There are three types of people in this world, three technically, though three are one too many.. There are those who refuse to be part of the Federation, and those who are. The federation casts a wide net for many independent explorers to catch upon so they may be fed into the system. Maybe these groups have not taken kindly to the federation robbing them of their well, maybe these peoples...-
Blackmore shakes herself out of her thoughts. She has never been one to stick her nose where it does not belong, but she knows better than to shove it in the affairs of the Federation's peons.
Guilds are never worth trifling with. Blackmore has known this since the day she was a wee Sneasel scamming poor suckers along the roadways, and since those days she has come to realize there are only a few ways of living one's life in a world of explorers: thievery, mercantile-work and exploration.
She can never stay put long enough to work a stall, nor would she be brave enough to head out day by day to pillage precarious dungeons of their trinkets to run said one. Exploration simply takes up tooi much of her time. Blackmore, with her developing years spent as an "investigator" under her belt and the years before wasting them away as an urchin thief, finds herself going back to old habits as her current going becomes tough.
There is a dull thud as the lump she helps to carry falls to the floor. The Floragato behind her lets out a defeated yelp as he drops his half of the bundle.
"Can we - can we take a break?" The Floragato huffs, wiping off beads of sweat from their furry green forehead. "My legs are killing me!"
Blackmore rolls her eyes, easing up her shoulder and letting her half of the lump fall to the floor. The thing they are carrying, a rolled up carpet, is tied haphazardly with long cords of vines. There is a big, totally not inconspicuous lump halfway through the roll.
"Yeah, yeah, take a breather or whatever!" Blackmore snarls. "This is the last time we're stopping, we gotta get back to the ship and quick! Cap's not gonna like it when we come back with some extra baggage."
The Floragato heaves and sighs, his ruby eyes flash in the Weavile's direction.
"Shouldn't we be rewarded more for bringing back? This thing's heavy." Floragato spittles out..
"I have all the gems and the good stuff on me. I don't think he was counting on us bringing back a whole body though - this was supposed to be a - a gah!" Blackmore bites down her tongue both in exhaustion and to keep herself from saying something especially mean about this green thumb. "You know what a smash and grab is, right? Do you?"
Her grass companion pauses for longer than she likes, but he eventually nods his head in acknowledgement.
"Yeah, it's what you guys do to other ships out there." The corner of his lip curls into the faintest, smuggest little smile. "I've seen enough working with you, I'm not stupid, Blackmore."
This makes the Weavile snap. She feels a fire rise in her chest then billow out of her in fury-laden words. Even the little fangs chomping down her tongue could not stop her from spouting.
"You are stupid for using my name back there! We're not explorers, we're not indies, we're not merchants and we sure ain't involved in any society, okay?! We're thieves!" She points to herself - highlighting the straps full of ropes, emergency seeds and equipment along her body. "You don't use a thief's name unless you want them caught, and if you are planning to try and stab me in the back while we're out here - I got the type advantage and-"
She can see it in her partner's eyes, the genuine flash of worry. It is enough to shake her from her tirade, stirring enough sense in her anger-addled mind to take a deep breath and elaborate.
"Look, let's just call ourselves by the first letter whenever we're on the job from now on." She grabs her half of the carpet, feeling the unconscious body of the electrike tumble down the tube. "We can come up with codenames later if you want, I really don't care, just don't go telling the world I'm Blackmore and I won't tell everyone I see that your name is Oz, got it?"
As soon as he hears his name he gets it. Oz nods in defeat, picking up his end of the rolled up pokemon. The lump inside it rolls back towards Blackmore before settling as this sagging mass of carpet between the two. A huff from the grass-type queues Blackmore to start moving as she leads them onwards, trying her hardest to not seem as suspicious as imaginably possible.
Ahead of the pair, down a long winding passage which leads back through a perilous forest and to some fabled spring of some manner, is the best Town on this continent an indie like her can visit. This place lacks the stuffy air Treasure Town possesses - here there are too few tourists and too little of a federation influence. This placke instead is a sea-faring vista looking out over the bay leading into the endless Sea of Time. Capim Town, whose hollowed-out trees stand as staggering pillars casting their shadows onto the bay. This place, as told to Blackmore countless times by her crewmates, is the crown jewel for any free soul this side of the world.
