Author Topic: Market Posting #WIJ851W3A8  (Read 1760 times)

Dr. Gustave

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Market Posting #WIJ851W3A8
« on: March 22, 2019, 07:39:33 PM »
The man with a hazel eye walked through the darkened underbelly of Mistral, mud caked boots scuffing against the rough stonework that made up much of the Market. The dim lit bulbs that were strung up against the low hanging ceiling cast blurry shadows over the faces of the patrons that lined the walls, standing on the outside of alcoves in the rock that acted as impromptu shops or meeting areas.

It was an intentional effect set up by the people at the top, a small and inconvenient stopgap to protect the identities of those who didn't want to wear a mask. It wasn't something he took into consideration, for him it was as pointless as a pair of glasses as a disguise. He could see those around him with perfect clarity, not like a faunus could. Not with enhanced vision, not with enhanced smell.

He could see them.

Rapists. Murderers. Human traffickers.

Undercover kingdom agents. Hunters looking for trouble. Parents desperate to save their children.

The Market drew all.

He wasn't here for any of them, though. On another day, he might peruse them- find who was willing able to pay the most and take the job. He didn't much care what they wanted, why they wanted it, who would get hurt. He learned a long, long time ago that the world was shit and no lone person could change that.

He was much more concerned about living his life to the best of his abilities and to that affect he needed money. Money to pay for shelter, money for food, money for women, money for fun. Money was easy to come by for someone with his skills, killing people was expensive work- hunters more so- but information, that was what people wanted most. And he was very good at gathering and selling information.

He could see the man before he was seen. Muscle bound and with a perpetual grimace stretched across his face and two flat ears folded against his hair. A front. He could tell who he actually was.

A flood of information, a series of flashes of pinprick images, all forced into a line moving in one direction and only ever one direction. All things he can and has used before.

The man gave a curt nod as the man with a hazel eye approached him, “Eli.” One of the many nom de plum he had used. You could never be too safe, too paranoid, about people tracking you through names, no one knew that better than “Eli”.

“Jonathan.” Another alias, though Jonathan didn't know that Eli knew.

He returned the nod with a small smile, “How's your kid? He doin’ well?” Another lie, another front. He had a kid, a daughter, that Eli knew. Eli also knew it was better to play the part of someone who'd fallen for the story and to empathize with it, to sink his claws deeper. They were things someone like “Jonathan” would respond well to.

“He's doing just fine. Can't say I expected to see you here today,” his voice rough, forced, but the kind of forced you'd only notice if you knew to look for it.

“Well, you know I like to make surprise visits, keep you on your toes. Besides, today I'm selling.”

That got a cocked brow. Good.

“Valuable info, I know it suits your interests and I know you're good for what I want in return. That's why I'm giving you first dibs.” Eli reached into his beaten and worn jacket and pulled out a small data chip, curling it over his fingers as he spoke

“How much?”

“Twelve.” The answer came gunslinger quick.

His brow quickly dropped back.

“That's not something I'm authorized to give out,” he said, “you know that.”

“Oh, I know, I know. This is worth it, though. This is something that will get youa healthy bonus, the kind that could pay for little Timmy's debts. Besides, you turn this down and I go elsewhere with the info. I'm sure you won't be happy to find out that this info got sold to the tech-freaks down the way once it gets out. And it will get out.”

A long silence, eye contact, hard. Easy for Eli, he knew this ploy would work. He knew how Jonathan ticked, how to poke and prod at the front just enough to make impacts.

“Fine,” came the slow response, “twelve.”

“Fifteen, ” Eli responded again, too quick. “Twelve to pick up the package, one to deliver it, two to make sure it doesn't get stolen.”

Another silence, a deep sigh.

“If this turns out to be bullshit, Eli, I'll make certain you don't get back down here.”

A vain threat, Eli knew the man would have no chance in a fight.

“Completely understandable.”

Jonathan nodded and began to usher Eli into the darkened alcove. “So, is this a semblance?”

“Better.”

The hazel eyed man's smile was all teeth.



Wanted: Capable individuals willing to work on the wrong side of the law. Objective is is the kidnapping of a Beacon student. Payment will be one mil each. Applicants are to head to the Beggar's Cask bar in Mistral, order a water, and sit at table 24 for five minutes before leaving. If your services are needed, you will be contacted.
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ArosFarron

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Re: Market Posting #WIJ851W3A8
« Reply #1 on: March 22, 2019, 09:40:08 PM »
I think Tarot or rather Alexander Noire, could use the money. If he ends up caring for the kid then that is a plus. He just needs the money
« Last Edit: March 22, 2019, 09:42:18 PM by ArosFarron »
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Re: Market Posting #WIJ851W3A8
« Reply #2 on: March 23, 2019, 12:59:35 AM »
1st year reckless idiot of team LGGR- Gray Saggio- "oh screw it. I'll just hit it till it dies!" 660066

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nathan67003

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Re: Market Posting #WIJ851W3A8
« Reply #3 on: March 23, 2019, 02:49:17 PM »
I'm gonna throw in "Charles" but without the usual mask, if I may. Seems like his kind of sideline shtick.
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