(1866-08-17) The Bug Man
The Bug Man
Summary: Raevyn looks for the 'bug man' and ends up chatting to a young Volstak knight
Date: Monday the 17th of Aout, 1866 IE.
Related: None
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Raevyn  Devon  

Four Corners - Docks

There isn't a ship afloat that hasn't been through the logbooks of the dock-master of the Free City of Four Corners… at least, if you listen to the dock-master.

Ships of every description, from private yachts and slender fishing knars to big-bellied merchant cogs and bristling naval brigantines. Dockworkers and sailors with tattoos and tattered breeches, errand-boys running underfoot and over crate, fishermen fixing nets, wealthy merchants attended by slaves and bookkeepers and travelers, sightseers and more, all of them here where the ships are loaded and unloaded beneath the wheeling gulls. Businesses catering to the sailors and men who work her crowd the dock front, with restaurants, taverns, whorehouses, bonesaws, pitch-vats, money-changers, bounty-offices and shipwrights all fighting for space. This too is where the fishing boats unload their daily catches. There is a fishmarket right on one of the more rickety quays where one can find bright silver tuna, swordfish, cod, bass, anglerfish, grouper, mussels, abalone, huge prawns and tiny shrimp and anchovies, squid, enormous mottled lobsters, crabs, spiky urchins eel, salmon, even monster tuna. Waterbirds of various types are here as well, such as tern, cormorant, swan and heron.

Monday the 17th of Aout, 1866 IE.

Devon treds the robust planks of the dock's most prominent pier, moving with a pace that is unhurried. The Volstak knight is dressed in the same formal attire he had been seen in at the gala the previous night, albeit without the restrictive tie at the hilt of his dagger. Wrapped around a thigh a collection of throwing knives sits, wedged into their sheaths. The sea is what has most of this man's attention however, his meandering progress moving amongst the hustle and bustle of sailors, taxmen and dock workers.

There is actually a lot to see at the docks of Four Corners. A myriad of culture mixed together and stirred, all in one place. To the various sails on the water, to the different styles of clothing, to the was of food that comes in crates big and small. All sorts of things to see and to do. People coming and going from taverns, whorehouses, money changers, and countless other institutions that one can be simply overwhelmed by the thrum that follows the press of business. In amidst the number is a young man, not so much standing out as he is standing up. Indeed he's standing up on a stack of crates to press his eyes in a salute over his brow to shield his gaze to look over the heads of the crowd. The young man's face can be recognized by those who attended the party, considering he was the first performance of that night. He's definitely dressed down, in a off rose blouse and a pair of dark trousers. Nothing too fancy about that unless one gets closer and sees to the fact that there's a silver weave in the blouse stitching. Either way he looks ill content with what he sees and clearly disappointed.

With the advantage of elevation, it's definitely not hard for Raevyn to be spotted by those who walk along the pier. Devon is decidedly curious about the way the courtesan-in-training is present here, of all places, atop those crates. "Troubled, good Master musician?" he calls up, angling his head to accentuate the query. Clasping his hands behind his back as he comes to a stop closer to the edge of the walkway, Devon purses his lips in silence and observes, awaiting some reply.

Raevyn never managed to talk directly to Devon, so his face is unfamiliar as he's addressed as a master musician. That has the courtesan's eyes widen a touch surprised and humbled at the same instance. Color comes to his face as he regards Devon from atop those crates. "Yes. In a way yes," he answers with a sheepish tone, using a hand to aid him on jumping down before those very fingers sweep through his sandy hair, "I'm searching for…the bug man." The reference is used with a lilt of his tone and a flicker of a smirk, "Apparently there is supposed to be a vendor here that sell bait. Live bait. Like bugs. I can't spot him though. Big hair on the fellow, a yellow wig. He's supposed to have a mustache that twirls out and curls on the end." He deflates a bit, with that disappointment of not seeing him and instead takes a second look at Devon. "And you are, good sir? You look familiar."

"Gosh, you would expect him to stick out like a sore thumb then— but I confess, I cannot help in that regard. Perhaps he's otherwise indisposed this day, unable to haunt where he normally might?" As he observes the dismount, he steps aside needlessly, but with polite intent all the same. "You may have seen me at the magnificent showing that the academy held last night, if only in brief. I am Devon of House Volstak from Ironhold," he explains easily. "My family are relatively new to attending such showings in more than an accompanying capacity. I must take this chance to thank you for putting on the event, in person. You and your colleagues are most talented."

"He /should/," Raevyn laughs softly, "Though I confess I do not know if he changes wigs every day and if it is yellow he is wearing or to expect another." He continues to pop up on his toes now and then, as he's fallen short of reaching an average height for a fellow and has to rely on his toes extending his vantage point. "Volstak?" That zips his eyes back around so hard that he's outwardly looking the man up and down without hesitation, "I see. Sir Devon then?" By the attire, he guesses, "Or would it be Lord Devon?" The noble titles are conflicting when some prefer one or the other. Title if proud of it, profession if lacking a major title. "It was an exciting night, wasn't it? I will speak for the academy to thank you for attending. We are no doubt glad for your patronage. I hope we left an impression with you, Lord Volstak."

"It's a complicated question, isn't it? Sir Devon is fine, however" assures the young man, smiling faintly. "My family was recently ennobled and I was encouraged to become a knight all my life, so that feels more natural." On the topic of the event, he bows his head slightly in confirmation. "Thank you and yes, it was indeed impressive. I've never had such an affinity with musical instruments myself, so it always astounds me how skilled others are with them. You must have quite the mentor?"