Even then it is not entirely bereft of the federation's eyes, no place is or will ever be. Visitors from the next town (or city, rather) look to snag off the job scraps left by the locals. Indies keep to themselves in the ruckus while Society folks dawdle under the labels of guildie men. Thus it is that Capim Town is naturally the place for thieves to be - as counterintuitive as this may seem given the Grass Continent's reputation for spurting out explorers.
Blackmore has never been here before, she has never actually set foot upon the Grass Continent proper till this day. She is solely reliant on the word of her captain as she marches forth alongside Oz into the town proper. The sun begins to settle, molding long shadows from the towering structures. The streets now clad in shadow slowly flare up with lantern light as the duo makes their approach.
Folks without badges, merchants, sea-faring mons whether they be oarsmen or ferrymen constantly crowd the streets. Many of these mons bat the duo an eye - who wouldn't? What sort of weirdos carry around a suspicious looking lump of supplies through the streets unless they were, well…
Blackmore made sure she is leading the charge, she accounted for this, there is no way anyone save for her who could mess it up. Down the road, passing by a store after on her way to the docks, one person manages to draw her suspicion. Ahead of them is a clearing of some sort, a plaza which splinters off in a multitude of directions - one of whom is obviously their dock, their ship and destination.
Standing there as still as a statue is the fellow she has taken note of: a sawsbuck overlooking the crowd from outside the entrance to one of Pelipper Mail's countless establishments. A plaza lies at the end of their street, and people march throughout its splintering roots like a system of rivers. She barely catches this tall, gallant figure looking their way and shies her gaze aside. The natural hub-ub of a crowd hides her voice as she whispers back to her temporary partner.
"Act like you're a merchant, don't say a word till I say so." She whispers back at them.
"What?"
She barely keeps herself from yelling aloud.
"You heard what I said."
Blackmore holds her head high, leading the way into the clearing and tracing her footsteps through the crowded streets to whence she first came to this land. Shoulder to shoulder with all manner of travellers, she would hope the not-at-all suspicious bundle they are carrying will fade away into the night, but as it would seem this stalwart Sawsbuck is not convinced by her show. Over the murmur of the crowds, the prattling of countless feet, she hears the slow and steady approach of a hoofed pokemon clack against the cobblestone.
A shiver races down Blackmore's spine, causing the shoulders to quake and wobble as the lump comes dangerously close to falling off her shoulders onto the floor. She, somehow, keeps her composure about her, enough to at least keep on walking forwards. She can already see the dock from here through a gap between the towering structures - a wooden structure leading outwards into a crystal blue bay and an ineffable Sea yonder. She passes the clearing onto the docks when a voice freezes her in place.
"Halt!"
The deep authoritative voice of the Sawsbuck stops her and Oz in their tracks. She musters some kind of strange, unsuspecting look upon her face as twists her head around to face the guard. The grass-type glares at her, his green leaf-covered antlers look ready to impale her at the slightest mishap.
"For what?" She asks rather simply. "We've stopped."
By we, she means herself. Oz seems to have frozen in place, stern faced, looking at Blackmore with fearful eyes. He dares not speak, he dares not move. Sawsbuck clacks across the stone closer towards them, making the feline's ears twitch.
"What are you two carrying? Any contraband, hm?" He asks.
"None whatsoever, and if we did, why would we admit to it? How could we know?" She says, wringing her shoulder, easing up her muscles. "We're taking stuff to the boats."
"What boat?"
She would shrug if her shoulders were not continuing to eat away at her will. She cannot afford to stay in place with the dead weight of a pokemon threatening to fold her and her partner in on eachother.
"You know, the boat boat. We're just here to drop off our wares and move on." She nods in the vague direction of Oz's vines as they hold the carpet roll. "Don't know who ordered it, we just told them we'd mark it with vines."
