[Blades] Knuckle Bone with Spogg (M 1.2)

edited June 2014 in Blades

Spogg came in a few minutes after you arrived, slipping into your curtained booth. He barely squeezed his big gut in enough to sit at the booth, and kept his bowler on. For a many who plays dice in the streets, he doesn't smell too bad, at least. He made quick pleasantries, but then you steered the conversation to talk of poor Slog. Describing the block, hells, the entire ward, on alert. How bad did things get for Slog? What ended up happening to the poor sod?

"Aye, I know the story, Milos," Spogg admits after exhaling a breath he held in worry. "What can ye do? So Milos, we ere to rabbit and pork about that old pot and pan, or shall we talk of rats and mice?"

translation: are we here to talk about that old man, or do you want to talk about dicing games?


  • Milos

    The water's out, but the Kettle's still on. The cunt's labrador's done him off. It's the block's gone pasty. That makes the first and lonely the rare duck - a clear field for catching rats. That is, The game's off, but Slog got away. He had a trapdoor in the front and bolted, but the neighborhood itself is locked down by the Blues. That makes Six Towers a rare commodity - an entire neighborhood able to handle any real games.

    I drag off my cigarette, a squat bull's affair. Dark, resinous tobacco rolled thick as my middle finger in orange paper. Of course, you've got the trap latched, ain't locked. Recent troubles got certainty mopping the shit from the floor. Very little certainty in all these rats running about. You'll be needing a cat for that.

    Spogg runs the games, but he doesn't have them market locked down. Too many freelancers running pick-up games-- a situation extremely difficult to manage with the recent upheaval and coming turf war. With the backing of the Fellowship, he can more easily lock down the field, get a more steady income.

  • That gets his attention. He leans in, as well as he can lean with his big gut pushing against the edge of the table. "An 'ow much o' my bread an honey does the Brother'ood John Bull from me Margate Sands?"

    What's your cut?
  • edited June 2014
    Takes me a second to parse the John Bull reference, because that's what they call line bulls further south, but context helps, and I don't much show it.

    "Twenty little bees make a sandwich, pally pall. We'll keep the mice out of the pie, you see to the rat hoard. We'll see it sticks.

    Twenty percent. To start, the Eyes keep the heat off him while he turns the freelance games. After that process, we'll set the games through the island.

    Take another drag, and pour two shots of the horilka I talked the inn-keeper into stashing under the bar for me. "But does it make a full chord?" do we have an accord?
  • Spogg takes a swig of the bottle he brought with him. Then nods, "Aye."

    Anything else with Spogg? He's not really a conversationalist. Anyone here at the bar you hope to see after a long time away?
  • edited June 2014
    I shrug, and toss back the second shot. Grab the bottle, step out passed the other curtained booths, into the press of the wider hall. The Knuckle is a pair of interconnecting alleys, boarded over every other storey. All the buildings "facing" the alley, are various businesses catering to Knuckle's clientbase. The Bonehouses.

    There's a family friendly pawn broker in one of the basement bone houses. His shingle and stock on a single level, sprawling out behind. It was a half-block maze of godshite. Earl's Spouted Toad ranges off into invisibility. Earl died twenty years ago. Someone else is walking the aisles tonight.
  • Coleburn is the bloke who runs Earl's now, and among the bits and ends left behind and never reclaimed, there are a few tools of the trade, some finery mixed in with the dross.

    But what catches your eye is none other than Song. Song, the Bravo of the Red Sashes. Song, the deadly cutter. Song, your dead wife's younger half-sister.

    Here she is. Pretty, but don't let it fool you.

    She sees you as soon as you enter. You see her as she's making her way over. She calls ahead, to make sure you know she's coming for you. "Milos! I didn't know you were out." How is it that you know she's lying?

    She's got a jacket on, and her hands in the pockets. You know there's a straight razor in there. Maybe something else. But she wouldn't knife you. Not here. Right?

    What's the last thing you said to her?
  • Milos

    "Song! Моя любов!" I'm coming off enthusiastic, but I stop short of meeting her half way. There's several witnesses on either side. The psychotic bint was at the Nail the night I got out. I saw her see me, before she scarpered out the back. That was the first time I'd seen her since well before I got pinched. I might have said something along the lines of blaming her Sash partisanship on the failure of my marriage. I mean, she was constantly trying to pull Romi back into the fold, and it did cause stress... so I'm not completely full of shit.

