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Oddly enough, the whole thing had come as a result of their friendly little network daisy-chaining rumours along. An unsavory man from Matori. A stabbing in the market a while back. Someone who'd heard a small scream. Oddly-quiet animal pens on a ship. A caravan harboring smugglers. A seamstress with a particularly unpleasant regular. Many of these and more had begun to form a picture, with descriptions of similar men popping up every so often. Dozens were exaggerated, of course, or fudged in memory, but with enough data it became a matter of organization, and Viltre was a dab hand at organizing data. Certain commonalities began to align with the sequence of events he'd been given, and the descriptions firm up. He had only certain regions as yet, but what was built in Tale, Sauti and Zena together spanned at least a third of the continent, with ears in major trading hubs. Finally they had a name, someone who could put them in contact with a ring of kidnappers operating in Matori.

All the maybes hadn't much helped his puzzlement over his own feelings or desires. The tall earthling kept close to his partner, for eminently practical reasons of course. Keeping her between her beast and his rump always seemed wise, and this way he could help immediately if something happened. She had seen a glimpse of his real face in M. Nao's School for Educated Young Ladies, and a few more when the information came rolling in. He'd pulled a few all-nighters, sure, and maybe pushed himself a little past his own limits. A bit more privately, she'd tried to help him relax, and looked concerned when he expressed doubt at the necessity. Odd thought, in his mind, but intimacy still tangled up his reasoning. Young Kavensei knew he had become very fond of his bodyguard, and she of him. It was writ all over, for anyone to see. ...But what to do with that? Treating her as a sibling wouldn't have been appropriate anymore.

This sort of thought swirled away behind his mask, the roguish little smile he'd worn so smooth over the years. He wore no obvious armor, and still bore only his smallsword in plain view. The pink reed cloak did passably well in the rain, but it wouldn't suffice to guard an iron suit from the wet. Might not even be necessary, as slavers preferred prey they could catch at little cost. But she'd insisted on her mail. Variel and Xarthin alone would make them pay heavily, and in that sense, it helped to look expensive. Couldn't be too standoffish, though. To that end, he chose now to speak, as the warehouse came into sight. "How old is he? Never got around to asking; it took years for him to grow this fierce, didn't it?"

In many ways, Viltre was a puzzle, or perhaps a maze. His mind hinked and knotted and twisted all around, spinning his webs all the while. Certainly he'd picked up and honed a knack for manipulation, to not inconsiderable result. But that was all just knowing people and gambling. People just made sense if you took the time to watch and learn. No, his was a small part and he knew it, concerned with steering to the optimal outcome possible. He was only a tool to that end- No. No that's Mother thinking for me. I matter to some few. ...Wonder when they'll realize their time's better spent on other people?

Whether they did or not was unimportant. For one thing, it was their time, to spend as they chose. Their spending it elsewhere might hurt, from his perspective, but that sort of pain numbed over with time. It wouldn’t be their problem. More immediately, the foreign thief still had a missing niece and an outlaw ring to pin down. Once introductions were made, then he could get to figuring out their range, their operating style, their usual turf. Even if this wasn't the right one, it helped to know more professionals. And any word on their competition brought familial fangs that much closer. Much like the great warehouses looming over the lower buildings sprawled around them.

A low whistle fell from pursed lips, reevaluating the great black lizard a bit. That long a lifespan explained more than a little; this was on occasion a shockingly smart janarim. ...When he wasn't marking houses as territory with those horns. "Not to you, 'course. I can't help being a city kid; beasts have never come as easy as people for me. Glad he's decided I can keep my fingers for now, gotta say. Might just need 'em in a few minutes. ...Should we go over it once more?"

The wide reed hat dipped in a nod. "Alright. So-"and then a long, warm reptilian tongue slithered up the side of his face. As interruptions went, it could've been worse. But not by much. Facial proximity to that many large teeth had never been his favorite. He reached up and past long ivories, as he'd been instructed, and rubbed hard above Xarthin's eye ridges. That was apparently the correct approach, as it brought the side of the head around for more rubs. Horns were an improvement over teeth, in the Taleian's ledger, so he counted that a reprieve. "So. We aren't looking to start a fight on their ground. Not now; these might not even be the right folk."

