[Closed] Boxes within Boxes

[Jobe Linger]

15th Dentis 2719

The job was finally finished. It'd taken Jobe the better part of the week to figure out how he was to fashion the container. Crates were simple enough, even in the cases where daylight was not meant to shine through the boards. It was the addition of a secret compartment meant to hold up to scrutiny that was a difficulty. The order for the work had come in from a client Jobe had made in Vienda.

All told, making the crate wasn't that hard compared to hiding his alterations to its composition while in the harbor master's warehouse. It was easiest to construct the crate within the place it was to lie until the person who agreed to transport it made an appearance.

The compartment was hidden by a false panel. The panel was held in place with a metal pin. Simple enough to remove, and the one it was going to would have to figure it out. Or else bust it apart with a fire axe. Either way, the idea that this was going to make someone's life easier was almost rewarding enough. The promised pay wasn't too bad either.

There was an awful lot of cloak and dagger about this hand-off. It almost reminded him of the events that precipitated his involvement with the Resistance. A simple errand, handoff unmarked notes to several personages, slip them into pockets, and next thing he knew, a bag had been thrown over his head and he led to a safe house, where he was debriefed. He wondered idly if Archie Swill meant for that to happen, or if it was just a prank meant to get Jobe caught by the Seventen and jailed.

Worthless conjecture anyway. Jobe spat to the side as he leaned against the door leading into the harbor master's warehouse. He was waiting for that person to come, half expecting them to be a Seventen or an agent of the Gollies. While he stood there, he kept an eye out for any stationary types, people who weren't about any particular business. He saw some idlers around, but they were mostly teamsters with no task, men waiting for a box to lug.

Nobody that was paying attention to him... yet.

Jobe wondered what this person's relation to his contact in Vienda was. They said they'd be well dressed, for a human. Unlikely to be mistaken for the run of the mill passerby in the wharves of Old Rose. The fancy types tended to avoid the docks, or arrange a carriage to and from. Either way, fancy folk rarely showed their faces around there.

The sound of footsteps approaching from down the way alerted him to a new presence. He turned his head in the opposite direction, and then toward the source of the sound. He didn't eyeball them, whoever they were, but just stared past them, leaning on his cane against the warehouse wall.

[Ava Weaver]

Afternoon, 15 Dentis, 2719
The Wharf

Ava glanced around the wharf, the hood of her cloak up to cover her hair. Long gray fabric rippled lightly with every step; it was a well cut-cloak, with a neat darn just inside the lining, easily visible when how the lines of it fell. She wore gloves, too, just a little worn, one seam patched with a thread just a shade different from the rest.

Beneath it, she wore a dress in cedar-colored wool, thick and warm. It looked almost brown in the light, but just barely kept a hint of green, set off by the contrast with the cloak. The dress had a high scoop neck, only the faintest hint of collarbones visible, and the sleeves went to her wrist, though they were well-hidden beneath the cloak. She wore pale pink lip color, and kohl around the edges of her eyes, extending just past the edges of them.

In short, Ava knew she did not belong. She walked, nonetheless, like she did; she went quickly and evenly, shoulders back, chin raised; she did not make eye contact with anyone who passed her, particularly not those who had something to say about her appearance. She walked like she knew where she was going, and, in truth, she very much hoped she did.

If Ava had had her way, they would not have met at the harbor master’s warehouse. It was the sort of clandestine nonsense that was, ultimately, more dangerous than operating in the open. She lived her life in the open; she had little choice. She wore her masks as her skin, and she had long since known there was no such thing as removing them. Ava did not mind; she did not like, sometimes, to think about what was left beneath.

It was a busy enough spot on the wharf, at least; it was public enough not to raise too much suspicion. A sailor walking past whistled at Ava, long and hard, raising his eyebrows.

Ava looked up at him, and held.

There was a long pause; there was a moment, between them, when his eyes met hers.

“Epaemo, ma’am,” The sailor mumbled, touching his hand to his cap. He hurried off, his fellows laughing at him.

Ava kept walking. A cart rattled past over cobblestones; a carriage clopped in the other direction, two feathered moa clucking softly as they went, feathers dull and a little limp. Soon enough, Ava thought, her gaze forward. Soon enough.

There was a sign outside, at least, and a man leaning against the warehouse wall, a cane in one hand. He had a good hand of height on her, and his hair was thick with grays; there was a deep scar beneath the left side of his lip, and his face spoke eloquently of years spent beneath the sun; all of him, Ava thought, spoke of hard use. She did not know if he was resistance, or merely someone hired to make something Strop wanted; she hoped he knew equally little about her.

Ava came to a stop; she eased her hood back with gloved hands, carefully, looking up at the much taller man. Curly black hair spilled out from the hood, down over the shoulders of her cloak. “Good afternoon,” Ava said, pleasantly. She glanced around, carefully, and then back at the man leaning against the wall. “Is this where the Dove docks?” Ava asked with a smile. Whatever she thought of it, she had memorized the pass phrase and the counter phrase both; she supposed now she would find out whether he was her contact or not.

