[Log] C.M.O.T. Olaeno

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Paquin, Morty's Tent
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Somewhere not in the cargo office, quite a distance from the other gypsies, is a lone tent. Inside the tent is a person, back to the door, dressed in what appears to be an oriental rug, though chances are it's not, because that would be silly. Incense burns in the corner, and fills the tent with a thick, overpowering scent somewhere between flowers and soap.


The tent flap is drawn aside, allowing a gust of cold air to blow into what is probably otherwise a quite warm and cozy interior. There's a crinkle of paper as Aradia's voice can be heard, "I think this is it. Least if these directions are right." There's another crinkle of paper, a moment's silence and then, "Is this the right way up? Oh, bugger it." Aradia's head appears as it pokes in through the tent opening and she says, "Hey, oy?"

"Ain't got no idea," comes a low dusky voice in reply to Aradia. "But there ain't no reason for them to be wrong, surely?" Saienne stays outside as the Captain assesses whether the tent is the correct one or not, but even out in the cold and fresh Paquin air, the thick smell of incense wafts. She sniffs, and grins crookedly as Aradia half-disappears into the tent.

The gypsy turns around, a bit startled and peering at the two who have just entered. "What?" he asks, scratching at a bit of stubble that might make one think he really needs to either commit to growing a beard, or find himself a razor. He scoots around to be facing them, revealing under the carpet thing to be wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that... well, it /looks/ clean. He eyes them suspiciously, sniffling a little and rubbing at his nose.

She almost seems to be embarassed to actually say what she says right now as Aradia quirks a brow, looking the man over and asks, "Blackrum, I mean sun...Blacksun?" Her nose wrinkles a little as a waft of incense tickles it and she brings her hand up to cover her face just in time as she sneezes.

Saienne lifts a long-fingered hand up to tip her hat from her head before she enters the tent behind Aradia. She stays silent, listening with evident interest - but not too much comprehension - to the exchange between the stubbly gypsy and the Captain - but also taking the opportunity to scrutinise the inside of the tent. The hat, furry and looking not unlike a couple of dead rats, hangs from one hand.

"Mordus Valhalla Blacksun the third," he corrects proudly, sniffling a little more... which turns into a sort of snort, and after a few moments of body noises, a lugie planted into a bowl which, judging by it's contents, seems to have been put there for just that purpose. "You here for somethin' 'sides just botherin' me?" he inquires pointedly, not bothering to extend a handshake or anything silly like that.

Stepping in fully to the tent, Aradia says, "Yeah, Albert Mitchelson Frankfurter the Fifth tol' me you were lookin' to offload some goods in a hurry." The first part of her statement is said with a shift of her gaze to the ceiling for a brief moment before she looks back to the man. Nodding her head to Saienne, she slips her own hands and the crumpled up bit of paper into her pockets.

Saienne stays near the tent flap, watching in morbid fascination as the man contorts, snorts, and finally spits that which was bothering him into the bowl. "Ain't that charmin'," says Saienne, very quietly, as her gaze travels from the bowl and its disgusting contents to the man's nearly bearded face.

Morty's face scrunches a bit at Saienne, but at the mention of the name, he seems to light up. "Ah, 'ole Bert caughtcha, did he?" he says, coughing a bit into a closed fist. "Well why din'cha say so? Come on in, yeah, lookin' t' get these rut'n textiles outta here," he says, tossing a thub over his shoulders to a few crates, some of which are open, revealing inside a few spools of fabric. "They put a hurt'n on my allergies," he adds, sneezing at the floor between himself and the two guests. "Come on in, sit down!"

"What kind o' 'textiles' you got there?" Aradia asks as she leans forward a little toward the indicated crate before she takes a half step back, rocking on her heel and looking to Saienne again. With a shrug of her shoulder, she moves in a few paces and sinks down into a crouch, squating off to one side of the man. "That the only reason you're lookin' to get rid of 'em?" she asks.