The sawsbuck pauses. For a good long second the two beneath the roll stare at eachother before the giant bursts into snarling, awful laughter.
"Yes, yes, I get it now! You're one of the mail carriers, yes! By virtue of our contract with the local mailers, would you be so kind as to tell me you're hiding inside of there?"
Blackmore bites her lip.
"Idunno, it was all wrapped up, packaged."
"Yes and if it was packaged, I'd assume you were given these packages by Pelipper mail, were you not?"
What is with this guy? He is acting like a guildie, is he a guildie, real iron thorn in her sides! Blackmore's features twinge ever so slightly, fighting off the urge to glare this wannabe sheriff down and show him what is what. But she already has one body on her hands today no thanks to Oz screwing everything up by not doing his job - what good is there adding another?
"You know there are dozens of mailing groups out there, eh?" Oz's voice shatters the silence. He sounds like he is quivering, about on the urge to snap like a twig under the weight pushing down upon him. "Murkrow Mail, Crainados Cargo, Floatzel Freight?"
This catches both of them by surprise, and before Sawsbuck can counter, Oz approaches for a quick strike.
"We're here to deliver something, that's all, Can you leave us be?"
Not exactly the final blow Blackmore wishes it were, though it allows for an opening as she lifts up her portion of the rug overhead then continues down the path. Oz dawdles along, following in her stead. They barely reach the foot of the docks where ferry pokemon and other crude rafts line the shore when they catch a familiar clack-clack trailing their footsteps.
"Bla- B?" Oz's voice stutters from underneath the fabric cover. The creak of the wooden dock and splashing of water below seclude his fretful words. "He's-"
Blackmore raises a claw behind her, shushing the feline into an unwilling silence. There is a way out of this, it is right there, she needs only capitalize. As the footsteps of the sawsbuck stalk them from behind she continues onward, scanning her eyes among the dozens of rafts and ferrying mons till the obvious, titanic float emerges unto view. Its sails a foreboding black - the front of the two sails emblazoned with a crude emblem of a winged pokemon - casts its intimidating shadow upon them. Captain's ship, and the freedom it holds, are but a few short steps away.
The sawsbuck is about to tell her to freeze, or apprehend her, or something, she feels the tension building within her ice-type bones as the sawsbuck sputters.
"Oh, so that's where you're-"
"DELIVERY!"
Blackmore's shout overwhelms whatever sheriff back there is about to say. She drops the roll. It hits the dock like a gong, calling all eyes towards them, especially those who are in a ship a plank's walk away. Oz lets his other half smash against the floorboards with another echoing thud, a second call to arms.
Silence overtakes the dock, three pokemon staring upwards at the two-story marvel of craftsmanship as their calls become indistinguishable from the voices lying within. They soon are silenced when a long, deafening creak sounds from atop of the ship's deck. Heavy, authoritative footsteps shake the boat as they march across the deck, down the thin plank.
A tall, slimy looking creature, clad in puffy coat and a cap slicks down his tendril hair. An uncharastically tiny cap keeps it down as he descends down the dock and his yellow eyes shoot a paralyzing glare at the supposed sheriff. The Malamar stares at the lump with malcontent, then slowly turns his beaked face warps into a welcoming grin as he sets his gaze upon the two "delivery pokemon", -
"Ah, had I thought you'd be this fast with delivery I'd have my chef whip you up a treat." His voice echoes with a twinge of levity. "I'd just corked open a bottle of some fine ale. Bring that carpet to my quarters and I'll pour ye each a glass."
Blackmore nods in agreement. The plank creaks as she steps aboard, moving an inch at a time so as to keep the feline behind her from letting the thing slip. She hauls the thing on deck when suddenly, Captain flashes her a glare, freezing her right in place.
Behind them is a third set of footsteps. They stop when they stop, and the captain signs with anger.
"Mate, you don't cross onto someone's ship uninvited." The Malamar snarls. "It'd be wise of you to turn back now."
