New Piece on the Board (Marked Cards Arc)
(rp between myself and @cfs-melkire. Enjoy!)
Frandrin's office was nestled exactly where a Monetarist would want it, at the higher level's of the labyrinth that composed the Ul'dahn bureaucratic complex. The office itself was a long, rectangular room filled with cabinets crammed to the brim with legal documents, and shelves of books detailing the many laws and regulations that composed the city-states' rule of law. Opposite the gilded, oak door sat Frandrin's crescent desk, neatly organized for ease of access to quills and papers. Behind the desk, and it's matching, leather chair was a glass double-door which opened onto a small balcony. Ringed on three sides by a low, stone railing, the balcony was covered in a neat, symmetrical garden composed of many flowers that flanked a simple, three tiered fountain.
Frandrin Mandrin ensured his office was neatly organized to increase his productivity, but to also allow him moments of rest to relax. And that's just what he was doing. With clippers in hand, the lalafel was trimming rogue plants inside his garden.
Frandrin’s peace was interrupted suddenly when someone knocked, rather loudly, on the front door, and then knocked again a few moments later with even more force than before. The door then opened. A baritone voice called out:
"Frandrin Mandrin? You have a visitor."
Frandrin blinked in surprise as he glanced up too peer between the tulips at the door.
"Clearly." Frandrin commented in both surprise, and mild amusement, casually rising to his feet and walking inside.. This certainly wasn't expected but it had been a slow day and the lalafel wasn't opposed to some change of pace.
Standing in the doorway was a young Brass Blade captain, a midlander by the looks of him. His hands were folded respectfully behind his back. Behind him, out in the hallway, his highlander partner appeared to be struggling with a ruffian of some sort.
"Shite, gov'nah," rambled the third man in the liquor-laced tones of the perpetually intoxicated, "I'm just 'ere t'beg some--hicc!--work from the little fellow, money-grubbin' pinchfisted tosser that he is...." That earned the fellow in the dirtied turban and mud-smeared doublet a solid right hook across the jaw, which laid him out flat against the wall opposite to Frandrin's office as the large Brass Blade stepped forward to seize the wino by his lapels. The captain standing in the doorway seemed not at all disturbed by the thrashing his partner was giving the drunkard.
"Sir,” the captain explained. “I regret to inform you that we were patrolling the corridors when we came across this poor wretch attempting to break into your office. To steal, I suppose. We confronted the knave, but he insists that he was merely attempting to make your acquaintance in the hopes that you'd hire him on."
Frandrin studied the spectacle before him with a raised eyebrow. Certainly whoever this man wasn't the sort of person Frandrin wanted snooping around his office -or- his halls of power. But, there was an undeniable curiosity raised by the Brass Blade's words about why the man was here. And, since Frandrin didn't have anything more pressing going on, he chose to indulge his curiosity.
"Thank you, captain, for your diligence in patrolling." the Monetarist glance from the Blade to the drunkard and drummed the fingers of his right hand on his bearded chin. "Tell me, sir, you came by here looking work? What sort of work? And further, what's your name?" Frandrin had some enemies after all, and if this man had been snooping, Frandrin felt it was his right to gather as much information as possible.
The captain stepped inside and to one side of the doorway before beckoning to his man. The highlander, taking the cue, dragged the drunkard in by the collar and threw him to the office floor, just inside the doorway. This elicited a dismayed groan from the reeking mess of a man as he struggled onto his hands and knees.
"Beggin'--hicc!--yer pahdon, gov'nah," he waved a suspiciously empty bottle of some bottom-shelf wine about, "but I's heard from m'friend Fred who 'eard it from 'is cousin Vinnie that some well-to-do geeeeeentile such as y'self went 'n' put out two--hicc!--two contracts on a coeurl and his--hicc!--his dame, and the coin got me to thinkin', why, Bono m'dear, y'could drink y'self six fulms under with that much gil, y'could! So 'ere--hicc!--here I am."
This 'Bono' fellow beamed up at the lalafell, and yellowed teeth were put in full display. The smell was somehow worse for it. The highlander reached down and took the wino by the collar again, lifting him up despite his protests, and the large Brass Blade put a knife to the man's throat before looking to his captain for approval.