[Jobe Linger]

For sure, she stuck out like a jewelry stand in this muddy harbor. Even in the nicer areas of Old Rose, he thought she'd stand out as a human that dressed in all the latest Golly fashions. Or so he thought, without really knowing what Golly fashion was. In any event, she was here now.

The contact was some well-dressed, painted rosh. It was rare to see a human so well appointed. He didn't know much about this one, aside from they were there to take a crate for someone in Vienda. It was a simple job, and no shill involved. Just a favor for one given a while back. Jobe enjoyed the give and take of a barter economy based on trust, at least until it fell on him to pay up. As luck had it, he'd been able to cobble together enough material for this one job, although the crate was really more of a half or quarter -crate. Not one of the full-sized cargo boxes.

He cocked his head when he saw the woman, and then stood at attention, pushing himself off the wall and resting his hand on his cane. She said the words, that were vaguely familiar. He almost forgot his counterphrase when she spoke, but then quickly recovered, "The Vulture harbors elsewhere." Jobe said simply, and then stared at her for a few moments, uncertain of what he was to do next, other than bring her in to make the exchange. He supposed it'd look ridiculous for a fancy woman like that to drag a trolley and crate behind her, so he'd probably have to be doing that.

"Right. I'll bring it out. Wasn't easy work, let 'im know when y'get there. He owes me back now."

He went into the warehouse, leaving her for a minute or two outside. There, she'd see plenty of people coming and going from the streets. Some cat-calling sailors and teamsters, nothing unusual really. But a perceptive person like Ava, who could tell a single thread out of a tapestry of fabric would probably be able to notice that there were a few eyes that lingered a little too long. A couple of wick urchins stood out in the alleyway, watching her.

Jobe wasn't long in the warehouse before pulling the crate onto a simple trolley, and wheeling it out. He pulled the platform with his right hand, while his left leaned into the cane, walking out to meet her.

"Right, word is I'm ter take this fer y'down ter the pier... That's right?" Jobe shrugged, "Sorry y'had ter come all this way ter the docks ma'am. I can't get around so well with the old wound." He tapped his knee with the cane, "Unreliable thing as all get out. Sometimes works fine, others it gives with the slightets bend. No accounting fer it."

"So d'yer know where yer want it?"

[Ava Weaver]

Afternoon, 15 Dentis, 2719
The Wharf

T
he tall, scarred man delivered the catchphrase. There was a pause of silence between them, and then he went into the warehouse. Ava watched him go. I’m not your messenger, she would have liked to say, but it wasn’t quite true, and it wouldn’t have helped beside. She turned out, looking around the wharf.

She did not try to do it secretly; she did not try to do it subtly. She looked around, eyes faintly wide, as though it was as much of a sight to her as she was to them. In Vienda, she could manage the occasional careful disguise; she knew how to move, quiet places to change, the contours of the city. She could live her life as Ava Weaver, and, occasionally, when the situation called for it, become someone else, briefly, without anyone being the wiser.

Here in the Rose, Ava thought, prickling, she had only one skin. Everything she did - even this meeting - she did as herself. Any hint otherwise would raise suspicion; being caught putting on a disguise was worse than doing it undisguised to begin with.

Ava did see the urchins watching her; they had busied themselves away during her first, obvious sweep, but during a second, subtler look she saw them, crouched in a nearby alley. She would have thought nothing of it, if they had been looking both times.

The man came out with a trolly, a crate settled onto it. “Of course,” Ava said, wide-eyed. She glanced around once more; she turned back to the man, the pointed tip of her overskirt brushing the top of her boots with the motion.

“Down the pier, I think, and I‘ll find a carriage there,” Ava suggested. She had not looked down at the unsteady knee, not until the man gestured to it. When he did, she shook her head lightly, as if to say he should think nothing of it.

“It’s no trouble to come here. It’s quite an interesting place to be,” Ava said politely, a little faint note creeping in at the end, with a soft smile. She was content to play the out of place woman from Vienda; she knew her role. She glanced around, once more, wide-eyed, and then back to the man with the cane. “Do the children always stare so, here?” Ava asked, with only the faintest emphasis beyond the ordinary.

She didn’t know who he was or where his sympathies lay; he might be a dyed-in-the-wool member of the resistance, or he might lay upon the top of it like a thin film of cotton. He might do neither; he might be only a cabinet maker asked for a crate. They were, the both of them, kept safe by such anonymities; they were not worth rupturing for the faintest of half-formed suspicions.

And why? Ava wondered. If they were being watched, a little too closely; was it for her sake, or for his?

