Scenario Entitled: The Importance Of Being LegibleCharacters:
Gareth, beginning haphazard recruitment for his big mission.
Elegra, his handy mercenary contact.
Rockhound, geologist at the right place, at the right time.
Location: Freedom Plaza West
Date: Early Decrembe, 109 P.A.
Rockhound looks up at the newcomers, pressing his hat farther down on his head and cinching his coat tighter against the blowing winter breeze. Pedestrian traffic has died down for the evening, and the plaza is relatively empty. Rockhound seems to have been doing something at the stone wall.
Elegra moves with a long-legged, energetic stride, coming into the area from the west entrance of the plaza and chattering a mile a millisecond to her companion. What a larger-than-life couple they make. They came here...for the grub. So if there's a vendor of something vaguely edible here, that's where she's going.
Gareth ambles along beside Elegra, shooting back his own stream of yammering when there's even a smidgeon of break in her dialogue and adding dramatic gestures with his hands for effect. Food would be a good thing. It'll cease his jaws for a little while perhaps.
Rockhound looks up at the chattering couple, wondering if their relationship is business or pleasure. As the cold winter breeze continues to pick up, he raises the collar of his trenchcoat. Securing his rock-pick at his side, he begins to stroll slowly over toward the couple, hands tucked in his pockets.
"Naw.. naw," is Elegra's bluntly accented reply to the man's comments, as they get close to Rockhound's range. "Yew dun' need ta git th'attent-shun a' more errs than ken bay 'handled, Gar'th. Tha' bay jus' askin' fa' trubble, na'." She doesn't spend much time looking up and over at her strolling companion, and seems to keep an invisible layer of distance between them as she walks, aloof, her chin held up while her eyes rove about the surroundings.
Gareth wrinkles his nose as certain scents in the plaza make themselves better known to him. He rubs the underside of his jaw in a brisk fashion. He snorts. "Roight...So I be jus't gonna go meself'n heft tha bloody thing on me bloody should'ahs, camer'ahs an a big arse bag ta carry stoof? S'truth...I gots'ah plan'n I need tha 'elp'n need ta spend a wee bit ta git whut I want. B'sides...Tha more tha merrier, S'truth...I smell sumpthin meat'ah..." His stomach rumbles.
Rockhound tries to decipher the couple's speech, but gives up, deciding that since they're clearly not addressing him, it's not worth the effort. Locating a steak-and-onion vendor, he orders a sandwich. Arms crossed, he waits, but can't help from glancing over at the talkative couple.
The spear point rising from beyond Elegra's right shoulder bobs with her smartly executed steps...must be a night person, this one. No fatigue from the workday in evidence whatsoever. She grins rudely at Gareth's sarcastic remarks, delighting in his disgruntlement, then just as alertly taking note of the guy selling slabs of spiced meat, and then the slight figure fitting himself ahead of them in line. Nevermind that he got there firstmost. She stares at the back of Rockhound's head as she opines to Gareth, "Tha more tha merriah, ye-ah, ba' tha more yew gotta dole ow' in creds'an'salvage! An' tha more bloody clumsa' feet blundarin' ar-own tha place, fallin' duwn alla tha'oles an shite."
Gareth lets out a loud guffaw and nods a few times. "S'truth...Still..." He heaves a large melodramatic sigh. "Like I wuz say'n. I need peep-le. An if I ad-ver-tise't gud, mebbe I on'lah git tha bright ones tha I need. Bloody 'ell. I dunna need clums'ah'n stoopid bugg'ahs...If I ad-ver-tise with tha 'istorical so-ciety'n tha bloody uni-vers-ity, I git who I bloody need. No-body does nuthin fer nuthin, so I make't sweet'n tasty. Aye...Git'm fam-oos, S'truth. Whut bloody person can't use creds'n sum fame'n re-cog-nition? Ev'rahbody, S'truth."
Rockhound turns over some credits to the street vendor, listening carefully to the couple behind him. He seems to have perked up, but his face remains hidden beneath his hat's brim and raised collar. Moving with a careful step, he slips to the side of the line, allowing the amazonian woman and her extremely large companion to approach. Nibbling on his sandwich, he remains close to the vendor... conspicuously unobtrusive.
