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xp_logs2009-06-08 10:51 pm
x-farouk.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2009-06-08 10:51 pm
Old Man of the Mountain: Tails I win, heads you lose.
In Which Our Heroes Re-discover That Adventure Is Someone Else in Deep Shit, Far Away.
The complex fragrance of the Victoria Harbor wafted on the steadily rising winds, coating the docks with the scents of spices and money. Madripoor has been a boom town since the 13th century and wasn't showing any inclination to slow down. Wars, tsunamis, pervasive corruption and perennial threat of a cout d'etat - all was taken in stride by the populace that has long made its ability to take anything in stride a fundamental part of their identity.
Farouk and Kane disembarked the cruise ship with an almost brusque haste. Both men were finally beginning to feel the pressure of the situation and even their banter was starting to take on a distinctly pointed tone, driving both into silence broken only by the occasional monosyllabic grunt.
Farouk preceded the Englishman in descending to the pier, his feelings at seeing the familiar skyline somewhat complicated. This was the first time he's been in the city since the Shadow King almost consumed his soul and the people he was currently relying upon almost killed him.
Life was getting more complicated with every passing year.
Kane had just cleared the ramp when he stopped, grabbed Farouk by the front of his shirt and pulled him to one side. He didn't stop until they were behind a stack of unloaded crates, and motioned for silence as he peered over them. They were far away, at the end of the docks and almost needed binoculars to make out, but the distinct uniforms of the Imperial Guard were evident. Kane shook his head disgustedly.
"Well, they don't know we're here, but they know this is the way we're coming." He said, scanning the sky for aerial mutants would were no doubt sweeping the area. "This is very bad."
Farouk carefully grasped Kane's wrists, freeing himself. "On the bright side, my friend, I am almost positive they are not using union labor..."
"What?" A decidedly Scots accent intruded on Kane's Etonian diction when he was tired and cranky, Amahl thought, before silently pointing behind the Briton.
Kane turned and looked blankly at the car parked next to the warehouse before his eyes lit with the sudden recognition and understanding. Even in Madripoor, after all, one did not come across many exemplars of the Rolls Royce's Silver Shadow line.
Jean Pierre Roche waved cheerily from the back seat of the Rolls, his entirely insincere smile never wavering. Christian turned back to Farouk. "Friend of yours?"
Amahl smiled and gave a jaunty salute to the Frenchman. "Hopefully." He set off for the car determinedly, Kane following after only a moment's hesitation.
"Hopefully?"
Farouk kept smiling, the response to Christian's comment coming through tightly gritted teeth. "He arranged for my stay in a rather discreet medical establishment a while ago."
"And?"
"And your proud heir and his friends went and blew it up and burned it down on one nice Friday evening. Before bouncing the rubble in the their customarily understated fashion." Farouk stopped, leaving some distance between himself and Roche. "There's about an even chance that he will be charmingly amused or will quietly bury us in the foundation of one of the high-rises over the horizon there."
Kane smiled thinly and unobtrusively made sure of his pistol. "That's a fascinating backstory. Question - why are we walking toward some frog who has a vested interest in having the both of us disappear?"
"Oh, that's simple. If he's here that means that the territorial lines have been redrawn since I last visited and Roche's crew runs this part of the docks now."
Kane frowned slightly, his eyes taking in their surroundings. "This is Triad turf, Amahl. Madam bloody Joy's turf!"
"Look on the bright side, Chris." Farouk's smile widened slightly as Roche got out of his Royce and approached the pair. "If he's upset we are going to die on these docks today. If we have nothing he wants we are going to die in Neramani's basement a week from now. So really there's only 30% chance of the Triads cutting us into geometrically-correct little pieces and wiping out everyone we know to the seventh generation pour encouragement les autres. The day is looking up."
"...I hate you so very, very much."
"You know you are really rather crabby after a long trip.... Jean Pierre! Mon ami!"
Kane's mood did not improve noticeably as the day unfolded to reveal that the only way that Roche would be able to get them out of the Harbor quietly involved a trip through the sewage system of Madripoor Lowtown. In fact, Farouk would go as far as to say that it took a distinct downward turn when Roche explained that he would only be willing to provide that opportunity for the relatively minuscule favor of contracting their services against the Triads.
