Completed [East Street] Where one belongs

Fallon begins investigating the area for both a client and herself.

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

[East Street] Where one belongs

Postby Fallon on June 27th, 2015, 12:06 pm

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27th Summer 515 AV

Warm, she knew that much. Though it was kept cooler here from the sea breeze - a pleasant relief to the Inspector.

It was on this day that Fallon had discarded the new clothes for the more worn and rough, edges frayed and leathers scuffed so they began to turn felt-like at the edges. She wore the belt around the waist - the only thing keeping her coat closed and from flapping with every step -, the kukri resting at the base of her spine within its battered sheath the rest of her kit attached in the correct locations of her person. And then there was the gauntlets, far from shining but clearly there - the clawed tips gently clinking as she stepped. The inside pocket carried the battered note book and writing equipment and in the bottom of it a few loose mizas to be used as an incentive - otherwise this day she was travelling light and prepared more to blend in with the

Today she was not Fallon Skylar. Today she was Bitzer Redwulf, common thug and mercenary with a rough voice and a sharp tongue. To those who knew of her in Sunberth would place the name of the Red Wolf on her shoulders, the associates and Ex-Scars members would no doubt smirk at the idea of her prowling about East Street. The locals however, would no doubt be none the wiser as to who she was - which proved its own advantage in itself. Today was to be a day of two things, the first would be to understand the lay of Zeltiva's underbelly for one of her clients. The second was to flush out any potential trouble that may have followed the Scars from Sunberth - to which then she would act swiftly upon it.

Fallon rubbed her throat, a deep inhale as she plucked upon the lower vocal chords. The lips gave a twitch, the gentle trilling growl hovering upon her tongue, the click as she felt herself fall into character. The steps that turned into a swagger, the setting of the brow and sharpening of the gaze, the hair was brushed and tied back into a warrior's not. One of the locals glanced at her briefly, but paid her no mind as she paced the worn streets. A few were sticking to the shade, drinking lukewarm kelp beer and watching the world pass by - eyes and ear. The gaze flickered on past, a small bump of shoulders as she worked her way on past.

To begin with she needed to find a starting point. She knew of the Madame and the Touchy Subject, and that there was numerous eyes and ears within its walls. But that was not all, she was certain she had seen another brothel within the district - but she was not quite sure where. Competition perhaps for the other side? It seemed strange having two in close vicinity to the other, she reasoned as she took a left down one of the narrower streets. The orbs swept about her sides, the ears straining as a group of mercenaries gave a step on past talking loudly among themselves.

"Aye, I know. Need to go back to the Headquarters, left my keys there."
"Really Mick? Surprised the society lets you in with your sieve brain."
"Why it's called Martial Society. Only need mercenaries to hit things after all..."
They faded out of earshot despite the straining and tilting of her neck. She mentally noted the name, Martial Society, and quickly stepped on her way - if it was a society then it would certainly be something she could ask about openly or research at the library on a rainy day. Another turning, going in deeper now to the depths of East Street, hairs prickling to the sensation of eyes upon her, the clacking of steps echoing in her ears. It was with an inhale that she took another turning, a sharp turn down an alleyway. It was barely at the mouth that the hand came up and gave the firm push, against the alleyway wall the glint of steel within the corner of her eye.

That was quick, she mused as the point came round and the dirty hand of this thug gripped tightly onto her coat. He spat, accent distinctly Zeltivan, in her face, "Money or your life."
Fallon raised an eyebrow at him, gauntlet covered hands flat against the wall, the right slowly snaking around to the kukri hilt. The gruff voice spoke back to him, "How cute. I ain't scared of you greenhorn bed wetters."
"What you call me?"
"You 'eard,"
she growled back.
He retaliated, raising his voice and bringing the tip closer to her face, "I'll do it! I will, I will! Now gimmie your money!"
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[East Street] Where one belongs