The Malamar stares down at the snitch at the foot of the plank. His head tendrils flutter and curl, like several tiny Ekans ready to snap. The crashing of waves against the dock fills the silence till eventually, the persistent not-so-little pest turns their lady antlered head away with a defeated snort. Captain motions his crewmates towards his quarters as he watches the man leave.
Stepping onto deck they see the two pairs of sails on this vessel. At the center deck is a staircase leading to the crew's quarters and every other thing, and behind it, shadowed somewhat by a large wheel-shaped mechanism on the deck above is the captain's room. The door is already open for them as they walk this roll inside and drop it on the floor in front of an oak desk.
An intense mixture of saltwater and incense lingers in the air while lantern light shines on an impressive collection of baubles, maps, seafaring things unknown to her. What is known to her is the large decorative chest there for all to see; this is where their salaries are kept alongside the "real" treasures of this ship.
Downstairs some of the important crew have tiny rooms to themselves, though like her and every other they all have a hammock and a chest - a chest housing any manner of valuable things, sentimental or material. Wines, Orbs, Elixirs, seeds, they keep a large stockade of precious equipment downstairs. Their hoard would catch an impressive prize. W hat must be so impressive it must be housed by their captain away from everyone else?
It has to be important, expensive; moreso than those two big metal do-dads by the bow which the steel-type of the crew calls "Cannons" and everyone calls "Boomers".
Maybe if she were to take a peek, it would not hurt anyone, would it? No, he probably has it locked anyway-
The loud slam of a door fishes her up from her thoughts, as Blackmore stands tall in attention, saluting in the direction of the Malamar alongside her grassy friend. The rug falls out of their hands with an even louder thud.
Then just like that, the whole reasoning for wanting to come here rolls out of the carpet - a bruised, unconscious electrike.
"What in The Sea is that doing here?" The Captain blurts.
She glances at her partner. Oz is frozen faced, his legs barely keep him upright in salute. Blackmore knows him to be a green-thumb but even newbies do not crack so easily. Swallowing down her pride, Blackmore reluctantly takes the stand.
"We went plundering the locals - I mean, those on the outskirts." She swiftly corrects herself. "Had a whole plan, we were following the rules, everything to a T till this little guy showed up, saw us and ruined things. I was thinking you'd, y'know…?"
"I don't reckon, you wanting me to give this rascal the boot while we're on The Sea?" Captain says without an ounce of trepidation. "We can be rid of him if that's your fancy, although; hen I told ye could do as ye pleased - ye knew I don't take kindly to having my crew leave a trail."
Either it is this or…Blackmore bites down on her lip, she does not want a life on her talons regardless if it belongs to an Tribal.
"I- Well." Blackmore trips on her words, the squid's gaze feels like a chokehold.
"Ransom, or something." Oz picks up for her. "Look, if we gotta pay for services or something, I can…er…how do you do ransoms?"
"We only ransom seafarers and traders. Trafficking ain't my specialty, those are for the darker sorts, but I'd be no captain if I didn't have fellas in those places." His eyes dance between the two. "Those lot demand a pretty coin for their services. Count your blessings this lad's an Outlander rather than a guildie with friends to come 'a huntin for him."
"Are you gonna co-"
Before the grass-type can get out a full sentence, a mere glance from the Captain tells them everything. It is going to come out of their pockets, whether it be hers, his or the both of them. Captain is not going to cover them for their failures.
Red, weary eyes of a grass-type glance at Blackmore's way. Blackmore looks back at the grass-type and sighs. If he did as he was told, if he were to tie everything down as he is supposed to and make sure they are all out cold, they would not have this nagging little zapper weighing down a perfectly normal day in the life of a thief. Yet still, they have scarce to show for their efforts save for an admittedly fancy carpet and a fistful of coins and precious-looking gems yet to be properly evaluated.
It is a coinflip whether what they have here will make up for the price of cleaning duty for this…poor sod. The grass-type is about to say something, his mouth is moving and making these nonsensical breathing noises. She puts an end to it.
