Completed Stalking the Shelves

[Inoadar]

40th of Spring, 513

"Aaaah good. Finally!" the man in the apron nearly sang. He had been letting it be known that he had a new product on his shelves, but as yet, he had been unable to stock it. It was frustrating to see potential customers sag in disappointment as he relayed the bad news.

'Soon. Any day now. It was promised last week, but with the wolves, I suppose it's only natural that there would be some delay.' the words were starting to choke him as he was forced to repeat them a third and fourth time to some customers.

But now the cart pulled up in front, with a worthy supply of the vines and ferns he needed. The vines, a species called the "Rogue Vine". The ferns...well, he didn't actually know what species they might be, only that they grew in the shallows of Lake Ravok.

"Marcus! Prep the stem press, and pressurize the steam chamber." Inoadar called to his assistant as he took off the apron, to don a different one. This was the one he wore when he carried in raw supplies. He had the help of the man driving the cart, so it was done in moments. Bulky to carry, but lightweight, neither the vines nor the ferns were a struggle to lug into the back of Inoadar's shop, "Ino Vations".

By chance, one of the customers he had been stalling for the last two weeks arrived, and she and Inoadar exchanged pleasantries. He assured her, now with absolute conviction, that he would have the Greenblood Oil, as well as its corresponding antidote, by day's end.

He was eager to push this product. It was nothing exotic, but it was very functional as a physically "distressing" potion. He intended to establish a potency that would bring a good twenty-five gold mizas per four-dose vial, but it was very accommodating to concentrate or dilute this potency upon request, at subjective prices, of course.

You took an amount of the oil, pressed from the vines and you simply filtered and boiled it down to an amount of thick, syrupy fluid. The more vines you started with, the greater the potency by the time the vial-appropriate volume of oil was achieved. There did not seem to be any fluctuation in oil yield from vine to vine, as was so often the case in plant-pressed fluids. It was great to work with, easy to adjust.

Inoadar figured he had enough vines for forty or fifty four-dose vials. At twenty-five gm a shot, he was looking to bring in an easy thousand gold mizas. The hundred he had promised the cart driver was a bargain. The cart driver probably knew he could have asked for more, but he was collecting wolf pelts around the wilds, for the bounty, anyway. And he probably felt it good sense to stay on good terms with the local poison crafter.

Inoadar approached the man, all smiles, genuinely appreciating the effort, but also wanting to get started on processing the vines and such. As he rifled through the cash box, collecting the mizas, the cart driver halted him and waved him over, looking left and right.

Inoadar nodded and hurried the woman out, telling her it would not be completely safe for her to remain in the shop without protection while so much toxin was processed. She did not have to be told twice, and when she was gone, Inoadar walked up to the man, his eyes appraising. "You wish payment to be in some other form, then?"

"I do." the man nodded. There was a reason he had not pursued a larger cash payment. Inoadar listened with interest as the man explained what he wanted.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar veiled his distress as the man explained. He had been suspecting that this little detail would raise its head at some future date. It appeared that future date was today. He had received a message at Tarsin's Boarding House, where he maintained a room, early last Winter. It was worded as an offhand "sorry I missed you" type of note, with no indication of any hurry or urgency. But the clerk at Tarsin's had been collecting a seasonal bribe to code Inoadar's messages by categorizing them by name.

This way, if a message for him was addressed to 'Mr. Porellis', for example, he knew it was from a representative of the Ravosalamen. If it was for 'Mr. Torval', it was from the lone Rising Dawn operative he had been aware of before the riot at the Temple last Fall. That past message HAD been addressed to 'Mr. Torval'. Inoadar himself had given these contacts the false names and then relayed them to the clerk at Tarsin's for use in coding the contacts for him.

This was bad timing. Last Fall, there had been the riot at the Temple by the rebels. Shortly thereafter, His assistant was arrested on what HAD to be trumped-up charger of treason. His new assistant, Marcus, was 'provided' him by the Vitrax. Inoadar had suspected this man to be a spy right from the start. Someday he would find proof and then there'd be Dira to pay. That same week, he'd gotten the note from the rebel. He figured the poor slob wanted help getting out of town. That was the last thing he needed with a Black Sun spy on his ass.