[Jobe Linger]

Jobe's eyes followed the woman's as it swept over the side, toward some urchins. Like her, at first he paid them no mind. There were always runaways looking for handouts, humans, wicks, and even rarely some passive runts, especially in the Rose. Jobe didn't like seeing them about anymore than the next person, and not just because them being around meant little hands grasping for coin. While he didn't mind shedding a small coin for a cause, he could show an ugly side was when they tried stealing from him.

Those urchins that were watching the woman, they had the look of thieves. The way their eyes glued to a mark, and followed them along. It wouldn't have meant very much if they simply glanced or even stared at a well dressed woman meeting a workman. But they were intent upon the subject. It rose his hackles, they were either thieves or spies. Then he recognized one of them, it was one of Archie Swill's little catspaws. So it wasn't just some pocket change they were after, but more valuable than that. Information of his movements. Jobe spat on the ground, turning away from the woman before he did so.

While the woman asked him whether the children often watched people, his brow darkened. He watched the lad, keeping him in his sight as he responded to the woman. "Just curious urchins, or... Nothin' to worry 'bout." At least he wanted to assure her. Wasn't good for his independent business to let people know he was indebted to a Bad Brother. Or so he thought. Anyway, she was doing him the favor, bringing this crate along to their mutual acquaintance in Vienda.

Nothing could be simple, could it? Gods damn it, Swill This was none of his concern!

Between acting like a complete innocent when you were about shady business, dealing with a strange woman dressed to the nines in the middle of the harbor section of the city, sharing passcodes, and getting watched by a pack of runts, Jobe was up to his ears in intrigue. Now being a human he was no stranger to it, as hiding things from one's Galdor overlords was just a factor of life for all beneath their rule. Jobe still longed for his days in the military, when it was as simple as keeping your commanding officer alive, and making the Galdor look good while awaiting a barrage of arcane artillery from above.

"Lissen, why not take the trolley, over ter your wagon, I'll see what they's wanting. Probably just holdin' their hands out for a copper."

So saying, Jobe laid the handle of the trolley against the warehouse wall, and went over to speak with those urchins. However, when he made the motions to close the distance, they recoiled. A further few steps, and they bolted. Well Jobe wasn't going to get after them with his leg being the way it was. So he walked over back toward the trolley, and helped Ava with hit, dragging it along. "Aright, guess it were nothin'. Lead the way? Or take the trolley, makes no matter ter me."

[Ava Weaver]

Afternoon, 15 Dentis, 2719
The Wharf

T
he man had seen the children already; of that, Ava was nearly certain. His gaze went to them, and back to her, and whatever thoughts he had been about to voice trailed off, uncertain, into a dismissal. Ava nodded, smiling politely, as if accepting the words at face value.

The man shifted. His dark, bearded face was set into a scowl; a habitual one, if Ava was any judge, by the depths of the lines in his skin, and the way he seemed to fall easily into it. They stood there in silence just a moment; Ava said nothing, and did not so much as look at the children again. They were watching the two of them, still, small gazes unusually keen; too keen, Ava would have said, for pickpockets, who generally liked to go unseen as long as possible. If they were beggars, too, they were not skilled at their craft.

The man shifted again, uncertainly, and offered to go see the children.

“Oh,” Ava said, faintly wide-eyed, as if it hadn’t occurred to her in the least, as if she hadn’t expected it. “Of course, thank you,” she smiled at him, politely.

He settled the handle of the trolley against the warehouse wall; it wasn’t more than a few steps, slow with the drag of his leg, before the children scattered.

Ava reached for the handle, carefully; she settled one slightly worn glove around it, and pulled it away from the wall. Better, she thought, to do as instructed. She did not look; she did not try to watch where the children were going, even out of the corner of her eye. She tugged the trolley along, lightly, pulling at it, pitting her slight weight against the heavy thing; even with the wheels, it weighed a bit too much for her to manage easily.

The man came back before she’d made it more than a few steps. Ava smiled up at him, polite, a little color in her cheeks; they were flushed with the cold and the slight exertion, the color all natural through the very faint layer of powder she wore. “Your help’d be much appreciated,” Ava said, bringing the handle over and letting him take it; she was careful not to let her hand brush his.

Ava led the way, then, instead; she walked alongside the trolley, towards the front of it, leading the two of them back down the wharf. There were still plenty of passer-byers, although Ava was grateful to attract a little less attention, at least, walking next to the crate-maker.

There was, once, a sharp wolf whistle from a whipcord lean man perched on a half-rotting pier; he leered, grinning through a mouthful of yellowed teeth, when Ava glanced to the side. She held the gaze one – two – beats, and abruptly he shifted, and looked away.

Ava did not allow herself a satisfied smile, looking forward once more; she behaved very much as if she had done nothing, walking straightbacked through the pier as if there were nothing at all unusual taking place.

“You must have made a great many such crates,” Ava murmured, glancing sideways at the man pulling the trolley next to her. Silence, she thought, would be odder than stilted conversation; better to talk, however shallowly – and Ava would much rather it stay shallow, whatever conversation they found.