The points ticked off his fingers, one by one by one. This had been a little complicated to set up, even for Viltre's Friends. "Story is we're here looking to hire. We've a target lined up to discuss, and we're shopping around. Target is actually a Friend, and agreed to this. He needs to get out of town soon anyhow. Apart from that last bit, we stick to the facts and try to fish out who operates where. We've got a specific target area in mind." The smile grew sharper under the shade of his hat. The teeth of it glinted knifelike behind it. "And when our 'victim' is delivered, he'll be able to tell us even more.

If it comes to a fight for some reason, run and whittle them down. We don't want to fight a whole gang on their terms. Questions so far?"

"There's a comfort. Could never be sure which he'd prefer, me or his fodder. Least the first few days." Better yet, the lighter hue he'd put to his hair hadn't begun to come out already. Needed cold water for that, so it would take a lot of this warm rain (or war-beast slobber) to start. His disguise kit tended more towards subtle changes and prosthetics. Variel, had she accepted his help, would find her partner skilled enough to have changed the familiar lines of her face, leave them strange to her mirror. The contact herself had been a friend of a Friend, so the physical details had been intentionally fudged. The important thing would be the identifying garmets. His razorgrass outerwear served for one.

The risk to their spy was resonable, and her concern spoke well of the Oban warrior. The group they were after had had something definite in mind when they snatched Elaxi. Revenge and ransom were out of the running. No note, no attempt to explain anything or taunt. And a clan of hunters and beast-tamers would notice any sustained surveillance afterward. "They shouldn't. ...At least, not much. Little market for crippled slaves if they cross us, and his good health will be one of our terms." Throwing in a bonus on intact delivery might be discussed as well...

The wide hat tilted forward, guided by the nod beneath. "Thank you. It takes practice to lie so well." Disguise, forgery, sales, stealth, roadside grift and scam, all of them simply boiled down to the art of telling people what they would believe. Or at least, worked on similar principles, to Viltre's understanding. Her face still had some of the roundness of youth, so he'd had her scrunch it up this way and that, being certain where the natural lines would develop. Changing eye shape, the lines of her jaw and chin, a bump added to the bridge of her nose and a few false crystals here and there... And voila! Variel wore a new face.

"The one we're after stabbed her mother in the process; you're right on the money there. That sort of thing leads to more guards all over, disrupts business around it. Doesn't make you friends in most underworlds." There were exceptions, sure. But those most often moved on, got wiped out, or grew big enough that profit took priority over violence. And Matori being all coastline, the main businesses likely ran towards smuggling and piracy. Neither which took well to someone causing that sort of commotion.

...But they'd arrived at the warehouse itself. A mark by the main doors and two indolent men in workman's smocks clued in the guests on which way to head. Viltre paused, flipped a silver coin twice, and watched the town's traffic. Meanwhile, one of the burly men had leaned off the wall and headed inside, the other beckoning the trio over. He took a scrap of grainpaper from the crate beside him and unfolded it, eyeing them all the while.
"Client meetin'?"
"Yessir."
"Name?"
"Should be under 'Lirsson'."
"...Right, here y'are. Go on in; try somethin' an' you're snapper feed."
"Thank you kindly."

The silver flipping coin, as they passed through the wide entry, wound up in the doorman's sash...

All three were admitted without much comment. Luckily the workmen had the good sense not to handle an attached janarim. Of course, that said something on its own, a cold confidence that the occupants could handle a war-beast. A little ominous? Maybe. The decor only reinforced that confidence from another end. It came as a welcome departure from the stereotypical smoky tavern. No professional he'd met had ever liked those much.

Viltre took his place at the table, opposite the other four. In deference to their hosts, he removed his grass hat, revealing the changes to his own face. His brows, the set of his mouth, and especially his family's distinctive crest were all different. A pair of puckered scars ran down the left side of his jaw. Together with a shift in stance they formed an entirely different man. Unlike his usual polished tones, his words issued crisp and clipped, a rougher professional. "Gentlemen, lady; thank you for seeing us. Call me Lirsson. Your time's valuable, I'll cut right to the point. We're in the market for transportation. We represent a party in Tale. There's someone we'd very much like to travel elsewhere, and they're willing to pay living rates. Unharmed preferable, but nicks an' bruises happen."

One of the men to the left spoke, a thick-built water hybrid. A deep, smooth voice, spoken slow and sweet as molasses, went first. "An' why would your backers want him? Ransom, punishment? