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Chapter Two: The Coffeehouse

"Here's my number." Vossler handed Basch a snippet of paper and some quarters. "Call me when you get some sense knocked back into you."

Basch simply held out his hand and looked at the motel in front of him. "I'll do that."

"Here." Vossler took a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his jacket and held it out for Basch. "Take these; you'll need them more than I do."

Basch shook his head. "I don't smoke."

Vossler let out a heavy sigh and restarted his engine. "Suit yourself." He beckoned his hand as to say goodbye then disappeared around a corner.

For the last forty years the motel at South Sprawl had been owned by Migelo, an honest fellow.

It was barren place full of rats and every other sort of scum. But for some it was a sanctuary. The orphans of Ivalice, or Migelo's little street rats as they were called, were the first and foremost residents of the motel. As for his other costumers, well, no one ever slept there unless they had no choice.

Basch opened the front door which let out a loud screech. The hallway was barely lit except for one flickering bulb above him. An old bangaa was sitting on a stool in the hallway. For Basch he hadn't changed a bit.

"May I help you?" The bangaa said with a raw voice.

"I want a single room." Basch started. Surprised that the bangaa didn't react to his return he traced a hand past his jaw line.

The beard.

He hadn't realized that he still had his long hair and beard. He truly was a shadow of who he used to be.

The bangaa slowly took up his glasses, put them on his nose and looked at the ex-convict, inspecting his physique. "Can you pay?"

Basch put his hand in his pocket and took out a silver crest fastened to a necklace. "Real silver, I'm sure you can pawn it for at least more than a couple of months' stay."

Migelo let out his hand and took the necklace, inspected it for while, and then let out a sound of displeasure. "Keep it boy, some bad memories are best off remembered." He placed the silver back into Basch's hand and bent down to take out a yellow accounting book. "Room thirty-six is vacant; it's on the hall to your left."

"Thank you." Basch gave slight nod then walked on into the hallway.

"Wait." The bangaa called behind him causing Basch to stop in his tracks but not turn around.

"I forgot to ask your name, just front or last is all right they're just for accounting purposes anyway."

"fon Ronsenburg." He answered not looking back to see the baffled reaction on Migelo's face.

The room was just how he expected it to be.

Yellow and burned spots on the carpet floor and wallpaper, the smell of mold everywhere. He locked the door and slowly took off his clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed. Then he walked into the bathroom turned on the shower and gazed at himself in the broken sink mirror. If he had the means he would have gotten rid of his long hair and beard instantly. It felt like the scar of a bad memory, one that was too fresh. He turned away and stepped in the shower. The water was cold and was seeping out in a weak bundle. He closed his eyes trying to concentrate on what to do but all he could hear was Vossler's voice in his head. The city wasn't even a fraction of what it used to be.

Basch got out of the shower and sat on the bed, letting the air dry his skin. He put on his clothes again then walked outside of the room.

The hallway was deserted; even Migelo was nowhere to be found. When he stepped onto the streets he tried to remember something. Quietly he let his feet lead the way.

"Exactly where it used to be." He mumbled to himself while walking past some winded stairs into a coffeehouse not any bigger than the living room he had, long ago. This time, he was immediately recognized.

"Ah. If it isn't captain fon Ronsenburg." The only man present, an old man in lotus position smoking a hookah, raised his head to meet his eyes, greeting him.

"Ex-captain." Basch answered much to his own dismay.

"Yes, it would seem like it." He had a slight smile on his face as he said it. "Tell me ex-captain, why have you come to see old Dalan? So soon after you've come out of prison too."

"There are some facts that need to be straightened out, some questions that need answering." Basch hestitated. "An old friend told me that the streets have changed over the last ten years."

"Vossler often favours harsh words."

"Then, is it not so?"

Dalan now sat more upright gesturing Basch to sit on the floor opposite to him.

"I'm sure you've noticed how the streets have changed even while just walking down the pavements."

Basch sat down, uncomfortable on the cushioned floor. "I have."

"What you saw was the result of a force majeure. The cops here in Ivalice were a sound group, solid, mostly honest and hardworking. You were a steady force against the Solidors and even to the Margraces who lived mostly out of your jurisdiction. Some might a force a bit too steady, yes, the Solidors without doubt thought of you as their number one enemies. You were an obstacle they needed to get rid of." Dalan paused while he blew out a large ring of smoke.

"However, I believe you already knew that." Basch nodded but didn't say anything.

"They were a few options they could try while getting rid of such a force. There was of course the option of using more force, or they could have threatened your families."

"They killed Rasler Nabradia son-in-law of the chief did they not?" Basch cut him off.

"Ahh, yes, indeed they did, yet did it work? If I remember correctly not long after that you doubled forces and arrested triple the amount of delinquents that month. No, fon Ronsenburg they needed something bigger than that something that would break the police forces in such a way they would never be able to recover. That is where you come into the picture fon Ronsenburg. You see, that day ten years ago, it didn't just shake your life ex-captain, it shook the lives of everyone. The very foundation of trust and justice had been broken that day. That captain fon Ronsenburg, hero to many, had murdered his own chief in cold blood." Dalan leaned a bit back again. "Needless to say the city was in an uproar. A chaos big enough for the Solidor's to take their power and take it once and for all."

Basch looked at the old man but not in shock. Ten years really was a long time to think things through. "The Solidors run this city by themselves now?"

"I suppose they wish it was so. Within days new groups started rising in the streets. Guilds, Margraces, mercenaries and downright criminals. The city has become a haven to them. Pray, the people are sleeping awake because of fear."

"I see." Basch said absent mindedly.

"I do not know who tricked you ex-captain. But on the word of an old man: it was a cunning man who did it. A very cunning man indeed."

"Aye."

Dalan smirked put down his hookah and leaned a bit forward again. "Now I do not think you came here to listen to things you already knew. Tell me ex-captain: why have you come to see me?"

"There is someone I want you to contact for me."

The sun had already set when Basch walked back to the motel. Migelo was sitting on his chair again making loud snoring sounds, glasses almost falling off his beak. As quietly as he could Basch walked to his room. Migelo now knew who he was and he hadn't the time or the mood for questions. He was about to enter his room when he noticed a piece of paper sled half under his door.

Meet me at the Sandsea tonight 23:00 for old time's sake.
Vossler

Bagamnan called his mouth a beak, so I called it that as well. Perhaps it's not correct though, he speaks like a ruffian doesn't he? Next chapter will start to get more fast paced.