Now it had come back to haunt him. The cart driver that had provided him the vines and ferns he needed wanted payment exactly that way. He was the idiot's older brother! Inoadar was relieved to hear Marcus equalizing the steam chamber in the back room. The sporadic hissing would cover the incriminating conversation Inoadar was having out front. The man told him he'd 'tried in vain to get his brother to drop all that rebel crap, but he wouldn't listen. Thought he was going to save the petching world or something. As though Ravok, the best city in the whole rotten world, needed saving! Now he was going to get them all hung, or worse. At least he had the decency to agree that he should get out of town now.'

One hundred gold mizas was a very generous payment for a simple escort from town. But this was not simple. This was a death sentence just waiting to drop on him like a headsman's axe. He said as much and the man quickly doubled his offer, promising half payment up front. Inoadar tore a strip of parchment from one of his stacks and scribbled a quick note on it. He took a quick glance to ensure that Marcus was not looking and handed it to the man. He then thanked him at a normal tone and volume and expressed his wishes to do business with him again.

[Inoadar]

Two days later, Inoadar left the shop early, telling Marcus that he would be gone until sometime the next day. That there was a party of some sort that the cart driver had told him about that was using a certain type of vine that could be processed into a quick-burning powder that had disabling effects when inhaled. This was basically something he knew to be true, but didn't really know what vine it was, or what it looked like.

He said he wanted to get a jump on finding the party, determining which vines were the right ones and procuring a sample as well as whatever else he could discover about them. But the fact was, he was not planning to come back with any vines whatsoever, and would tell Marcus the next day that it had been a bust. 'ALL vines give off a choking smoke when burned. I guess the guy saw someone that was allergic to them and had a severe reaction.' was what he planned to say.

What he really was doing was going to meet the cart driver's brother and spirit him out of town. He arrived at the People's Market and waited by a certain fruit vendor. He knew from past experience that the couple that ran this booth was discrete. He looked around, his disguise kit and the first hundred mizas the man's brother had paid up front in hand.

Before long, a signal was given and a man approached. Every facet of his behavior fairly screamed 'I'm nervous and don't want to be noticed!' Inoadar scowled and pulled him behind the flap into an unseen space among hanging folds of the tent's extra fabric. "Here, put this on." Inoadar whispered insistently, pulling a bulky item of clothing from a bag he had sitting on a bench there.

"But...this...this a dress!" the young man protested. Staring with a complete lack of comprehension.

Inoadar gave him a blank look and tapped his feet a few times. "Yes...that's very observant. Hopefully more observant than some city agent will be when they see someone in a dress, while they are looking for a man!"

"But...if they look close...they...I don't walk like a woman, and I...I'm not...you know...I'm not built like one...If they check me out...I...I'd rather die dressed like a man, you know!" he squealed.

Inoadar strained to keep his expression in check, "With a face like that, they're not going to be 'checking you out', don't worry. Not every woman walks like a prostitute anyway, idiot. The dress is "built" for you, it has soft-rubber pads where they need to be. The ones in the hips will help fake the 'bounce' in your walk okay? What do you think theater people use when they need a female part in an all-male cast?"

The young man paused, then snatched it out of Inoadar's hands. "Have you ever worn this yourself?" he asked, red-faced, either from anger or embarrassment, or both.

"Of course." Inoadar lied without hesitation. "Now, you need to smell like you've been drinking, to account for your clumsy walk in these shoes. relax, they're not high-heels, but they will chafe your ankles. You'll just have to deal with it. It's only this one time. Man up!" he stifled an unsympathetic snicker. 'Serves his stupid rebel ass right!'

[Inoadar]

"I should have brought some talc," Inoadar grumbled, "to hide that red face...Would you quit being so self-conscious? A woman your age should not be squirming to turn away from everyone who looks. Try to act a little bit confident. It's not as though I'm going to make you dance with me, for gods' sake."

"What difference does it make what a woman my age does? I'm not a petching woman!" the rebel sneered, immediately wincing at his low tone of voice.

"And I'm not asking you to converse with me either!" Inoadar hissed. "If you can't disguise your voice better than that, then shut up. I tried to help you get my 'Bird's Tongue' in place. It would have taken care of it." he scolded, referring to a voice-disguising membrane device you put in the back of the throat to alter your voice.

