Meeting at Khazeet's

[*jukejointjezebel]

An overly orange dwarf is sitting at a table across from his blonde, pointy-eared associate.

"Ah ben doin' sum thinkin' Sam." He says. "Ah wanted t'git yer 'pinion on sum thins, namely'em lawdawrrgs, Hildmerr, Nienna, n' dat rrascally lot da Frrreee League. Ye rready t'lissen?"

[*MadPorthos]

Sipping her crystaline glass of Ice Wine, Samarra feigns a blustering gasp of surprise when the orange dwarf utters the word thinking. After a playful cough or two, as though to clear wine gone down the airways, she gives the raised eyebrow of curiousity.

Indeed, I'd be glad to discuss them. The happenings of the cage effect our business, our security and the well being of our clients... but you mention the free league and Hildimor, with a term I've seen you use before... "Rascally lot". You think the league is all light fingered Lem's and Hildimor's little consortium, don't you?

Taking another sip of her wine, she literally leaves it's glass hanging in mid air as she fixes her gaze on Thrym giving his reply an inordinate amount of attention, rather than her usual flighty smirk.

[*jukejointjezebel]

*After a long, thoughtful pause*

"Dat Rrrat turrrd Crratton ain't no longer werrkin' in no 'ffishul capacity. It ain't justice but ah'll take it. Ah rreckon den it's tahm ah rreconsiderr me blackballin' o' da harrdheads now. Werrrd on da strrret's been dat dey'rre makin' a rruckus outta sum wrrahterr, sum saucy minx trrrahin' t'be a do-gooderr. Ah ken't say ah carre ferr dat. Frreedom's gunna ha' a cost n' e'en da lawrrdawgs gotta know dey ken't squelch da Sigis."

He takes a sip of his ale.

"Now we got sum fated werrrkin' o'err merrchants n' gi'in'em a harrd tahm. Heck, dey got underrr Nienna's skin n' ferr dat ah should send'em a donashun. But taxmen ain't picky 'bout deirr tarrrgets n' it's only a matterr o' tahm 'forre ah git werrrked on ferr no ha'in me lahcensin' n' e'rrythin' up tuh date. Indeps wuz too tainted as long as dat bespecktacled varrrmint D'creasus wuz werrmin' his way 'rround wit'em. He's gone now, n' hopefully ferr a long tahm. Ah'm thinkin' o' joinin' da Indeps. Aye, derre's still Nienna t'contend wit', but dat one's at least rrashunal. Ah ken stand t' ha' 'err as a rrahval, if not 'n enemy."

He picks up a fork and knife in preparation to start cutting at the braised mutton in front of him.

"Ye got inny thoughts on joinin' da Indeps? Wharrt 'bout takin' summon else in as a parrtnerr? Necessarrry? Consorrtium's busy rrecrruitin' n' ah'm dis'pointed t'say dey got Varra. If derre wuz one ah thot ah could werrk wit', it wuz Varra."

He starts eating.

[*jukejointjezebel]

"Well, considerrin' yerr long sahlence, ah'm a gunna hafta 'ssume dat yerr okay wit' da ahdea o' a new parrtnerr. Since Varra got taken offa da table, ah figgerred ah'd starrt wit' summon else who could make a valuable asset t'da buz'ness." He rumbles with a mouth full of food. "Ah 'lrready dun talked t'err n' it's a gunna be a go. Ye may ha' 'bjecshuns but ah'll o'errule'em on da 'count dat if we'rre gunna be serrious 'bout not ha'in' ta deal wit'em varrmints n' cutpurrses dat'rre da Consorrtium err Nienna, we'rre gunna be needin' 'lterrnate forrms o' trranssporrt in n' outta da Cage. So, ah think ye betterr git used t' da ahdearr o' Mirr comin' on as a full parrtner."

[*MadPorthos]

Serenely, Sam has been sitting across from her partner, Thrymm as the gnarled orange dwarf demolishes his braised lambs. Her silence he takes as listening, consent and he's not far from the mark, but it's more than that. She knows she probably should reply, social niceties and the like, but other matters are on her mind drawing her away from the present and into the past. Though she gave her full attention initially, something inexorably pulls her away from the present... as though to another life.

Away to times in a bar, across from a similar dwarf, perhaps one of Thrymm's own ancestors, near a millenia before. Times in taverns, inns, ports discussing the most serious of matters or the most inconsequential. In all those times she was present, engaged - not drawn into her house of memories haunting her... yet now, she was finding it difficult to be present at all with Thyrmm.

So often of late, when sitting at her craft work, wand making, scroll scribing or even stepping into the forge to work metal, be it iron, silver or solanian steel... she would find a simple memory cue, a repetition of something she had witnessed millions of times before would pull her out of the current moment and into a sort of reverie... literally re-experiencing times of her life long past... persons long dead.

Saddened, by the memory of that long passed dwarf, Samarra drew her attention back with a great effort to the present... what she at least hoped was the present and refocused on this dwarf across from her, as he licked his fingers with characteristic aplomb, tossing the last cleaned lamb bone down on his plate.

She'll do admirably as a partner, Thrymm. I've never had any problems with her. As for the independents... well, one is what one is, Thrymm. You know you don't join the Independents... either you are one, or you're not. I'm not saying you aren't independent... it's just, like Hildimor... people too often fail to realize they are joining nothingness. They think of Independents as a faction when we are rather an absence that is held together by the tenuous knowledge that those like us need a shoulder to lean on from time to time, because they sure don't have a factotum or such who will bail them out if they're in hot water. I think sometimes we're a mutual suffering society. Our enlightened self interest holds us together.

Looking about, Samarra snags her wine from where it has floated to. Though distracted, some small part of her mind had maintained it's concentration on the mage hand spell holding her wine at ready. A frown passes across her face as she realizes enough time passed in her reverie for her Icewine to lose it's chill. A flicker of worry crosses her seemingly unaging brow.