"You sure it's the textiles?" Saienne asks, with genuine interest. "An' that it ain't the all the incense waftin' around in here causin' you -" she waves her hat in the general direction of Morty's bowl "- difficulties?" She joins Ara on the floor, returning her glance with an easy lop-sided smile, but sits straight-backed, crossing her legs and planting the furry hat in her lap.

Morty looks a little put off at the suggestion that what he says is not what it is. "What you take me for, a gorram liar?" he snarks, pulling the rug thing up around his broad shoulders. "Yeah, they's jus' textiles. Dusty's hell too," he elaborates. "Insence clears me up," he adds, along with a short but nasty sounding cough. "Seven hundred credits," he says. "An' that's some finely generous," he adds, as if they'd believe him.

You test your Bargain against a 40 difficulty. The result is successful (21).
Jayne tests his Bargain against a 61 difficulty. The result is unsuccessful (-9).

"Dusty, eh? Seems like if they've had a chance to get dusty that they're y'know, hard to move," Aradia says in her most polite and conversational tone. Shifting her weight to settle more on one leg, still crouching, she rests an elbow on one knee and cranes her neck to peer into the visible crate again. "Looks like last year's," she says as her brow arches and she looks to Saienne, "Would you be seen wrapped in that?"

Aradia tests her Con_Artist against a 40 difficulty. The result is successful (33).

Saienne shakes her head, not allowing her relaxed demeanor to slip in the slightest in the face of Morty's annoyance. "Nah, nah, nah," she says, waving one of her hands slightly and smiling crookedly. "It's just your allergy's pretty bad, if you don't mind me sayin' so." She glances sidelong at the bowl again. "An' if it's just these textiles gettin' you so congested-like..." A pause, and a shrug, as if the conclusion from that is obvious. At Ara's question, Saienne uncrosses her legs and kneels in order to be able to scrutinise the textile more closely. "Can't say I would," she says, in all seriousness, shaking her head. "An' I am quite the dedicated follower of fashion." She looks back over at Morty, dark eyes cool. "400, an' we'll have them out of your atmosphere before you can sneeze."

Morty's eyes narrow indignantly. "Funny," he says, likely both in response to Saienne's offer and Aradia's suggestion that these textiles are anything less than awesome. "Too late," he mutters a little, leaning back and sneezing hard into his elbow. "Six fifty," he counters, looking a little grumpy. "And they're not bad, lots of folks'd be right pleasant with ya' if they could get their hands on these babies!"

Pushing herself up out of her crouch, Aradia steps in toward the crate, leaning over to rub a corner of one of the bolts of fabric between thumb and forefinger, emitting a sneeze of her own as dust billows up. Rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, she looks back to Saienne with watering eyes and a small grin, "You'd look fabulous in this shade of orange, possibly. I think it's the little blue swirly things that'll really make the outfit though." Backing off from the crate, she sinks into a crouch again and says, "I dunno. Don't think we can resell 'em but you could make some mighty fine outfits for the boys at least with the lot of it."

"Six fifty?" asks Saienne, looking between the orange-blue swirly fabric and Morty's sneezing face with a crooked grin. "It ain't me bein' funny." She settles back into her cross-legged position and sets the hat on the floor beside her. "Right pleasant, is that so?" She turns to Aradia, and replies: "Orange ain't really my colour, but I imagine Josephine could do somethin' inventive with it. She's the colourful kind." She frowns, keeping a resolutely straight face. "Don't know about the boys, mind. Could you see Hatch in...?" She leans forward again and rubs long fingers carefully along the warp and weft of the fabric. "Mayhap they ain't so bad," she muses, quietly. She turns to regard Morty again. "Four fifty," she counters, "An' honestly I believe we would be doin' you a favour by takin' them off your hands. Dust makin' you itch an' all?"

Morty might seem to begin to wonder if there's a bit of truth to the statements about the quality of his goods. "They're fine fabrics," he repeats, almost as if trying to convince himself. Saienne's comment about not being so bad seems to reassure him a little. "Yeah, they ain't bad," he repeats. A bit of uncertainty might suggest the man doesn't know that much about fabrics. "Six fifty and I ain't but barely makin' a profit," he says, his eyes narrowing a little. "Six twenty five," he offers. "And no lower!"