"I'll cover the costs." She says decisively.
"Bu-"
"I'll cover the costs." Blackmore shuts Oz down, looking straight and dead on at the captain. "Dock it from my next pay, Cap. It won't happen again."
The Captain acknowledges it with a nod. He slithers over, then with his long limbs rolls the poor thing back up into the carpet. What follows next, she does not want to know, Captain will do whatever with this poor sod. He dismisses his crewmates with a halfhearted wave. Blackmore taps the grass-type on his shoulder, then leads them out onto the deck, making especially sure to close the door behind them-
It, of course, slams shut on its own. Psychic nonsense. She leads Oz across the deck to the first mast, takes a deep breath, then lets it out.
"Next time we're out, don't muck it up for me." She groans. "You're new, aren't ya?"
Oz looks at her with a stunned gaze.
" I've been here for a bit, I used to be an explorer." He says. "Weren't you?"
"Yeah, whatever, most of us were." Blackmore shrugs. "Next time this happens I'm not going to cover you, you're gonna have to pay for it."
"I didn't ask to be covered, I was gonna pay for it - I - i don't mind!"
"I did you a favor. If he caught you making an obvious mistake like not knocking everyone else, you think Cap's gonna forgive you?" Blackmore huffs her chest, the collar of quills around her neck rustles with frustration. "I've been here longer than you have, not by much, but I've never seen the captain that angry before."
"He didn't sound too bothered-"
"Think of it this way, we came in and put a new problem on his plate he is going to try and deal with, no thanks to you. I didn't tell him it was you, we're both at fault as far as he knows."
She is not going to spare another second arguing about this, she is at her limit, bout close to ratting this greenie out for good. Oz reads the expression on her face, one of utter exasperation - a mother scolding her hatchlings. Oz puffs himself up, but nonetheless, resigns himself to his fate. Favors are not often handed between their ilk. He should be, and seems to be, thankful he is given one.
Oz walks past her, his footsteps fading as he steps down into the decks below, resigning himself for the evening it would seem. And before Blackmore collects herself she hears a slow, obnoxious clapping from her right.
Another grass-type approaches. Taller than his usual ilk, the roserade's many pedals have long faded into a pinkish white. A cravat fastened around his chest accentuates a purple coat. A belt around his thin waist fastens vials of healing wines and a long bamboo tube housing a wonder map - a sign all too evocative of one who travels far and spends aplenty in their endeavors.
"How do you do, Babygirl?" Roserade's eyes shoot a smug, albeit comforting gaze. "You've seen to have handled that better than I would've, I'd thrown greenie there overboard, but that's why I'm not captain of this ship. Miss me?"
Her ears flicker, listening for anyone sneaking up before answering herself.
"Yeah, I really did. Greenie's half the thief you are, Chrysan." Blackmore laments as she begins sharpening her talons. One set of her claws looks to be longer than the other for some reason. "I'd argue less than half, but second chances - all that Teamwork stuff."
"Don't have to explain it to me."Chrysan chuckles.
Of course she does not, she knows where this guy comes from. They are from the same continent, two different sides of it, two different breeds of "explorers". He is still senior however, through both experience and age.
"Greenie's a real…" She bites down her tongue, shaking her head. "Hey, were you looking to go eat somewhere? I'm new to this town, this continent."
"I'm no different. I heard there's a tavern for seafarers like us nearby. What say we fetch ourselves a drink?" Chrysan briefly looks her in the eye before putting up a smile. "You sure seem like you need it."
"Aye."
The lightweight Weavile says, putting her night in the Roserade's flowery hands.
Laughing Ludicolo is the name of a tavern relatively near the docks. This hobble is for the people coming to this burgeoning port down in search of treasures or jobs or what have you's. Leaf-ridden vines sit in the lattice just below the ceiling, draping down like clusters of greedy hands looking to get their leaves on the fantastical brews this place serves. As the two pirates step inside a busy Bellosom rushes past them, holding up a tray of spirits served in carved out coconuts. A lombre working the front of the establishment sees the pair walk in and raises his head to look at them from under his natural hat.
