Going to be Ready
So--Iron Jaw was behind it all?
Called it.
He'd said it from the beginning the man was trouble and was too keenly interested in their business. Granted he had put himself into a place where no one would have listened and that was admittedly his own fault but--well, we all make mistakes. What mattered now was that they were going to be ready to deal with him when the time came. And that meant ensuring that he was ready. Now they were taking on the Flames in a manner of speaking, or at the least all the bureaurocratic powers of the Flames. And if there was one thing Tarot really wasn't fond of (when it was used against him) it was red tape.
The thing was that when this was over, so far as he could calculate, they would be through with everything and could start anew. But for now--focus on the task at hand.
Safe houses? Secured and ready to take in guests.
Shop? Closed up tighter than a drum and all 'questionable' materials placed into storage for the time being.
Reputation? Spotless--essentially.
Training? Well, he'd been doing a lot of that--like now even. Berrod had left him with some fairly decent new exercises to go over and a few new tricks to try and master. He liked those--they involved knocking things and people off their feet and even though Berrod had made it very clear that it was a last resort sort of thing...well, Tarot had always been the kind of man to use what he was given in all manner of creative ways. And so here he was, attempting to do what he'd been trying to master for moons now. He took a deep breath--and set his feet. The staff went up, down and tipped into the ground--he propelled himself upwards in flow of the arc and the momentum and into the air, legs up, arms down and grasping the end of the pole--he stopped midway, balanced.
The pole was perfectly perpendicular with the ground now and his body aligned with his weapon. Balanced--both hands holding fast, maintaining that balance. His eyes closed and he breathed. He didn't try to call in a 'breath' this time--just his own, unaided breathing. Stillness and balance. When the staff moved, he shifted to keep control--when it felt like his arms were going to give out, he forced himself to focus on other things. The Free Company, the things they were facing--treasure hunting.
That schmuck, Iron Jaw and all the shite he'd ruined. The pisser was that it was all for nothing--Tarot was confident of that. The man had picked the wrong Company to get 'interested' in and would likely end up paying the price in some way. Even if he took away their ability to be a Free Company, the man couldn't take away their bonds. Even if he killed them--however unlikely--he'd have other people hammering down his door for blood. The man had nowhere to go but down.
"And I'll be happy to be the lift operator..."










