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why is fishing such good business?
WHO: Derrica, Ellie + Loxley
WHAT: Bullying a fisherman
WHEN: Very early August
WHERE: Jader
NOTES: ooc notes
WHAT: Bullying a fisherman
WHEN: Very early August
WHERE: Jader
NOTES: ooc notes
Basile Anselme was probably having a very fine day, by the look of things. His nets are full, the deck had been clear, and squawking loudly from a cage in the corner of the deck is a raven, presumably from Val Chevin.
Yes, a day that by all accounts had been going to plan, but now is certainly not.
Basile has been cursing at them in a steady stream of increasingly indignant Orlesian, after several escape attempts and Loxley's most persuasive efforts had failed. Crushed belly-down on the deck while Derrica tries to wrestle his wrists into a loop of rope, he has very decisively rejected their suggestions as to relocating to Rivain and leaving his fishing boat to Riftwatch.
"The message was in code," Derrica is saying, a little desperate. "Do you think we can find the codebook somewhere on the boat?"
They're all a little drenched from the near-loss of Basile to the sea on his last attempt. The kind of problem he presents is something to be dealt with after they've figured out whether or not his codebook is somewhere easily accessed. If not—
Well, maybe Commander Flint won't be too put out if they bring back an entire fisherman for Madame de Cedoux to interview and extract codes from.
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As qunaris go, he appears to be on the small side, while still easily breaking through 6'-something, long-limbed and languid. Possibly, the anchor-shard embedded in his hand might explain a thing or two, there, or maybe the Qun only lets beefcakes travel south. Who knows. He is, however, combat compatible, a handsome rapier lashed to his side and more than a couple hidden blades here and there. Like any good adventurer, he is handy with a rope.
"Look where you'd least expect it," he says. "And also where you would—"
And the breath leaves his lungs as the fisherman twists unexpectedly, kicks up a leg, and lands a blow exactly where you wouldn't want a blow to land. Rope uncoils, and the prone form of their captive bucks beneath Derrica with renewed confidence.
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"Jesus fuck, you'd think we were trying to skin you," she complains to the semi-captive fisherman, and muffles a sound of shock as Loxley tumbles off the man's legs. It breaks her attention on the fucker for half a second, but it's not quite enough for the guy to get completely away from them.
Instead, Ellie swears under her breath and reaches around him, grabbing his jaw from underneath and pulling his head to one side, using the leverage to ride him heavily down to the deck on his opposite side. With his hands still behind his back (ish) and his legs out from under him, he won't have anything to push off of.
(Maybe all those years of sheep husbandry are paying off.)
Maybe what's more convincing, though, is the way Ellie's eyes glow a bright, molten gold when she does it.
The fisherman lets out a high scream.
"Dude," Ellie tells him, as though this is particularly embarrassing of him. "We're not actually going to skin you."
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"Loxley, are you alright?" Derrica asks, a little breathless.
Even having been more or less dislodged, Derrica is reluctant to break away from the ongoing attempt to corral this man. Yes, they need to search for any kind of codebook, but—
In some kind of internal compromise, Derrica steps over the fisherman's wriggling legs to kneel next to Loxley. A hand on his shoulder, she glances at Ellie, then down at where the fisherman is desperately trying to avoid having his wrists cinched in the loop of rope.
"No one said he was going to be so difficult," comes across like an apology, meant for Loxley and Ellie both. Derrica had, after all, brought them here in the first place.
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He is, truly, steadying himself on his knees and managing to limit hand grabbing to trouser fabric at his knee while his other balances on the deck. Nausea comes and goes without any undue expression, and he tips a look at Derrica, managing to convey some hint of amusement.
"We could never have predicted such unreason," he says, and then hikes the volume of his voice up some so that the fisherman can hear him when he says, "But I suppose we ought at least slice him round the backs of his ankles, so he's no way to run after swimming."
The scrape of a dagger beginning dragged free of a sheath is just as articulated, and at least does something towards causing the man to freeze for a moment.
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"Nobody," Ellie agrees, panting, and seizes the opportunity of the threat to loop the man's wrists, then yank the rope tightly. She does it a bit hard, and he gives a whimper.
"Cut or tied, it's your choice," Ellie says generously, but it comes out as a growl. She may or may not be serious.
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"It can be his choice whether he tells us where his codebook is, or we take the boat apart and use it for kindling after we've search through the wreckage," Derrica contributes.
The helpful thing about mages being so ambiguous in their specialties is that when Derrica pulls out her staff, this man has no way of knowing that the only kinds of magic she has that inspire pain are too dangerous to use in close quarters with two of her own on deck.
Using it to lever herself up in Loxley's wake, Derria looks at Ellie, asks, "You can tie the knots well enough to hold him?"