Windy instruments from the back nearly muffle out Lombre's voice as he welcomes them.
"We got seats, a few, just you two?" Lombre asks.
"Just us." Chrysan answers with a smile. "Oh, and we'd appreciate it if you could give us a seat way in the back. We're here on business, guildie-trade business if you catch my drift. Don't want no peasants peeping in."
Lombre looks at the two with its lazy, bagged eyes.
"Yeah, I do, follow me."
Lombre leads them as the two follow behind them. They shuffle past crowded tables, snaking their way in between the floral waitresses to pass the stage where a ludicolo and his two lombre fellows play uproarious music. The smell of roasted berries, of wines and sweet breads is poignant in the air while nearly every wall and the whole ceiling is covered in leafy overgrowth. Lombre escorts them all the way to the back where there are a few booths with big flowery curtains. Lifting one up, they gesture for them to take their seats and lay down two heavy looking slabs with the drink menus etched onto them.
And as soon as they take their respective seats, the Lombre pulls the curtain shut then says.
"Light the candle on the table if you need service."
Sure enough, there is a candle in a bright blue holder with a matchbook sitting on its side next to it. Guess she, as the not-plant will have to strike it, that's if Chrysan cares to drink.
"Isn't this a couple's booth?" Blackmore states flatly.
"Probably…" Chrysan shrugs his shoulders, then shoots her a smug grin "Just to be clear: you and I-"
"Never will be."
"Course, of course. I'd never!" Chrysan laughs the notion into oblivion as he stuffs his nose into a menu. "How about you? Did your little plundering mission go as planned?"
"If I had you there it would have." Blackmore takes her own menu in her hands. Maybe she could do with a drink at the end of this long day. Something light, fruity, like a vanilluxe treat. "I'm trying to help out Gree- Oz, he's just, I don't think he's cut out for this kind of work. And I hate how I keep getting buddied with him."
"Take it up with the Captain, he's probably breaking Greenie in through you. And if that's what he's doing then he trusts you, alot.." He raises a hand, and emerging from the flowery cuff of his wrists are long vines which wreath around the table's matches. "He's not new, he's just never had any real work, he's one of those sorts who thinks they're all that before something finally comes to set em straight. I only hope he's gonna take it well."
She has no idea who or where Oz came from. He seems well off enough to afford explorer's equipment, most who do sign themselves to Captain's ship come with a coin purse they have been saving for the one rainy day. Maybe Oz was one of those prissy-types? A noble from far off looking to buy his way cheaply into adventure, but what proof does she have other than mere conjecture?
"I'm doing my best. He really screwed us on the last job, forgot to make sure everyone was knocked out before tying them up - as you would." Blackmore tears off one of the matches. She strikes the stone surface of her tablet, the residue at the tip ignites and she quickly lights their candle. It shines a beckoning blue. "Smash and Grab, you know? Knock everyone out before they see you, I guess he didn't understand that part."
"Never would have guessed you'd miss my poison technique, you always said it was too slow, too methodical." Chrysan chuckles. "You're right in that I wouldn't have let you go in there lest everyone was sleepin their goodnights."
"Yeah, well the last time you tried your poison garbage you did that in the middle of a boarding party!" Blackmore laughs "Weren't I there them workers would've beaten you to a pulp before they fainted! And they nearly did!"
"You weren't the one hiding in their fragrances for a whole day waiting to poison their soup!" Roserade fires back. "They had too many cooks in their kitchen, I blended right in like a ditto in a br-"
Whatever he is about to say gets cut right off the second he hears the ruffle of their curtain. His pedal hair swooshes around as he swerves to the Lombre peering in, a notebook in their red fingers. His smug self instantly replaces the boisterousness of not a moment before.
"Ah, about time!" Roserade says. He punts his stone tablet across the table, the Lombre barely catching it before it shatters on the floor. "Pecha-Custap blend, please. Make sure it has a kick too, add some cheap liquor to it if you have to."