"I was choking on the cursed thing!" the rebel, whom Inoadar had taken to calling "Missy", rasped angrily. "And I almost swallowed it."

Inoadar stifled the urge to, once again, explain about relaxing the throat, breathing softly and steadily and only breathing through the nose, but he was sick of arguing. Not that their constant bickering took away from the facade of them being a couple out for a stroll. Far from it. It may very well have been the best aspect of the image they were trying to convey. But "Missy's" masculine voice was undermining it.

Inoadar had made sure the dress had a high neck to hide "Missy's" bobbing larynx. It occurred to him suddenly that the young "woman" was most frequently displaying a believable self-assurance only after grousing about something. On an impulse, he pinched "her" backside.

"What The Petch?" the kid roared angrily. Inoadar could not help himself. He began laughing. A few people looked at the brewing commotion, but their looks only betrayed amusement, not realization of the charade and disguise.

"You...you..." he stammered, his voice a hiss that betrayed no gender. He whirled in fury and stormed through the moderately crowded market as Inoadar waited a few moments then went after "her" calling "Missy" and insisting that he was sorry. What people there were in their path, quickly looked away, not wanting to get involved, and remaining ignorant of what was truly transpiring.

Inoadar got to a likely intersection of walkways, thinking his intuition had paid off and gotten exactly the behavior he needed from the young man, when he realized that he/she was nowhere to be seen. "Shyke Nuggets!" he snarled, "If it isn't one petching thing, it's another!"

[Inoadar]

He heard a low voice cursing someone for their lack of assistance. He looked in the general direction and saw an alley with one of the shoes from his contract's disguise lying nearby. Even though he was greatly put out by the nuisance, he could not help but chuckle with anticipation at the thought of the looks on the perpetrator's faces when their target's gender was revealed. He slipped to the mouth of the alley and listened.

"So what? Some's like 'em big. And a purty face ain't that 'portant where she's going." cracked a gruff voice, highlighted by the popping and slobbering of drooling eagerness.

"Quit spittin' on me, ya damn petch-head!" snarled the educated response. "I don' give two farts 'bout her 'purty face'. Jus' git'cher paws over here and help, You can fetch the petchin' cart when we get her out t'other side."

"If'n ya weren't doin' it the hard ways, you woun't need my help. 'Sides, then ya could cop yerself a feel o' them fine wigglin' piglets." It didn't sound like 'petch-head' was getting the point.

"Shut yer noise and grab her feet, ya lame-brain. There a-be plenty o' time fer that after she done got her ass tied in the cart." the obvious brains of the party shot back, brooking no nonsense from his less cultured assistant.

"Awww, petch, Harky! S'work, work, work, all the damn time! We's already got'n our mark fer the night. I sez we do this'n right here." The low chuckle in his voice held no disguise for his level of interest. "Whatta we need extree fer, anyhow?"

"Harky" snorted with disgust, "Fer crap's sake! Ain'tcha never heared o' the word 'Bonus', you petchin' pinhead? We could be shackin' up wi' some real 'pro-feshin'-uls' tonight! 'Stead o' this'n here. She got her a face like a mud fence!"

"Well, lordy spit, Harky, you can HAVE her face if'n yer all that taken by it. Her back porch gots a good enuff swing fer me, I'll jess...jess..." his voice trailed off suddenly, with a tone of confusion. "Shyke Fire!" he hissed in shock. "HARKY!" he bellowed, "Holy Mother o' Nicky's Nethers! We got us one o' them 'Hoe-Moe-Sexshunals!" He dropped the legs like they were diseased. The dress, previously pulled up to the hips, flopped back into place with the sudden gravity, concealing the tell-tale bulges anew. He suddenly slapped his neck absently, cursing the bugs as well.

"What in Wally's wet dreams are you on about?" Harky growled, lowering the upper half of their victim to the ground and whipping the dress up. "Shyke!" he cursed, quickly waving down his assistant's gloating over having been right. He stood pondering a moment, his eyes narrowing, before turning to his friend. "Check her...uh...his...purse. I'm not so sure 'bout this here."

'Pin-head' simply overturned the purse, dumping the contents in the grime as they swept through it. "Yeah, s'what I 'spected. She ain't no citizen. Got no papers. Prob'ly on the run and in deeskize." He started to grin widely, thinking of a variety of possible ransoms that might ensue. He did a double take at his partner, a frown souring his scheming expression. "What the petch's got'choo, Sten? You don' look so good?"