Postby Fallon on July 23rd, 2015, 4:47 pm

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Fallon gave the man a cold, hard look. Her brow rose as she caught the glowing edge of the steel within her sight, the small flash as he let it tilt and turn in the light. He seemed to be panicking, greasy hand trembling as he held it there. The orbs sharpened, unmoving and unflinching as she locked the gaze with the thug. She refused to let it give, an inhale as she could almost feel the sensation tremble in the grip. Teeth peered out from between her lips, forming up into a wolfish grin as he tried to push the demand once more, "Money! Give it!"
"Or what?"
"I'll do it!"
"Couldn't do anything. Weak you are."
"Why you-"


She raised her knee sharply at that point, catching the crotch of her attacker and causing him to hiss away. The kukri was drawn quickly, gauntlet fingers snatching it round to the front and up to the steel dagger. It was the left hand that spread out, a firm jab away into the chest to push him away. He barely managed to react as she brought the kukri round to the dagger, brute force snatching it out of his grip and sending it skipping away down the alleyway. Fallon could almost smell the fear oozing off him then, the kukri coming back round to hover between them both, the feet lightly stepping so she was no longer backed to the wall, "Told you greenhorn."
"Mercy. Mercy!"
came the babbling cry afterwards, the entire form collapsing onto his hands and knees, "I needed to! I needed to else he'd do me. He'd have my arse!"
"You picked the wrong wolf to tangle with,"
she smirked, if only briefly before the tone changed. There was a small point of the kukri tip into his forehead, "I could. Oh so easily. But I won't. I don't want unnecessary blood on me. So, tell me."
"Tell you what?"
He asked, voice tentative as he looked to scrabble away.
Fallon sighed, pulling the blade back to slip it into her sheath, "About the one who wants your arse. And what for?"
"You what?"
"Don't make me change my mind. Get up."


A pause, she watched the man clamber up and look to her, eyes momentarily flickering about her shape. Confused, worried, there was an obvious element of concern, "He said he'd string me if I speak. Just like he'd..."
"So you're being threatened?"
"He said he wouldn't do it if I paid him. Need to pay him. Need to make him stop, else... Yes. I am."

Fallon hummed, "So, you fall to cheap tactics to make him leave you alone? Don't realise that he's just gonna keep coming back and bleed you dry? Or get you in the slammer."
"I can't say no though! And I can't! I've got to!"
"Why?"
"Because he'll make our lives Hai!"
"What if I made sure he didn't?"

There was another long length of silence, "You can do that? What's the catch? There's always a catch."
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[East Street] Where one belongs

Postby Valerio on July 28th, 2015, 6:34 am

Valerio was a man possessed by indignation.

And by all discernable accounts, justifiably so.

His untucked and wrinkled shirt thrashed with every maddened stride he took, a jagged gash in its gray sleeve exposing the dark skin of his bare shoulder beneath. Stains of dirt peppered its surface like an artist at odds with the world, a coat of sweat mingling with a thin ribbon of blood at his neck seeping down into the collar where it splotched the fabric in kisses of rich scarlet. Hardly of concern to him, it would seem,, given his brisk pace.

“I’ll kill him,” he muttered with venom frothing between clenched teeth, fists balled, and one good eye searching for a deserving face.

The other shined with all the luster of a bruise, partly folded over and eyebrow fattened. It stung considerably given the man’s disposition, though it was likely his ego that had been dealt the more cumbersome blow. “Soon as I find him, I’ll kill him with my own bare hands,” he gnarled, dirt blackened hands lifting with palms before him, fingers splayed and curling like talons.

To no one within the vicinity did his censures represent, though a path was cleared for him all the same. Many had the decency to shelter their gasps with covered hands, though the shock was no less prevalent upon their profiles as he whisked past. Likely the gossip would find its way into the taverns before the evening bells, and if the the thief’s unhinged words held true, a corpse to lament along with it; a tale to fill the bleaker aspects of life on East Street.

But Valerio was not of the killing sort, despite what present circumstances may have warranted. Still, a sense of trust among the city’s outlawed had been fractured, and recompense was in order. Plodding through familiar streets, the walls of tenements rose around him in dreary taupe, scents both foul and delectable blending together with the impairing heat and brine of the sea to form something altogether questionable. It was the perfect haunt for a thug like Bellamy, the bastard who had done this to him.