"Then I will use what comes more naturally to you, Sir," cue the infamous head tilt look with the crowning achievement of an impish smile that tugs smile a line in behind the corner of his mouth, "You should know by the affair last night that we only seek to make those around us, comfortable." He listens to the explanation, nodding some empathy over the nature of one's path, though tends to touch on the secondary string of conversation first. "The affinity came from an early age, Sir Devon, much like you carried the sword-" his eyes checking that, "-from a tender age, my hands were filled with instruments." He expresses this by drawing up his hands and flexing his fingers palm up. "I studied for a time in the North," not suggesting where, "after several years of mentorship in Kentarie. I've been playing since I can remember." He makes light of it, "Where as I cannot help but be astonished by those of you who carry weapons and treat them as a mere extension of your arm." A beat, "Would you have taken on a lute over a sword?"

"I don't believe I would have chosen an instrument over a weapon, but I grew up amongst a house dedicated to serving as combat-ready individuals to the Cassomir family… it would have been strange not to follow in those foot-steps. That said, perhaps it would have been interesting to pick up an instrument alongside the spears and swords. I do believe you have an effect on the noble ladies of every court when you command," Devon notes, amusement plain in his eyes if not completely on his mouth. Lips curl just faintly, mirroring that humored sentiment. "That said, if we each specialize we're better for it. We can depend on one another, in this land, that way. We're all better for it."

The answer is expected and comes with a knowing nod of his head, brushing his hand over his sleeves to straighten them out a bit on his wrists. This time no lace, just a tight wrist with billowy arms. "There is still time for you to learn, though harder with such duties as a knight before you," Raevyn states quietly, letting his hands settle across his chest, "Yes, that could be true. I haven't attended many courts." A curious flick in his eye, "Is that what you aim to be? A commander?" The gleam in his eye suggests he knows what the humor was and stays with it. He adds with an agreement, "Not all of us are born to be a knight or a musician, not all of us can be." Then with a gesture that extends outward to the docks he asks, "What brings you to Four Corners?"

"No? You could be at many courts, Master Raevyn," encourages the young Volstak knight, his encouragement clear. "I overheard you were in training, but when that is formally completed you could easily find employment outside of Four Corners. I can see the appeal of the neutral ground, however." Passing his gaze over the docks and buildings alongside, he then replies to the question posed at him. "I'm quite content to serve and learn, but in truth I have a fascination with pursuing tournaments for a while. I've yet to open with my first charge in sport… so that's what I'm looking forward to when they begin in the next few months." On the topic of his visit, he says, "Curiosity, in part. Furthermore, I needed to meet a few more people, I'm the more… reserved son of my family," he explains.

"Well thank you Sir, your compliment is most enjoyable to hear," Raevyn watches the knight, appreciative of those words, "I would pursue such challenges, when indeed, I'm deemed ready and fit to. There are some lessons left to be learned, most of them I believe, need to settle and separate reality from fiction." He doesn't go into depths over that sentiment, nodding absently to the matter of neutral ground, "Although it does not seem so neutral at times when one faction is harassing another. Cannot say any city is without that, however." The admission of what goals Devon has does seem to in turn get a good smirk on Raevyn's face, excitable as he states, "There are often many tournaments in a normal year. I shall look for you in the lists! It is quite fun to watch when one knows a competitor." The last turn of conversation has him chuckling, dubious, "You? Reserved? Are you certain? You are quite able to speak with me, Sir Devon."

"Too true, I have had my first interaction with the savages here. They are quite bold, though somewhat strange. They do not seem to have the boundaries we do, which I cannot for the life of me decide if that is freeing or foolish. You must have heard the gossip that goes round?" As he leaves that as an open hook, he indicates his sigil emblazoned upon his chest. "Look for the Volstak crest in any competition where lancing is present and you'll undoubtedly find me. I simply must have an audience, to give me the required pressure to perform well." When his hand falls, he shakes his head in mild disagreement, "I'm not simple, no, I'm quite capable of conversing… I simply select where and when I introduce myself a bit more exclusively, lest I become the talk of the town for all the wrong reasons. That wouldn't do my family's reputation well at all."

"Then it is a privilege to earn your distinction and be among the lucky few who get the exclusive introduction," an elbow leans back on one of the crates, stacked three or four high, flipping his hair aside again and looking up at Devon with a quirked brow, appreciating the moment. "Your reputation is secure with me, Sir Devon, as you well know, as a courtesan, we pride ourselves on the same exclusive behavior and it is far from a bad thing to be seen with one of our number. In fact," he notes with a raised finger, "It shows your wealth, that you are able to be in the company of one of the Academy's eloquent members." Typically it is a competitive world to gain notoriety in the company of courtesans that those who are full fledged are hard to book. There's a jovial look from Raevyn as he glances at the crest, "My eyes are peeled, Sir, to see your crest amongst the competition." A flicker of his lips as he cannot help but laugh, "Well of course. The streets are full of petty gossip. Only the right birds now how to be effective at getting the more… substantial information." He waves for the matter of barbarians, "Avoid them if you can Sir. They like to do two things. Bedding and fighting."

"I had gathered both, indeed. While neither bedding or fighting should be considered wholly unsavory alone, each has their time and their place, no?" This, on the topic of barbarian activities. "Further, I imagine their tastes are somewhat less picky than ours, which is far from a classy way to lead one's life." As the bustle of the crowd down the deck thins, the knight indicates with an arm. "I shall have to be certain to cherish the few moments in refined company such your own and your colleagues… but'll have to forgive that I part so soon. Should I see you around again in the near future, I will be certain to take more time to discuss matters with you. You are most amenable company and that information you speak of? I'd love to avail you of it, sometime. Whenever your schedule permits, of course. I am sure Four Corners busies you extensively. I trust you'll have a fine rest of your day and that you find 'the bug man'." With a quirky smile propped on his lips so very briefly, he then readies his departure back toward the marketplace.

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