[closed]

[katabasis]

WHO: Silver, Flint
WHAT: Two pirates scouring Kirkwall's bookshops in the service of important diplomacy work.
WHEN: Early Drakonis
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Doing their JOBS.

It is their fourth stop. They've wound their way through the more prominent Hightown booksellers, having worked their way from out of the company of skittish shopkeepers anxiously overseeing the systematic scrutiny of their shelves by two alleged pirates and into the clutches of what can only be described as Kirkwall's most peevish old bat:

"I don't care who you think you are; you can't be here this long without purchasing something," she'd wheezed at them in the cavernous old place, one hand trembling at the head of her cane and the other arm wrapped around a ginger cat with large blinking eyes.

Which is why they now own a collection of romance novels with increasingly unlikely love interests, including but not limited to a Chantry sister and a shapeshifting witch, between them. It's also why they're being left alone now to pick through the labyrinthine shop's back room, wading through unorganized stacks of used titles, and--

Choking on dust, mostly.

"Have you considered simply copying the book instead?" This said into his sleeve while scrubbing a thick layer of grime from one of the room's upper shelves.

Comments

[hornswoggle]

If they hadn't been pressed into purchasing an absurd collection of novels, John might have been amused at finally crossing paths with a shopkeep who wasn't visibly unnerved by the pair of them.

But faced with the yawning stretch of shelves and crates, John feels like the price of admission wasn't worth facing up to the task of making a respectable effort at searching. If the book is here, they'll likely have to clear a few layers of cobwebs before they can even discern the titles. John sighs, then coughs, waving a hand to disperse the dust that single action stirred.

"I've considered finding whoever made the promise and having them thrown into the sea," John answers. "But apparently only a printed, leather-bound copy will do. It seems the lady is very particular about her library."

John lifts a book, then abruptly drops it as a pair of spiders crawl across the cover. He curses under his breath before lifting it a second time, gaze cutting slyly to Flint.

"I can't imagine what that must be like."

[katabasis]

This backroom is one of many to be found among the slew of taverns crowding the Kirkwall docks. It is not, evidently, one often frequented by the Walrus crew, as evidence by the fact that they are given very little in the way of extra accommodation and John Silver is expected to pay for his drinks. But the building was once finer than it is now or even more disreputable than it appears, as this back room has clearly been designed for business and not for carousing. It costs ten coppers for its use and an additional two for a fire to be built up in the hearth. A narrow back door leading out onto a balcony and a series of stairs suggests the room's utility.

The service is irritatingly considerate - the maid in and out to poke the fire, the pot boy eager to sell them anything that might add figures to the bill. Flint is in no hurry to see either chased away, to be finished with the door opening and closing so that the sounds of conversation and laughter, the shouting from a dice game occurring in the main room might filter back here in intervals. Maybe this looks like avoiding the subject. Maybe he is waiting for Silver to decide this is a subject better discussed tomorrow, and to quit the room of his own accord.

Or maybe he is just waiting to have a bottle of cheap wine under his belt first. It's only after the second one is delivered that Flint tells the service he'll call for them when they're needed next. The door it shut. The sound from the tavern beyond is reduced to its low, hissing hum. Beyond the back door, the rain has started.