The captain, for his part, stared at Frandrin and awaited his command.
"Captain, tell your man to put the knife away." Frandrin waved his hand. "Drunk job hunts are not a capital offense last time I checked." The lalafel studied the drunk and thought for a moment, wondering if this man was truly intoxicated, or playing a game. After all, two wanted posters were in circulation. But they were from the city of Ul'dah, not -his- desk. Not from him. Which meant this man had either in depth knowledge of things more than it seemed, or had allies who did.
"Well, Bono, you did hear correctly. We are looking for someone to hunt a very dangerous person, but it's from the city of Ul'dah, not myself. I have a document ready to sign actually, with the signatures of myself and two other officials, one of whom is a Royalist, which will establish a Councilor and a small unit to investigate a certain matter and bring these criminals to justice. It's a once in a life time chance to make another name for one's self and help Ul'dah and the best are currently applying. Sadly, I need someone whom I could rely upon and, as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I can't entrust this to you in your state."
A nod from his superior had been all the highlander needed to sheathe his blade and step back. 'Bono' was left swaying on his feet, with nothing to show for himself but a pathetic pout beneath the tangled mess of shoulder-length hair which hid the rest of his face.
"Aaahhhh, gov'nah, y'wound me, y'do, right to the quick, you're a good man, a good man, not at all kind but 'onnest, aye, 'n' there's no kind man what's good on account o' not being 'onnest." He waved the empty bottle about as though it were filled to the brim, sloshing about, and ready for further consumption. "But you've got me wrong, y'do, for I've a--hicc!--a magic trick, aye, 'n' a good one what'll help me help you catch the help what needs helpin'. Quick as a wink, that's all it'll take, jus' dismiss these fine brutes to the corridor--hicc!--leave 'em in earshot, aye, 'n' I'll prove it, I will."
The Brass Blades exchanged a glance. Neither of them looked too pleased at the prospect of leaving this wretch with the upstanding citizen. Should something happen, Lord Lolorito's displeasure was sure to make itself known down through the ranks to their lowly stations.
Frandrin paused to rub his chin as he weighed this new development over inside his mind. As he thought, he casually strolled over to his desk and climbed up into his hyur sized chair. He stood up and placed his hands on the desk. Several weapons were near him in this position and he also had the desk between himself and this man. Should anything happen, Frandrin would be able to defend himself for a few moments. More than enough time if he kept the Brass Blades near.
"Captain, take your subordinate and wait outside." Frandrin said, finally, glancing at the captain. "Do shut the door, would you. I'm a fan of magic tricks and would be remiss to not see this."
These two, at least, knew better than to object to a lawful order. They had their instructions, and those would serve to shield them should the events that were soon to follow prove ill for them and their fortunes. They left, and the captain himself shut the door behind them. 'Bono' watched them leave, and as soon as they were gone, he began to strip. Off came the mud-smeared doublet, which he turned inside-out, and it was... clean, on the other side, with bright greens where there had been dull blacks. Off came the turban, unraveled, and this too proved immaculate once reversed, pure white when it should have been browned. These he laid down beside him, and as he began to speak in dry, low, sober tones which did not carry to the corridor, it became readily apparent that the wino had been a ruse of some sort all along.
"Rather slow on the uptake, m'lord, but I shall beg inexperience on your behalf, rather than assume you to be the sort o' daft fool who'd write to a disgraced former sergeant in the hopes of employing his talents when his very presence in the city-state he's come t'despise often invites reparations from Monetarists with long memories."
His hand, he passed up and back through that black tangled mess, and off came a wig. That freed the well-groomed locks of dark brown hair to fall about his face, not quite as long from root to tip as the wig but nearly so. This piece of theater, too, he reversed, revealing the sort of perm that resembled a giant spherical mass of fur than anything remotely like hair. How he'd born the heat that must have come with having that pressed against his skull was beyond anyone's guess. His shirt came off, as did the pants -- revealing a cleaner set of breeches beneath -- and he tied the unraveled turban clean side out across one shoulder and across his chest like a bandolier. The shirt and pants he tied together and finagled until they resembled a rucksack, and his sandals he removed and dropped into this makeshift bag before he donned the green doublet and affixed the afro to his head.
"Osric Melkire at your service, here surrpetitiously t'accept your proposed employment under certain conditions, should you find them amenable. Either way, I fully intend t'use your balcony as my point of egress, which will leave ‘Captain-Father-Paid-For-My-Sabatons’ and ‘Private-Pound-Sand’ very, very confused as to the mystical disappearance of our dear friend Bono."
Frandrin watched the transformation with a slowly growing smile as 'Bono' morphed into another person entirely. The Monetarist's smile became a toothy grin and he gave a small chuckle. His instincts had been right, there had been something more to this man after all. Frandrin was genuinely impressed and he gave a slow round of applause as his mysterious guess introduced himself by his true name.
"I'd heard that you’re keen on making entrances. That certainly holds true. And your caution is both respected -and- appreciated from my end of the table. Mister Melkire, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance after all this time. As you know, your reputation precedes you." He glanced at the door as he opened a drawer and pulled out several sheets of paper. "Since we'll need to be fairly expeditious then with our friends outside, allow me to cut to the chase. I want you to head the council I mentioned into the matter of Tray'ju Estinoch, his allies, and his influence inside and outside this city. We need evidence to lock him away, as well as we need to catch him, to bring him down as well as his allies. This is a joint effort between myself and a few other officials. As the Councilor, you'd gain access to files and persons to interview and, when acting overseas, would be able to act knowing you had the full backing of the government of Uldah. You'd appoint your own staff, and report to myself, the other signatories of these documents, and a supervising Brass Blade only."
"Supervision could be an issue," Osric whispered as he set the empty bottle of wine to stand on the floor just beyond the arc of the door. Odds were good that it would be kicked across the room, punctuating Bono's disappearance with a dose of reality. Truly, the perfect crime. "How much oversight can I expect? The best hounds are those with enough slack in their leash."
"I'm well aware of your disapproval for the bureaucratic process. And frankly, I don't blame you. But, I hired you because you don't like it. We don't intend to hamper your style of getting results. We're just asking for weekly updates via meetings or reports so we have a legal leg to stand on for justifying the gil we'll be allocating to an account for the investigation."
The midlander backed away from the front door and scooped up his rucksack by the pair of sleeves that served as a strap. "Acceptable. Send the details and the paperwork with your man to Rand. Trig cove, for a Blade. He knows how t'reach me 'n' if there's aught t'sign, I'll send those back with him."
The Lomsinsan assassin-turned-soldier-become-mercenary threw Frandrin a shite-eating grin as he hoisted his bag over one shoulder and began heading for the balcony. He glanced towards the front door.
"What are you? You know what, I’ll just watch." Frandrin raised an eyebrow as he craned around the back of the chair. "Was good meeting you, Mister Melkire. I'll be in touch soon as I can. "
"Jus' tell the others that this is m'last job in Thanalan. Ain't ever workin' here again." Melkire cleared his throat and raised his voice as he walked backwards out into the garden. As he went, he fumbled about in his pockets for something.
"GOV'NAH, IT'S BEEN AN HONOR--HICC!--AND A PRIVILEGE, BUT ALTHYK CALLS T'ME, AND IF I DON'T ANSWER, MAY RHALGR SMITE ME WHERE I STAND!" That was when he pitched the ball bearing at the wine bottle. The small sphere of steel struck the neck of the bottle and shattered the glass; shards were scattered across the floor. The ball bearing itself rebounded off the bottom of the front door and rolled under gods knew where, likely to be missed in the forthcoming aftermath. As soon as the steel had left his hand, though, Osric Melkire put his hip up against the railing and rolled over it, falling out of sight off the balcony.
Frandrin blinked at the sight. For a moment, he was seriously concerned the man had gone mad and killed himself. But, as he hopped off his seat and walked over to the railing, he couldn't help but shake hishead. No, this was Osric Melkire. He'd taken down more big names than anyone could shake a stick at. And, with a little luck, Osric Melkire was going to add one more name to that list. Frandrin stopped to study a red rose, the color making him thinking of his pest problem.
"You played a good hand, Tray. But in the end, the house always win.