Elegra just looks inordinately pained at Gareth's raucous ramblings. Her eyes roll upwards to stare at a point in the evening pre-winter sky, a heavy, unladylike frown creating muscle grooves in her jaw. Just as well that Rockhound moved out of the way, because she steps forward then without even looking to make sure she doesn't run the guy down, letting out a harried sigh at what must be the utter density of her companion. If the way she's carrying on is any indication, anyway. "Advahtise.. advahtise..!" she growls. It's like the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. "Gimme livah steak onna kaisah," she grunts to the vendor. "Oh.. an' while yew'r attit, come an' 'elp us go runnin' abow' tha' 'ills an 'holes lookin' fah bloody flain' treashah, will yew?" No.. that's not biting mockery.. not at all.
Gareth isn't dissuaded or put off in the very least. She's nailed it right on the head. "S'truth! Now yew talk'n...Roight. Bloody 'ell, yew get'n me all peeked'n ready ta go." He grips his belt and gives it a firm adjustment. He bellows over Elegra's shoulder, "Aye...An git me sumpthin like tha. Ah-legra, yew gots'tah git tha word 'oot if'n yew wanna git tha roight peep-le. It be like busy-ness. Like me gym...I ad-ver-tise...an peep-le come. It be simple-susan, S'truth. Easy-squeezie."
Rockhound shakes his head at the couple's speech patterns, and wonders if a pocket translator would have helped. No matter. After a few more bites of his sandwich, he uses it as a pointer, aiming it with the precision of a lecturer's studied hand. Indicating the amazonian woman with the sandwich-cum-pointer, he speaks quietly in a moderate tenor: "Pardon me, ma'am, sir," - he nods to the tall man - "I apologize for my eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but notice a person of your... stature. Am I to understand that you are looking for workers?" Rockhound tilts his small frame to one side and cocks an eyebrow in question.
Elegra's foot taps out an impatient little beat, repeating itself every five seconds. She just can't expend enough energy, it seems. She sucks in air through her clenched teeth, seething in a controlled fashion at least. "Naw.. eezah-squeezah is yew walkin' ontah'a weak patch onna 'ive floore an' breakan' throo from tha' bloodah weight'a yew big skull..." She trails off abruptly from her ranting, to turn her gaze towards Rockhound's civilized speech. Her hand moves out as an afterthought to swipe the prepared sandwich away from the vendor she and Gareth stand before. "...wha'tha' bloody 'ell.." she starts, then switches into all feral delight at this diminuitive man's intrusion.
Her comments beg a snarky retort, but Rockhound's question gives Gareth pause. He raises a dark eyebrow as he turns to regard the sandwich carrying fellow. This is what comes of flapping his gums in public. The idea that he might have been contacted by someone suitable for his plans does sooth his disgruntled attitude however. He looks Rockhound up and down, like he's trying to assess him. "Aye...Mebbe. Well, ya I be do'n sumpthin like tha, S'truth. Yew would be roight in make'n tha assump-tion." He pauses again and then blurts out, "Who be yew?"
Realizing that he's waving his sandwich around as if he were back in class, the small man sheepishly places it back on its paper plate. His attention is grabbed by the enormous man's speech, though he seems to keep an eye on the spear over the woman's shoulder. "Good evening, sir. My name is Daniel. Daniel Kelley. Professor Daniel A. Kelley, to be precise." He grins. "I am a scientist, sir - geologist by trade. I couldn't help but overhead your conversation..." He leans forward, inquiring with his body language.
Indeed...Elegra has been eyeing Rockhound with all the speculation of a predator for its next quarry. Just keep waving that steak sandwich, sir. Yum yum yum. Then she blinks, and even stops tapping her foot..for a whole two seconds. "Gee-olahgist!" she expostulates in utter spooked amazement. "Gar'th.. yew dum-luckah bloke. A gee-olahgist!" Spinning away on her heel, she goes into a jag of lusty laughter. Poor meat vendor. Hope he has the gumption to ask for payment from one of these loons.
Gareth licks at his broad lips. A professor. He probably doesn't even need a calculator to do those weird equation things. He certainly talks like a smarty-pants. Gareth's face registers a little surprise at the man before him. Elegra's fit of merriment has him giving her a single squinty evil-eye before turning back to Rockhound. "Zat so? A scien-tist yew say." He rubs his chin and tries to look thoughtful. "Just suppose'n I wuz need'n peep-le tha were smart'n 'ad big brainpans...Whut kin gee-ologisties dew fer'ah bloke? Like...Hi-poo-thet-ically speak'n."