Shrugging a shoulder, Aradia says, "You could sew new curtains to go around the bunks, 'n maybe some slips for the cushions and what not." Looking back to Morty, she says dryly as her lips curl into a smile, her comment directed at Saienne, "Frilled skirts for all the boys, too."

"Well, you ain't givin' us much to work with here," says Saienne, in a considered tone. "I mean, I can promise you we ain't goin' to make a dollar's worth of profit ourselves on this deal at anythin' over four seven five." Her easy-going smile and calm nature is honesty incarnate. "I mean, they surely ain't terrible - ain't seen any moth holes for a start - but they ain't catwalk fashion, neither." She looks over at the crates again. "We're goin' to have to go lookin' for a niche market, an' most like we'll have to pay to get them cleaned an' all, which, as I am sure you can imagine, ain't goin' to be cheap." A pause, as Saienne considers Aradia's suggestions: "Those are all good an' valid ways of usin' up fabric," says Saienne, "But we could find fabric as fitted better with Maxwell's decor at the market on Newhall." She looks at Morty. "I just passed through there," she says, smiling. "You ever been? Picked up some lovely things." She opens her coat a little so that her burgundy waistcoat can be seen, all shiny and silken. "Four seven five," she says, referring to the bolts of fabric again. "Because it's startin' to seem to me like you ain't serious about doin a deal."

Morty grumps, sniffling a little. "Six twenty," he says to Saienne, wrinkling his nose and sniffling a little more. "And y'er pretty much killin' me with this," he adds, glancing to Ara to make sure she's not trying to pocket any of his precious goods.

If you call picking something dubious off her pants pocketing precious goods, well...no even that doesn't hold true as Aradia rubs her fingers together and screws her nose up distastefully, depositing whatever it was on her pants back in against the corner of the tent. "Allergies are goin' to kill you quicker," she says absently, looking back up to Morty and then over to Saienne. "Shall we just get on out o' here and shop the markets for frocks, then?"

"She ain't lyin'," says Saienne, about the danger of the allergies. She peers over at the bowl again. "That really ain't healthy," she surmises, "You coughin' up bits of lung yet? I know a pretty good doctor..." Sai kneels up, the flats of her hands resting on her legs just above her knees. Her hat is still on the floor next to her. "Surely can, if you'd like to," she says to the Aradia. She looks back at Morty, then down at the dusty fabric. "I don't think Mister Blacksun here is interested in the realities of gettin' these bolts of dust out of his tent."

Morty eyes Saienne, looking very torn. "Can't do that, I got business to do," he replies, sniffling a little more. "Six ten," he suggests, shifting the carpet thing around on his back a little and trying to clear his throat.

"Business?" asks Saienne, instantly curious. "What kind of business? You got other things you're keen on sellin'? Mayhap we'll have a little more luck with somethin' else..." She pinches the bridge of her nose as Morty tries to clear his throat. "Oh, Mordus -" A pause, and a lop-sided but entirely genuine smile. "Can I call you Mordus? I'm Saienne. You're just about breakin' my heart. You really need to get this dust out of here." Saienne frowns once, a slight wrinkle in the crowsfeet at the corners of her eyes, and she appears to be considering deeply. "Five hundred," she says, quick and sharp. "An' honest to goodness I ain't goin' no higher than that." A quirk of her lips. "I ain't able to go no higher than that - it's only on account of feelin' for your poor nose with all that sneezin' that I'm even considerin' it."

Morty frowns, shaking his head a bit. "Six hundred," he says, almost wincing a little bit as he suggests such herecy. "And tha's what I paid fer the lot, so y'er getting this stuff wholesale," he says grumpily, folding his large arms and coughing a little.