"I ain't rightly feelin' too good none, neither, Hark...I...my head...uhhh...shyke." Sten dropped to his hands and knees, but managed to keep his unfocused eyes on the blurry fingers of his right hand, which held a dart he'd pulled from his neck.

"Gentlemen." a quiet, articulate voice purred from the darkness. It came from a fairly well-dressed man with a cane. He was not using it to aid in his walking, though. He had it in a two-hand grip, one on the shaft, the other on the hooked end. "If you would be so kind as to step away from the woman, I think we can avoid any unpleasantness."

[Inoadar]

Harky stared open-mouthed at Inoadar, who was still a good twenty yards away. His head flashed back to Sten's hand and the dart held therein, and back at Inoadar.

"There's plenty more where that came from." Inoadar's voice was a shrug, low and smooth, unhurried and unconcerned. He took a calm, slow step towards Harky, his only sign of aggression, a slight twitch on the hand holding the crook of the cane. "So what do you say, Harky?" he put a slight emphasis on the name, letting the man realize the ramifications of having his name known by this figure. "Are you going to give me cause to think of your name with thanks and appreciation, or anger and retribution?"

"I don't give a rat's ass what way you 'member it, 'cause you best jus' be fergittin' it, friend." Harky made what he probably thought were subtle moves towards "Missy's" prone body, offset by equally blatant reaches for something at his belt, probably a knife.

Inoadar sighed with the strained tolerance a parent has for a child that insists on learning the hard way. By the time Harky had made his "sudden" move to bring a knife to "Missy's" throat, Inoadar was already comfortably perched behind Sten, with the same offer. "So, I guess that's a 'No', then? Is there some reason I should believe that the life of your associate is less valuable to you than the cross-dresser's is to me?" He indicated the dress-clad young rebel with a casual sneer.

"Look, Bub, Sten and I work for the city, takin' riff-raff off'n the street, fer slave labor and trade. You don't wanna be gettin' in these boys business." Harky's voice was filled with the confidence of one telling the truth with the certainty of being believed and obeyed.

Inoadar shrugged his eyebrows as if to indicate that he was modestly impressed. "And you don't consider it possible, even likely, that these same boys' business might extend to evacuating certain others OUT of town?" He laughed as though Harky had actually asked the question he now responded to, "And don't glorify yourself with the notion that you would be notified of such an event. You'd just be one more set of loose lips to close."

Harky's eyes narrowed. "Seems to me, thass about what'cher sayin' I am right now."

Inoadar allowed the blade at Sten's throat to become noticeable for a moment. "Doesn't NEED to be that way. And poor Sten here doesn't need to be dragged down along with you, does he?"

Harky mimicked the motion with the knife at "Missy's" throat, prompting an appreciative grin from Inoadar. "And jus' whass to stop ya turnin' me in to the boys, fer to close me lips up fer good once yer gone? Figurin' that to be likely, there ain't no sense me comin' to no deal with ya. May as well trade ya Sten's life fer yer "girl's" here and then see what's what, jus' you an' me." He spun the knife once in his hand to demonstrate some prowess, and returned it to the kid's neck.

Inoadar gave him an appreciative nod to the gesture. "Can't deny the logic, I have to admit." drugged or not, Sten still jerked and muttered something with a sound of dismay to it. "But I don't think you're friend here agrees. To be honest, I've already been paid for MY job, so if my sweetheart here should disappear, I'm not put out at all. I cough up a bit of fiction and everything's fine. It's a mean old world out there beyond the boats."

"S'yer move then, pal." Harky growled. Crude or not, Inoadar found he liked the guy. Harky was no idiot and was obviously not about to back down. He was shrewd enough to know that Inoadar did not want the man in the dress dead, regardless of what he said. But he was also smart enough to know that Inoadar WOULD trade the hostages' lives, and that he had hidden weapons available. There was obviously something about that cane that gave the slim figure confidence.

He was realistic enough to sense that brute work like what he and Sten were doing did not require the sophistication that an exfiltration did. He started to think in terms of what an advantage such a connection could be. By similar reasoning, Inoadar was thinking along the same lines. The only obstacle was professional pride. That, and trust.