This throws the spotlight right onto Blackmore. Social anxiety clouds her, as she nods at Chrysan.
"I'll - er… just have his."
"Oh, daring today are we?" Chrysan laughs. He swipes Blackmore's menu and hands it to Lombre who quickly shuffles away. He waits a moment before speaking again. "And did anything else happen today? You seem more bothered than usual."
Other than having to carry out the body of a pokemon in a barely-hidden coffin, her day has been uneventful save for one tiny detail. She looted the entirety of the tent as one tends to do when smashing 'n grabbing, and she is suddenly reminded of the solely interesting thing within the Tribals' chest. A piece of paper, folded neatly, with handwriting seemingly not their own. The rookie pirate within her says it is a map of some sort, leading to treasures unbeknownst to anyone in the lands, a treasure to send her on a fantastical adventure - reality simply says it could be a prayer to some long forgotten entity as these Tribals tend to be.
She never did get a proper look at it, did she? She feels around her belt, finding her explorer's pouch and the contents therein. Not so neatly stuffed inside it is the dense paper of…something.
"Can you keep a secret?" She says, thinking it best to hide her tracks.
"If there's anyone I can keep a secret with in this entire crew, it's you." Chrysan answers. His usual levity is all but gone. "What did you find?"
"Well I-"
Rather than prattle off into nonsense, Blackmore plucks the paper out and ganders at the thing. It is a drawing of some sort, a circle with four flanges outstretched from its center. There are two sets of spires slowly enclosing it before they stop, and at the base of this emblem is what appears to be a tower of some sort, a spiraling pillar taller than the mountains encircling it. Of course it is a map, of course there is text below it written in Unown script so as to be as mysterious as imaginably possible. This parchment appears to be a farce.
Out of frustration, she simply hands Roserade the paper. His eyes light up upon reading it, flipping it over to see both sides. He folds it up neatly, treating it with a care Blackmore has yet to give, placing it between them.
"What?" She asks, stuffing the thing away. "Is it a map? So what?"
The curtains are thrown aside, a Lombre interrupts their prattling with a tray of two drinks in coconut shells. He lays them in front of the two pokemon before asking.
"Need more?"
"Ah, we'll be fine." Chrysan smiles. "Thank you!"
Lombre vanishes under a veil of pink as the two thieves return to staring at each other. Blackmore takes a brief sip, the sweetness of whom overpowers all of her senses and makes her cough. Roserade breaks the awkwardness with a chuckle.
"It seems you have found quite the lead, I do say." Chrysan takes a sip of his sweet beverage. "You've not told the captain, have you?"
"No, I didn't think it was important till now. I didn't want Greenie wondering what I found back there, if anything, I don't trust him in the way I do you - same with the whole crew." Blackmore shuts her eyes, letting the sweet, overwhelming sensation linger on her tongue. "I…we're both from the same place, I swear I've met you before, and you sure have heard about me if you're gonna be calling me-"
"Babygirl." Chrysan stifles a laugh. "Yeah I've heard about you back there on the Dusk Continent. I know why I joined this crew, what says you?"
Hers is a long story unworth being told out in public like this, no matter how much this curtain or the roar of instruments may drown out their voices. The stupid nickname drills into her. "Babygirl." Memories rise from the surface from out the freshly stricken mental wound, she stifles them, swallowing down another sip to shut out her memories.
"I want to make a big discovery - something like that." Blackmore spurts out the vaguest, unimportant drivel she can think of. "What about you?"
"You didn't answer my question, and don't worry, I'm not the kind to pry at people face to face." Roserade lowers his cup, leaning over the table to look Blackmore in her eyes. "You know I outrank you in the ship, right?"
Is he trying to pull rank on her, on a thief? So after all this talk about loyalties or keeping the crew together he is about to turn despotic? Blackmore sinks into her seat, making distance between them as she raises an eyebrow at the grass-type. The words slowly spill from her mouth.
"We are not on the ship." Blackmore speaks.