Which is an offer for some assistance, if Ellie needs it, though Derrica doesn't expect it to be necessary.
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"He's remarkably slippery," Loxley says, before Ellie can give her assurance. There's a more subtle show going on as he pitches his voice at a specific kind of volume: seemingly quiet enough for only his companions to hear, but absolutely certain the fisherman will catch it too as he adds, "And you know our orders, if we can't get him to comply."
Out of line of sight of their captive, he presses a regretful thin smile at the two, like, we have fun here, don't we.
He turns, then, with the intent to start searching, letting his movements sound brisk and impatient, which is: because they are, in part, but also in show, knocking something over so that it reverberates through the deck, communicates some sense of time running out to be helpful.
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It always, always has such potential to go wrong, and she wonders if the other two know it as well as she does.
So she gives Loxley a wan smile back, her eyes hard, and ties the fisherman's hands first apart, and then together -- the way Tommy showed her, and then searches his pockets for blades. She comes up with a fillet knife and takes it, stowing it away beneath her cloak, followed by a bait knife.
The fisherman's cursing is dying off now, and he's flinching every time the deck gives a shudder. He's turned away from the carnage, only able to imagine what they're doing to his things, but he doesn't kick when Ellie straddles his waist and yanks his legs back to tie them together at the ankles.
"You wouldn't," he growls, but sounds uncertain.
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"We will if we have to," Derrica promises, very sincere as she comes around to crouch at his head. The gentle press of her fingers, lifting scraggly hair from his face to check whether or not he's bleeding, is very sincere too. Now that they know he isn't carrying the codebook on his person, they can proceed with turning the boat upside down.
Looking from Ellie to Loxley, Derrica asks, "You don't think he came all this way and didn't bring it with him?"
Surely not. What was the point of intercepting a coded message and making an entire trip home before sending a reply?
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He'd like to not actually hurt this man. That's never felt very good to do.
"I absolutely think he did bring it with him," Loxley says. "And if we can't find it here, we should likely take the boat out for burning, just in case."
Of course, they need the book itself. Coming back with only a smoking wreckage in their wake would probably earn them a doubtful B-, maybe a C if no one's feel very generous.
Finally, he spies the man's personal belongings, a satchel tucked and secured in some shadowy recess. It could simply be his lunch and probably a wallet with a photo of his five kids or something to make everyone feel guilty, but Loxley grabs it anyway, tugging it open to start emptying it out.
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... all the more reason to not become their prisoner.
The man wriggles underneath her, turning his head to look up at Derrica as best he can. He's not bleeding, just dripping wet with sea water, and breathing hard, caught between furious and genuinely scared.
"Okay, okay-" he finally says, the words falling over themselves. "Under my hammock. There's a loose board."
"Cool," Ellie says cheerfully, and doesn't move from atop him. She flashes Derrica and Loxley a huge smile.
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Not to cast aspersions on Loxley's efforts at persuasion, but—
"Do you want to go check, or should I?" Derrica asks Loxley, because between the three of them Ellie seems the best candidate for keeping this man pinned. Though that being said, it would be foolish to underestimate this man when he's nearly escaped their grasp already.
Though as she says this, she seems to think better of it, and adds, "Maybe I should. I don't have any kind of magic that wouldn't terribly disfigure him if I used it."
Where a sword would only lightly disfigure him, obviously.
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Shwing. Or a slighter wetter version of that sound, as Loxley pulls his rapier out from his belt. He allows a flicker of green fire to dance off the edge as he brings it around, and it's only cool metal when he rests its near-needle fine point somewhere dangerous at the side of the fisherman's neck.
"I would put less energy into wiggling around, if I were you," Loxley says, reasonably, "and more into imagining where you'd prefer to work and live once we're all through, here. Dream big."
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Ellie leans into the hold, pinning the man so he doesn't jerk into the point of Loxley's blade, but she needn't. The man trembles in her grip, going as still as possible, but thankfully the blade doesn't even prick him.
The shimmer of green has the intended effect, and he whimpers aloud, but doesn't offer anything further.
"When's your next rendezvous scheduled?" Ellie asks, her voice still steady. "Where at?"
Even better if they can intercept that.
skip her for the next round or so if it so moves y'all
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All Loxley does is turn his rapier like so in a way that bores a tiny puncture into skin, a spider-bite of a wound.
And so the information comes out faster, like slimy guts on a fishing boat deck.
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But fear is effective as fuck, and it works now.
The poor man winces away from the blade and starts giving it up, stumbling over himself as he relays the next place he's expected, and Ellie stares hard at the deck rather than the trickle of blood on his neck.
"If the info's good," Ellie says slowly, "We'll keep you out of the Venatori's hands. But if it isn't..."
She lets Loxley, or perhaps his own imagination, fill in the blank.