[Inoadar]

"But don't try lyin' to me again, buddy. I might lose what little respect I have fer ya." Harky's face was all scrutiny, whereas Inoadar's grew angry. He did not care for that accusation.

"I'm not a liar, you punk. What do I have to lie about? You let the "girl" go, I let your associate live. He's only disabled. The poison isn't lethal, just enough to keep him vulnerable, in case I need to dispatch him quickly. Is that honest enough for you?" Inoadar stewed in mild outrage.

Harky broke into a grin of confirmation. "Okay, so now I's knowin' whatcha'all look like when yer pissed off fer real. That'll do me fer an edge. What I'm talking 'bout s'this BS 'bout you bein' paid already. If, like you say, the boys is BOTH our bosses, than I knows fer a fact they don't pay up front. Least wise, not in full. You still gotcha a stake in this ball-bearin' bitch!"

Inoadar stammered a moment, trying to think of a tact to undermine the hood's logic, and failing. They stared at each other, Harky's expression showing the perception that his adversary's opinion of him had just risen another notch. Inoadar started to chuckle. Harky followed suit. They matched each other in volume as both ended up laughing appreciatively for each other. Neither knife wavered a hair.

Finally, Inoadar took a deep breath and pulled the knife away from his victim's throat. He pushed Sten forward, who crawled in drugged disorientation to his partner. Inoadar stood up. "Okay, Harky. There's my move. I applaud your stubbornness. Now, what's your move going to be."

"T'ain't stubbornness, pal. That's jess plumb stupid. This here is conn-vikshun. I see me a guy that I knows I can outlast, and I hold out and keep holdin' out. If'n I'd-a thought You would'na gave in first, I'd-a handed prettyboy here over, first thing." Harky's grin was pure triumph.

"That transparent, am I?" Inoadar muttered rhetorically. "Fair enough. So...are you going to hand "prettyboy" over now?"

"Not so fast, pal. First off, you got mine and Sten's names, and we ain't got none o' yers. Second off, This sweetheart here was a bit o' trouble, and I ain't figurin' on gettin' nuthin' out of her...him. There's tailin' an' draggin' a cart, there's findin' a chance to sap her and drag her off unseen. Though I will say as makin' yer 'quaitance is a fair reeward." He sneered at this last comment. Inoadar rolled his eyes and rolled his wrist in a gesture to continue.

"But yeah, I was thinkin' o' somewhat more spendable a reward. And seein' as you was boastin' all about bein' paid already..." He let the statement hang as Inoadar snickered at his own undoing and looked skyward as if beseeching the heavens to spare him the embarrassment. "After all, the boys might like us gettin' somewhat o' what they done paid you back, so if you could sweeten the pot for us, for our trouble? Everyone's happy, 'specially your "girlfriend" here." The knife tucked a little harder and the delirious rebel moaned incoherently.

Inoadar had already split the first hundred into two bags, expecting the possibility of having to bribe someone along the way. He shrugged, acknowledging he'd lost this game. He made as if to nonchalantly slip his hand in one of them. "I got thirty here. I'll -..."

Harky's voice was sharp, demanding, as he interrupted him. "Keep yer paws outta that bag, slick. A rep fer takin' no nonsense works good enough with th' boys as well." He rattled the blade at "Missy's" throat for emphasis. "Toss it here."

It was what Inoadar expected anyway, but he adapted the angry look he'd displayed earlier, hoping Harky would believe it was all the money he had. "Fine, you little shyke-eating bastard! But you don't get my petching name!" He threw it into a puddle at the side of the alley. "Let her go, and get it on your own. If you send Sten instead, you're both dead. I've backed down enough for one night." He pulled the stiletto handle out and put the shaft to his lips, pointing it dead on Harky's face. The hood's eyes widened considerably, not in worry, but in appreciation for the hidden blowgun.

"I like it." was all he said as he released the dress-clad rebel, instructing Sten to drag him halfway to Inoadar. He went and retrieved the bag, chuckling as he ran his own fingers through it. "Fifty. Figured you had more'n you were lettin' on." He gave a half-mocking bow. "S'pleasure doin' biz witcha, pal. Have a lovely evenin'."