All in all, Amahl thought it was probably for the best that he arranged for the Englishman to be in front of him as the two made their way under the city.
"... so very, very much."
The complex fragrance of the Victoria Harbor wafted on the steadily rising winds, coating the docks with the scents of spices and money. Madripoor has been a boom town since the 13th century and wasn't showing any inclination to slow down. Wars, tsunamis, pervasive corruption and perennial threat of a cout d'etat - all was taken in stride by the populace that has long made its ability to take anything in stride a fundamental part of their identity.
Farouk and Kane disembarked the cruise ship with an almost brusque haste. Both men were finally beginning to feel the pressure of the situation and even their banter was starting to take on a distinctly pointed tone, driving both into silence broken only by the occasional monosyllabic grunt.
Farouk preceded the Englishman in descending to the pier, his feelings at seeing the familiar skyline somewhat complicated. This was the first time he's been in the city since the Shadow King almost consumed his soul and the people he was currently relying upon almost killed him.
Life was getting more complicated with every passing year.
Kane had just cleared the ramp when he stopped, grabbed Farouk by the front of his shirt and pulled him to one side. He didn't stop until they were behind a stack of unloaded crates, and motioned for silence as he peered over them. They were far away, at the end of the docks and almost needed binoculars to make out, but the distinct uniforms of the Imperial Guard were evident. Kane shook his head disgustedly.
"Well, they don't know we're here, but they know this is the way we're coming." He said, scanning the sky for aerial mutants would were no doubt sweeping the area. "This is very bad."
Farouk carefully grasped Kane's wrists, freeing himself. "On the bright side, my friend, I am almost positive they are not using union labor..."
"What?" A decidedly Scots accent intruded on Kane's Etonian diction when he was tired and cranky, Amahl thought, before silently pointing behind the Briton.
Kane turned and looked blankly at the car parked next to the warehouse before his eyes lit with the sudden recognition and understanding. Even in Madripoor, after all, one did not come across many exemplars of the Rolls Royce's Silver Shadow line.
Jean Pierre Roche waved cheerily from the back seat of the Rolls, his entirely insincere smile never wavering. Christian turned back to Farouk. "Friend of yours?"
Amahl smiled and gave a jaunty salute to the Frenchman. "Hopefully." He set off for the car determinedly, Kane following after only a moment's hesitation.
"Hopefully?"
Farouk kept smiling, the response to Christian's comment coming through tightly gritted teeth. "He arranged for my stay in a rather discreet medical establishment a while ago."
"And?"
"And your proud heir and his friends went and blew it up and burned it down on one nice Friday evening. Before bouncing the rubble in the their customarily understated fashion." Farouk stopped, leaving some distance between himself and Roche. "There's about an even chance that he will be charmingly amused or will quietly bury us in the foundation of one of the high-rises over the horizon there."
Kane smiled thinly and unobtrusively made sure of his pistol. "That's a fascinating backstory. Question - why are we walking toward some frog who has a vested interest in having the both of us disappear?"
"Oh, that's simple. If he's here that means that the territorial lines have been redrawn since I last visited and Roche's crew runs this part of the docks now."
Kane frowned slightly, his eyes taking in their surroundings. "This is Triad turf, Amahl. Madam bloody Joy's turf!"
"Look on the bright side, Chris." Farouk's smile widened slightly as Roche got out of his Royce and approached the pair. "If he's upset we are going to die on these docks today. If we have nothing he wants we are going to die in Neramani's basement a week from now. So really there's only 30% chance of the Triads cutting us into geometrically-correct little pieces and wiping out everyone we know to the seventh generation pour encouragement les autres. The day is looking up."
"...I hate you so very, very much."
"You know you are really rather crabby after a long trip.... Jean Pierre! Mon ami!"
Kane's mood did not improve noticeably as the day unfolded to reveal that the only way that Roche would be able to get them out of the Harbor quietly involved a trip through the sewage system of Madripoor Lowtown. In fact, Farouk would go as far as to say that it took a distinct downward turn when Roche explained that he would only be willing to provide that opportunity for the relatively minuscule favor of contracting their services against the Triads.
All in all, Amahl thought it was probably for the best that he arranged for the Englishman to be in front of him as the two made their way under the city.
"... so very, very much."