And just as he turned the corner to shorten his trek on to the next street, there he was, standing before the presence of something fairer, yet foreign--in all likelihood his next victim. But rather than freeze for even a gasping breath to take an account of the situation and all its foregone portents, Valerio’s one good eye flared in sheer contempt and he lunged recklessly.

With his left hand, the thief’s fingers wrapped cruelly around a fistful of matted cloth, turning the mugger to face him in line with his right elbow extending back sharply. A hailing force of blows connected quickly and without mercy, the painful cracking of his own knuckles momentarily neglected in favor of riddling his former assailant’s face with a flurry of punches. Blood from a crumpling nose smattered Bellamy’s lips and chin, wetting Valerio’s swelling hand until it sounded like a soaked towel falling to a wet floor.

No words needed to be spoken, though perhaps the woman standing next to them, in her rough leathers and fierce looking composure, might have appreciated an explanation.
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[East Street] Where one belongs

Postby Fallon on July 28th, 2015, 9:35 am

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Fallon hummed, eyes pinching into narrows, her jaw setting into a line as she felt the suspicious jab of words. She had shown him mercy when she could have cleaved him in two, she had let him live and offered help where there was none before. Her mind mulled them over, letting the thoughts settle into a plan. It was expected, he expected there to be a catch, a cost for such a price - not giving one probably would only make him more paranoid over the whole situation. The inspector folded her arms, and let her orbs focus down upon him, "You be my ear on the ground this end. Pick up the rumours, sift information to me as and when it comes. Of course. Don't get caught - else I'm gonna leave you to hang. You understand me?"
"I... I..."
"Or, I can leave that ass to hang you dry...?"
"I'll do it, don't te-"


He barely managed to finish before the stranger was upon him, the once thug squealing for mercy as the slender brought back a fist. A scrapping within her gaze, the once quiet and narrow street suddenly breaking out into sound. The gaze fell to that of disappointment, then one that could be described as boredom, eyelids giving a slow blink as the punishment was exhaled. Who was this man? Where did he come from? Her gaze slid to one of the adjacent pathways, picking out where one crossed with another an spelt out a potential route - it made her wonder just how many others could have listened in to their conversation. Which lead her to another question, why was he attacking her new found client? Spare of the moment? Impulse?

The gaze shifted and focused upon the stranger, lips twitching to reveal a slither of white, the orbs flickering and looking around the subtle hints in the body language. Intention was to attack, he looked already bruised and beaten - yet filled with lustre for blood. Anger then? If he was angry in general then why not take it to a bar? No, she reasoned, a gauntlet covered finger tip patting against her chin - this was personal. Then what for? Was this the man who was bullying him into submission? She could hear the whimpering continue as the thug looked to try and defend himself, while her own form clicked and straightened out.

"That is enough," her voice rumbled forth, wolfish and rough. She took a step closer, the scowl creasing her brow as she glared upon the men, "I don't know who you are, but get your hands off my client." The tone sharpened, "Unless, of course, you want a reason to leave him be. I can arrange that very quickly." It was the right hand that moved and rested upon the hilt of the kukri, the left peeling away as if to shoo him off. Get him out the way or get him to fork over information that may be useful. Perhaps it was just a set up, a trap even - she would rise to the challenge regardless, "Your choice there. Only you can make this easy on yourself. Understand that, one-eye?"
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[East Street] Where one belongs

Postby Valerio on July 29th, 2015, 1:27 am

“Think that’s funny, you little bay slug? Coming onto my turf, in front of my people, and make a fool out of me?!”

The words, while crisp and clean in the thief’s mind, were nothing short of guttural growls braided with gnashing teeth and frothing spittle that all poured forth as nonsensical gibberish. Between his fist raining down on a now collapsed body which was soaking up the alley’s filth, to the mugger’s hands ineffectually slapping at his aggressor like a small child swatting at a crazed swarm of hornets, dialogue was the least of Valerio’s strengths given present circumstance.