    I might be regretting that conversation a little bit now. What's her razor hand doing? Did I just see her shift in the pocket? Fuck.
  • She is coming right up on you, Milos. At the last moment before she could pull out that cutter, her pocket shifts again, and then her hands come out, naked. She spreads them, then comes up to hug you. Just once, a brief, polite hug.

    Song steps back, "You look like hell, Milos. Don't the Eyes take care of their own?" She's looking at your clothes, your stubble. Her face shows a bit of disappointment.

    For her part, she looks nice in a peasant blouse and tight fitting pants with nice, shiny high boots. She almost looks piratical.
  • Run my hand through my hair, muss it further, "It's been rough going, сестричка (little sis). I'm getting back up to speed, but I was down a long time."

    I give a glance over the warehouse, keeping an eye out for the current "Earl". Not sure what Song's game is, but I have biz needs attended.

    Want to throw for Awareness to read the room
  • Go ahead and throw for it.

    "If you want to deal with a Guild that takes care of their own," Song says as she glances down at her nice clothes, then looks over at your rumpled mess, "Let me know."
  • (Rolled: 3d6. Rolls: 3, 1, 4. Total: 8)
  • The highest die result is a 4, so you get to ask up to two questions.
  • Question 1: Of what should I be wary here?
  • I'm thinking this is Insight. Here are the questions to ask:

    insight: What are they really feeling? What do they intend to do? What do they wish I’d do? Are they telling the truth?
  • Question 1: Of what should I be wary here?
    You know the Red Sashes are deep in conflict with the Lampblacks. If she's making an offer for you to just join up fresh out of prison, they're either looking to bulk up for a big move (a violent one), or she's looking for a patsy to roll on (sell out to the Bluecoats). Either way, this is not her being nice to "big brother".
  • "Da. We'll have a drink some time. My treat!"

    I'd rather suck on the great god Jabber's ass than treat the wastrel, but it wouldn't do to offend her in person. People got their faces carved off while a maniacal southerner crouched on their chests for sneezing in front of her. I split off along a parallel aisle, keeping Song in view, but moving on. I have connections to re-build.
  • Question 2: What does she intend to do?
  • Oh, that's easy. If you aren't a patsy willingly, she'll finger you for it anyways. It's just easier to keep you pinned if you think you're working together. She's got your number, Milos.

    "That sounds good, big brother," she says with a dark smile. "Where should I find you for that drink?"
  • "I'll put it to the wind, сестричка. Got to jaw and jam, commerce calls." I shift over a couple aisles, putting a good bit of product between us. Need to get scarce as soon as I can. Where the fuck is Coleburn? If I haven't found him by the time I get to the back of the warehouse, I'm squeezing out a side door.
  • I'll let it be known through our mutual acquaintances where/if I want to meet. Hate to talk and leave, but I have business to attend to.
  • You spot Coleburn in the aisle you moved into. He's stooped over helping Widow Haversh look at some sheets of music. New stuff, looks like. She's a foot shorter than he, mostly due to age and infirmity, but she wasn't tall to start off with.

    Song makes herself scarce as you come up on Coleburn. He looks over, blinks. "Allo, allo. Milos! Out and free as the birds, ay?" He dusts off his dirty hands and stands up, offering you one for a shake.
  • I give him a single, firm shake, "Flitting like a butterfly, tra-la-fucking-la. Good to see you, Coleburn. Just dropping my head in. Keep the iron rolling, as it were." I'm stopping by so you see my face, let you know I'll be bringing some business around. Keeping the retail lines open.
  • Coleburn steps into the handshake, grasping your hand with both of his own. He holds on for a moment, and slides his pinky finger across the inside of your palm, "Rollin iron's always good. Glad to 'ave you nearby. Lots o' folk come round dese days."

    If you're bringing business, you'll have to deal with the Lampblacks. They're my "protection".
  • Milos,

    Sounds like you're done here. Want to skip ahead to report back to Skinner, then we can try out the Jobs mechanic?
  • Absolutely
  • Milos,

    Skip over here.
Sign In or Register to comment.