[Inoadar]

Inoadar watched Harky and Sten leave as he maintained his scowl. A chime after they turned the corner at the far end of the alley, he slapped "Missy" awake. It took more than a couple, and he was protesting with a profound slur by the time his eyes were steady. He recounted the events of the last several chimes for his charge, who eyed him apprehensively, as though he expected Inoadar to demand additional payment for the extra trouble and expense.

Inoadar told him not to worry, that this the very reason an otherwise 'simple escort' had been two hundred mizas in the first place. Something like this was bound to happen. What he didn't tell the young rebel was that he had rifled Sten's pocket and found a name on a scrap of paper. Committing it to memory, he had replaced it in the pocket and acted none the wiser. He knew his story about working for the same 'boys' as Sten and Harky had been a fabrication, but it was possibly very useful information to have the name of a contact within the slaver community. Perhaps he would arrange a visit with the named individual at some later date. At the least, it would be a name to drop if he ever found himself needing to bluff his way out of trouble with them.

He and "Missy" continued on to the Docks and waited inconspicuously for the ferry to take them to the shore. More than once, he thought he caught a double-take by a passerby, but the ferry arrived soon enough that he didn't have to go through the motions of shopping among the local tables and booths for shoes or jewelry for his "girlfriend".

They were able to avoid interaction with the other customers on the boat as they made the crossing to the Southern Trading Post. As they waited to disembark, Inoadar took his sighting lens and scanned the guards, finding one that he had made "deals" with before. He worked their way to this pair and told "Missy" to wait while he approached the guard alone.

He was glad to see a grin form on the face of the guard as he approached. He let a somewhat pained expression show on his face as he walked up to the man, giving a sidelong nod to indicate that he'd like a word alone. He "confessed" that the girl he was with didn't have proper papers, but asked if there was "some way" he could see her passed through. He patted his backpack, bringing the ringing sounds of mizas to the ears of the guard as he explained that the girl believed she was pregnant. He winked as he stated how much he'd like to see her allowed out without delay. The guards eyebrows raised in understanding.

"Well, everything appears to be in order." the guard said, with a special tone to his partner, as he slipped the bag of mizas into his own bags. He waved the disguised rebel through the gate. She sniffled, making with downcast, teary eyes as she walked through.

Inoadar had walked with "her" for about twenty yards when the rebel suddenly tuned and kissed him full on the lips. He nearly had a seizure, knowing he couldn't pull away with the kind of revulsion he felt. He did manage to end it without being too obvious after a couple seconds, just in time for "Missy" to slap him across the face.

He had nearly a second seizure restraining himself from punching the dress-clad young man in the nose as his clawed hands trembled, fighting the urge to form fists.

"You bastard." the young man hissed, "That's for everything you did for me." he sneered sarcastically. Then he grinned vengefully, "Hey, I'm just keeping up appearances." he muttered quietly. "Take care of yourself."

On the way back to town, Inoadar considered the unexpected loss of all the profits he'd hoped to make in miza form. He'd anticipated the need for the bribe at the Southern Post, but the damned slavers had screwed him over. Well, all the same, he'd made his expected hundred mizas in herbal form. Plus he'd made a possible future contact with slavers. Not to mention maintaining his good graces with the rebel's brother, the herb collector. And lastly, he'd freed himself from an ongoing liability in the form of a local rebel that kept seeking him out.

Not such a bad day, all in all.

[Verilian]

. . Thread Award . . Inoadar +2 Subterfuge +3 Disguise +2 Intimidation +1 Persuasion +1 Blowgun You Question My Logic? : If you have any questions on the reward, feel free to PM me. Lores: Making Deals with the Dawn, Delayed Product = Annoyed Customers, Disguising a Man as a Woman, Pinching Missy's Behind, Lore of Harky and Sten, Slaver Contact: Leonardo, The Taste of Male-Rebel Lips Notes: An entertaining little thread, as I find most of your are. Good job, and keep writing! Oh, and since you didn't give a name for the slaver, I gave you one. And.. I will be the one to introduce you to him in a future modded thread. He is a character from a long time ago.. Anyway, enjoy the xp! Notice As per the request of the Founders, threads cannot be graded unless your CS is up to date. This means you need to add threads to your thread list when you make new threads, keep your skills up to date, ledger, living expenses, ect. If you aren't up to date, you'll get a PM from me before i grade your thread. If you are up to date, disregard this notice.