Rockhound eyes the approaching lizard-man, recognizing Garinoth from their earlier meeting. Turning his attention back to the giant standing before him, he falls silent for a moment. In his soft tenor, he addresses the man. "Oh, we geologists are a very useful breed, sir, though of course it really depends on what you're doing. Might I inquire as to what you are planning? And possibly your name?" He shifts his weight slightly from one foot to the other.
Elegra just snorts anew at Gareth's wondering over what geologists do for a living. Ludicrous.. but then, that must be why she's hanging around the big guy. "Thay studah rocks'n'stoof, an' mebbe thay ken ev'n tell yew whey'ta step onna grow'n so's yew dun fall throo.." she takes a moment to mutter, before beginning to pace back and forth and around the two of them like an ansty dog, eating her liver onna kaiser with gusto. Her eyes perk with passing interest at the odd lizardbeing, and her gaze slips between him and the other two as if confirming to herself that the creature is, in fact, paying more attention than a passerby should to the current situation near the meat vendor.
What? He doesn't know his name? Gareth's ego gets jabbed in the kidneys. He frowns and gets a little disgruntled again for a short moment. He readopts a pleasant looking demeanor, taking it on the chin in by all appearances. "Aye...Well, I be Gar-eth. Gar-eth Vaughn. I run'ah big sup'ah gym inn'ah northwest qua-drant, S'truth." He places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest a bit in pride. "I 'fraid I ain't at tha liber-ty ta spill me beans roight now...Mums tha word, S'truth. It 'ave sumpthin ta dew with tha bloody awful wild-er-ness'n travel'n, S'truth. I kin say fer cert'n tha I need smart blokes tha know stoof a-boot tha land'n..." He wrinkles his nose. "...technical...sci-yen-tiffy stoof. Yew worked oot-side tha city a'fore or will'n ta?"
Rockhound finishes off his sandwich before speaking, and wipes his face with a paper napkin. "Actually, my company has been working a quarry to the west of the city for the past few months. I've got plenty of wilderness experience. Grew up there, after all." He suddenly grows slightly wary. "Really, we're working out farther than almost anyone else in the city. Had to fortify the camp during the dream crisis." His hand unconsciously grips the rock-pick at his side. "I think that I could be of assistance to you, though I can't be specific without knowing more details."
Elegra hums while she chews. How..endearing. The presence of Gareth and Rockhound and their conversation seem to have faded into the background for her. Some of it must be pique at her mocking of Gareth's grandiose plans being pre-empted by the sudden acquisition of a very useful professional indeed. But she refuses to feel like a fool. She's got a spear. A big big spear. And soon she'll even have liver'n'onions breath for double the terror.
Gareth purses his lips as he listens to Rockhound list some of his past experience. He even nods a little. "Aye...well, if'n yew need me ta jus't tell all roight now, tha'll be a prublem. Things 'ave-ta come t'gethah an things a-rranged a'fore I kin tell all. This be a tast'ah opportunity. Nuth'n ill-egal o'course. I dunna dew such things, S'truth. But I won't be blab'n. I think yew be a bloke tha be roight fer tha job though. If'n yew be inter-ested, yew give me yer numb'ah'n I call yew when things'r ready ta roll. I kin tell yew then an yew kin de-cide wheth'ah yew wanna join me litt'le ex-pedition."
Rockhoundchuckles softly at the man's speech... and keeps a wary eye on the large woman's equally large spear. "I understand your hesitation, sir, after all, we've only just met. Your expedition sounds intriguing." He scratches absentmindedly at his chin. "There would be... how shall I put it... compensation, I assume?"
"Yew bay naidin' creds fah this, na'," Elegra interjects suddenly, as if she felt that Gareth needs reminding every half hour of this fact, even after Rockhound himself makes the comment. "Professhunah Gee-ohlahgists'ah a'sait 'spens've. 'istoricah Societtah mebbe a gud bait aftah'all, Gar'th," she stops, twirling back towards them and snapping her fingers with agitation, bread crumbs flying. "Ye-ah, thay pay gud creds fah speshal 'istoric junk, na', dun'thay, li'uhl mannay?" she eyes Rockhound, apparently posing some sort of question to him.