Bellamy, who was still recovering from more than just a bruised ego, lay helpless before the sudden onslaught, his grunts traded for the mewlings of an infant as all manner of liquids emptied from his swollen face. Blood from his nose had mixed with sweat from his brow and saliva from a slackened jaw. The scent of stale kelp beer was evident within each, and seemed to suggest a man under the influence. Tears had joined in on the equation as well, which made a running nose next; all of it amounting to a countenance that was possibly more liquid than solid at this point.

And just as Valerio raised his fist for one last denouncing stroke, her voice cut through the chaos and prickled his nerves with a peculiar sense of dread. He froze, beads of sweat shaken from his skin, nostrils flaring as the severity of his gaze quickly cleansed itself. There was a system at work here he had not the inclination to explain, nor she apparently the depth to understand. Her threat however, inspired a more analytical approach to the thrashing he’d just divvied out.

Releasing the collar of the shirt he clutched greedily in the palm of his hand, Bellamy’s body hit the dirt with a grunt that sprayed a mixture of aforementioned fluids from sputtering lips. Rising to his full height, Valerio shook the tension from his arms and lifted a sleeve to sponge the sweat from his brow. A grim expression canvassed his features, chest heaving to give his lungs reprieve. The pain he’d rejected earlier was quickly catching up to him, knuckles now throbbing as it stretched the entire length of his arm. But he could not allow himself to drop his guard. This woman was strictly business.

“Client…?” his one good eye moved to the floor where a writhing Bellamy still lay, lips pursed by his chin lifting as he rationalized as much of the situation as he could. His voice drew cold, knowing what it would mean if his apprehensions were true. There was, after all, a certain sense of honor to uphold in these unforgiving times.

“Please,” he whispered in gravelly undertones, a scowl still reserved for the fallen body. “Please tell me it was not you that sent him after me.”

Exhaustion crept into aching muscle, breath now running like ice through his veins. All five feet and seven inches of her was not to be trifled with. That much he could glean just by her austerity alone as he gazed into her eyes. His fingers cautiously twitched, the dagger at his hip no more than a quick draw away. If some mercenary thought she could just step into the affairs of East Street and enact her will...well, Bellamy’s wouldn’t be the only one whose blood was spilled today. Though given his state, he was in no condition for another tussle, and she looked a touch more than capable of holding her own.
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[East Street] Where one belongs

Postby Fallon on July 30th, 2015, 6:47 pm

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Fallon blinked and watched. Her entire form squared up without thought, turning and shaping so it took on a more firm stance. The eyes sharpened, prickling down upon her target - her prey - the lips peeling back into a wolfish smile. The man rose, worried as he seemed to consider his position in the situation. And in honesty, Fallon was still feeling her way around it herself - was he a threat? Could he be talked down? Better yet, was he the troublesome one that her client was fretting over? Her mind played back the spat growls, the low hum rumbling from her throat as she weighed him up. Lanky, muddy, already injured and running on his fires - he would burn out before her. The teeth split, gaze intense as she focused, the reassuring whisper in her ear. She could take him.

"Depends really, doesn't it?" she chuckled, voice plucking upon the rough tones and voice of Bitzer Redwulf. Blood, she could smell it, her nostrils flared, the slick taste of spit and salt resting upon the tongue. Adrenal, she felt it, was she scared? Anticipating what was to come? "I mean. Here I see, is a man who is pummelling a client. A client who said that out there," her finger drew a circle in the air, signifying the rest of the city, "That there was a man who he needed to pay for... shall we say protection and would have his arse if he did not."

No. She was excited, keen and fixated upon the potential of what was to come.

She could hear her target gasping, barely rolling onto his front and cupping his face in pain, a gurgle of noise escaping forth as blood and bile flowed. She could understand the pain, the way he writhed as he tried to feel his way across the alleyway floor and towards the wall. Weak, frail, shaken and scared, she could still here the gasping gurgle for mercy as he tried to crawl, arms raised to cover him and preserve what little dignity he still had. It was there, barely at the wall, that he slumped and simply curled up into a ball.

