” To Quinn’s cross-examination, the elf merely shrugged and smiled. His hands did not move, but Quinn understood. If it happens, it happens, and the pale pretty-boy was not against the idea.
“I understand,” Quinn sighed with something akin to relief. “Last question,” Quinn paused briefly to regain his proverbial footing. “What is the airspeed of an unladen swallow?”
However fast the wind carries it.
“Very zen. As expected from everything else I’ve seen. I think I’ve heard enough,” Quinn said in conclusion. With a glance at the silver pocket watch sat open on the table, he realized the interview had already taken almost thirty extra minutes. “Why don’t you go have a drink? You may add it to my tab as well. I know that Maeve lass already has.”
With as much poise as his original approach, Cain slid from the booth and offered a polite bow. I do not drink… though, I do smell a lovely roast calling my name.
“Then a plate on me. Please stay for an hour or so, I believe I’ll have a few more words to share when next we speak.” Quinn’s phrase brought a bright smile to the regal elf’s expression. Most would recoil when using that particular word on a mute. The older gentleman had no qualms.