Saienne rises from her knees to her haunches, and then up to her feet. She looks straight at Morty with dark eyes. "I'm sorry," she says, and looks almost entirely like she means it. "But as I said, I ain't able to go over five hundred, an' even that's cuttin' my own throat." She stoops once again to pick her fur hat up off the tent floor and brushes the dust off it. "Really is a shame about your lungs, mind." She glances at Ara. "'Bout them frocks. Josephine gave me the names of some boutiques we might try..."

Morty sighs, erupting in another fit of coughs. "You're lucky," he says, eyeing Saienne coldly. "I gotta maintain my throat 'cause o' my singin' voice," he explains, snarling a little and looking none too pleased about how crappy the deal he's getting is. "Five seventy five," he offers. "And that's losin' me money," he adds, pointing a threatening finger at Saienne.

Saienne turns back to Morty and offers her hand out for him to shake in order that the deal be sealed. "But think on what you're gainin'," she says to him in a gentle voice. "Fresh air an', who knows, mayhap we'll think on you in the future if we find somewhat that reminds us of you."

"Was a pleasure doin' business with you, Mister Blacksun," Aradia says with a smile, straightening up herself and going to stand by the entrance to the tent. "You should really see a doctor 'bout that though y'now?" she adds with a concerned furrowing of her brow.

Morty scowls at the two of them, sniffling a little more. "Don't take long comin' t' get the crates," he says, scooting over a little to make it easier to get by, and offering no other comment about whether or not he'll actually see a doctor.

Aradia tests her Value against a 40 difficulty. The result is successful (0).


Grace O'Malley - Cargo Bay
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Latticed stairs of steel lead up against the back wall of the cargo bay opposite the loading ramp, which opens beneath the nose of the ship, and a catwalk rings the entire level above. Cargo nets, strong metal barriers and tie-down chains can all be found, used to keep cargo containers from shifting in flight. The deck is bare, diamond plate metal and a bulkhead toward the fore starboard corner leads into the Med Bay.

To the portside of the bay, a reinforced, armored door leads into a long corridor, the inside of it armored and reinforced with bulk padding for further noise dampening. Set at intervals along the corridor's length are several targets. Alongside that, sparring mats and a variety of workout equipment can be found.

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"Last season," Aradia scoffs with a wide grin as she waltzes as much as she can with her healing injured tummy up the ramp into the ship. "We're going to have to keep Max out of pilfering from these before we can offload them," she remarks, "You took that bastard for a ride." Turning toward Saienne, her grin widens as she says, "Fantastic job there. Whether you knew what you were gettin' or not."

"Just takin' my cue from you, Captain," says Saienne, swiping the daft furry hat off her head again as she enters the cargo bay. "I reckon you would've prodded me or fainted or somethin' if you reckoned I was goin' too far." She looks down at the crates in the cargo bay. "You reckon we'll sell them on easy enough? Because I meant what I said - orange really ain't my colour." A pause. "An' I was lyin' through my gorram teeth when I said I was a dedicated follower of fashion, in case that passed you by." She grins crookedly. "Can't help feelin' sorry for the fellow, mind, and I honestly do hope he gets to a doctor." She frowns. "Sounded a mite like damplung."

"Yeah, there's a whore house that has airs about itself out on Ezra what's got decor that orange will go perfectly with," Aradia says with an impish grin, "'n the whole lot of what's in there is fine silk. I'm guessin' most of it was brought in raw from Sihnon. He really didn't know what he had." Reaching up to scratch at the back of her head, she says, "Drive a good bargain on the other end and we ain't going to double our profit but we'll come close to it."

Saienne shrugs, and slips her free hand into her pocket. "Well," she says, mildly, "If they want it bad enough, they'll buy." She grins crookedly. "It's just a matter of framin' the goods in the right way." She looks down at the crates again. "If you're lookin' to sell 'em on on Ezra we might be as good dustin' the bolts off as best we can here in the cargo bay. Silk don't want to look shabby to sell." She looks up at the steps to the upper decks of the ship. "An' if you don't mind, I'm goin' to go an' brew a cup of tea. Feelin' a little parched what with all that gabbin'."