The laughter rumbled forth, another step closer as she spied upon the twitching fingers. Fear, he should be scared. He should be worried, she reasoned as she forced the eyes up to stare upon him. Hold the gaze, the eyes often speak of where one is thinking of next going, "So, it really does depends. Are you the one? Or are you just going to be good and just disappear from my sight?" Taunt him, lure him, make him feel uncomfortable. Provoke him into reaction even. Fallon raised an eyebrow at him, "If you're going to use it. Make sure to make it a good first swing, won't you now?"

The gauntlet fingers gave a drum upon the hilt of her kukri, a steady beat sounding out in the silence between them. Thought however flickered through what pieces she did know - attacked and the attacker. However, there seemed to be a misunderstanding lying somewhere in the way, did he think she had ordered an attack on him? Perhaps that was why he was exacting revenge on the man now, believing him to be at fault but now having second thoughts on the situation. Fallon's voice purred, "So, what's it going to be?"
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fallon
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[East Street] Where one belongs

Postby Fallon on September 8th, 2015, 11:02 am

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There was a long, drawn out sigh as she watched the body language of the man before her. He did not seem to be making any immediate moves, nor did he seem to be pulling away from his locked form. Had fear set into his body? Had he been caught and locked in place by an unknown terror? Or was he merely frightened by her and her appearance, the slicing utterance of words. Regardless, her client seemed to continue his crawling away - snivelling loudly as he fell into his undignified ball of pain. He slowly shuffled over to her once he found the wall, looking to escape the pain behind someone whom he was previously going to attempt to steal from. Pathetic, really, but a client was a client and she now held some advantage on the tense situation. Orbs looked upon the stranger, and then away checking the immediate area - eyes? The sensation of another set upon her? Her ears twitched and found nothing but the cawing of seagulls and the rush of waves humming in the distance. Fallon's eyes shifted, and returned to the man, "Cat got your tongue? Or had a change of heart?"

The silence continued and lasted, her eyes averting down to the client. With a gesture of the finger she pointed to her side, head inclining down next to her. He shuffled over on his hands and knees, bent double and his fingers raising to gingerly cup his face. Hand lunging down she grasped him firmly by the arm, form bracing as she hauled him up to his feet. With his whimpering she pushed him behind her, eyes watching the thug continue his long, drawn out hesitation. Or perhaps he was planning something, she could not tell and in honesty she was not about to wait about for an answer. Another push, she began the back away out of the alleyway, "Come on, he's frozen up. Let's get out of here, clean you up and discuss the terms clearly. Got it?"

He dumbly nodded, following her lead as they escaped the alleyway, backing out and away. It was with the coaxing of Fallon that she managed to get him away, pausing briefly to allow the man to wipe his face. With a snivel he looked to the inspector with a worried expression, his mind clearly trying to work out how to position or place himself in the situation. But it was her own orbs that fixed themselves upon him now. While the event had not proven as successful as she would have liked, it opened up another opportunity for an avenue of exploration and gave her a step into the way Zeltiva worked.

"So, you're going to get information for me, yes?"
"Yes,"
he gave a bloody spit, lips cracked and skin broken, "I'll do it, I'll do it. But-"
"The one who pushed you to do what you did?"
Fallon's lips broke into a curl, the small gesture of the hand forward and onwards. East Street had eyes and ears, and while it would been proven interesting to see where the whispers went the old paranoia of Sunberth told her it would be best to take security of the office, "Will be seen to." Her voice turned stern then, sharp and cutting as she locked the gaze upon the man, "When you are ready to tell me the information about this man, you will go to the Old Quarter and visit I in the Scarred Wolf Investigations. You will come alone. Until then, you will tend to yourself, clean yourself up and stay low to the ground. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes Miss. Very clear."
"Good,"
Fallon exhaled, pulling away as she wove herself some distance, "Don't be late now."
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fallon
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