Gareth snorts and then rumbles with a big chortling noise. He nods, giving a knowing smile after Rockhound and Elegra pose questions. "'Course there will compen-sation. I ain't gunna ex-pect blokes ta dew such things fer no bloody pay'r beny-fits. I be compen-sating every bloke...'r femme, tha 'elps oot, S'truth. If'n we sook-sessful, things be even bett'ah, an not just fer me big arse...but fer every bloke'n femme 'elp'n oot." He blinks as a few breadcrumbs pelt him. "Aye aye...Course they will! Tha so-ciety prubbly git wet'n squeak 'cross tha floor like a bunch'ah greased monk'ahs, S'truth. Now dunna go spill'n tha beans a-boot stoof. Yew do'n too mooch talkie-talkie'n yap-yap."
Rockhound stares at the woman for a moment without blinking, apparently caught off guard by both her speech and her method thereof. One could almost see the synapses firing as he deciphers her heavily accented Basic. Turning slightly to the woman, he finally begins to nod. "Yes, pre-apocalyptic artifacts -- your 'Historic junk' -- are highly prized. I'm sure that there are organizations and individuals who would pay very well for them." Focusing back on Gareth, he continues to speak. "Of course, sometimes the things that you find are too valuable to trust to individual collectors."
Elegra nodnods impatiently, first to Gareth - 'I didn't spill no beans no how, buddy' - and then to Rockhound. "Yeh yeh.. artee-fact'suh." What.. evAH! Reeling away on one heel again, she strides over to a nearby waste bin, fastiduously slapping her hands together over the mouth of it. A bit of a futile gesture, really. But anything to imply that she doesn't really give a damn about all this anyhow.
Gareth eyes Elegra and her impatience. It's amazing she hasn't run anyone through yet. He sniffs, flaring his nostrils for a moment and then saying to Rockhound, "Aye...Yew sound like'ah bloke tha I'll be need'n...An yew seem purrty smart'n stoof. Ah...Prof-ess'ah Kell'ah. Let me know 'ow ta contact yew'n we'll be'n tooch. I gots'tah be on me way with Ah-Legra 'ere and see to busy-ness."
Rockhoundfollows the amazonian spear-wielder with his eyes. "Yes, yes... please do keep in touch with me, sir. I'd be intrigued to see where this might end. I live in the Tenements, first floor. Look for the apartment with the custom stone door. If I'm not there, you can leave an e-message, of course." Cinching his billowing trenchcoat tightly around his waist, he shivers slightly as a light mist begins to fall. "I think that you'd perhaps look after your lady friend." He offers a knowing grin, "When my fiancee gets like that, I jump."
Elegra smiles an odd little smile to herself. Perhaps the other two aren't as 'faded' to her as her behavior would indicate. "Jump." She repeats the funny little word in a quiet tone, quite a departure in manner from her previous boisterous hard humor. Then, turning away from the trash receptacle, she paces a bit farther off from the two, setting her hands on her hips and assuming a posture of long-suffering patience. Tap tap tap goes her foot.
Gareth squints and takes a gander at Elegra. He develops a lopsided grin, saying to Rockhound, "Aye...Well, looks like it be time ta move me boots. Teny-ments aye? Rough place sum-times. I defin-eet'lah be'n tooch, S'truth." He turns about and stalks off towards Elegra. He says to her, "Yew be such'ah bloody whirly-gig. I gunna tap yer veins'n sell oof whut I git as a new drug fer laz'ah bastiches. Yer eggies prubbly zip'n bip'n like poppycorn."
Rockhound chuckles softly and shakes his head, amazed that the couple can communicate. Tossing out the sandwich wrapper, he buttons his coat to the neck, puts his head down against the rain, and moves off toward the west.
"Ay' shuttit abow' tha eggies, will ya?" she growls. "When yew ain't talkin' 'bow' invitin' evrahbuddah an' 'is gran'muthah on yew expahdishun, yew be talkin' 'bow' eggies. Yew'ah crazy wi'them eggies onna brain." With that, she heads back out to the street. "Yew evan f'got abow'yew tummah growlan' away fah a naice meatah sannich. Ssss'troooth." She turns at that last tease, eyeing him narrowly. He's the crazy one. Yup.
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