"Certainly, I am most glad we're on the same page in this regard. But unlike you I've been made privy to certain things, certain objectives out there in the world our Captain would like to get his slimy tendrils. Now were these things to simply bring fortune and nothing else I'd have merely stuck with my guild."
A guild which no longer exists, Blackmore has learned of this from her friends back home. The air is swiftly becoming tense.
"What do you want then?" She asks. Flashes of tales featuring power-hungry pokemon play at the back of her mind. "Trying to be all…you know?"
"I'm not trying to be anything. There's a precious bounty out there only a select capable fellows are aware of, a bounty for tinder - fuel, like a special lantern oil only found in so many places which could shine a light into worlds beyond." Chrysan clasps his long fingers together, easing up. "I don't know the nature of what this is or why it is so needed, but I am fairly certain what you've plucked from those irksome tribals could lead me there."
Here comes the part where he eventually demands it or makes some dramatic scene about how this is the one piece to his master plan. Chrysan has never been like this, never had he imposed a cunning scheme upon her. If whomever is sending out the call is important to retrieve what he is looking for, then maybe he is adhering to it out of personal interests.
Blackmore has her own desire; a treasure most closest to her. Swallowing another gulp of liquor, she gets whatever it is Chrysan is trying to convey.
"So you wanna go looking for treasure, that it?" She asks.
"Yes, of course."
Blackmore pushes the folded up note between them. She has made her decision.
"Just put a good word in for me with Cap and leave me outta it, okay?" She tells him. "I think I can still find my treasure through him."
With a dramatic flourish, Chrysan stows the paper away on his person, finishing up the rest of his drink with one long gulp. He raises his voice, cheery once more.
"I've got one more thing to say to you: I'll be going on my own plundering like you did today, I'm heading out let's say…" Chrysan calculates some imaginary numbers. "- when sundown hits?"
His eyes flash to somewhere beyond the curtain. It is as if he is all of a sudden nervous, like a chick who cannot sit still. With the way he speaks, Blackmore knows he is in a hurry. As he clacks down his drink, as he slams an amount of coins onto the table and is about to make his leave, she reaches out across the table and grabs his arm.
"Chrysan." She says. "Why are you acting so…"
Before Blackmore can find the proper words, Chrysan lifts her claws off his arm, turning to face her and lowering his voice to that of a whisper.
"Because, Blackmore, you never know when one is listening."
And with those words he vanishes through the curtain, leaving her to stew with a sweet drink between her claws and a bitter taste in her mouth.
The only thing Oz remembers from sitting underneath that deck is grabbing a fist of coins from his own chest, and those words, those words which echo in his mind as he slithers through the streets of Capim Town, his fluffy stride producing not so much as a tap of claws. He can see them wriggling ahead, slithering between crowds and occupied streets to a place then unknown to him.
"Half the thief you are…"
It was her being nice. She chose him because he is the closest to the Roserade, that is all, skills or anything else be damned. She only wants the Roserade on her team, and what for? Is he not to be trusted? What did he do wrong?
"Just one, just me." He tells the Lombre at the front desk.
Lombre leads him to an occupied seat, a single, tiny table and chairs for two medium sized poke to sit at. Past a curtain he can see her, Blackmore and Roserade chatting .His ears flicker. He tries to listen in, but the sounds of the band's rattling instruments cut him short.
"What would you like?"
This time, a Belossom skirts up to his table. Oz looks her way with a half-grin, his little fangs peeking out from behind an obviously tired face.
"Just oran juice." He says.
"No wine, no cocktails?" She answers.
"Just Oran." Oz reaffirms.
The waitress wanders off. Distracted by the sounds, the servers, he catches a glimpse of the curtains over there figure who soon reveals himself as Chrysan motions at his partner before peeking his head out from the curtain, looking across the tavern at all the many explorers.
Oz observes him and for a split second the eyes of the Roserade meet with him. In the fraction of a moment, Roserade sinks back behind his curtain, says something inscrutable to the Weavile and makes his way out of the tavern.
All the whilst acting utterly oblivious to Oz. Just what is the captain's underling planning?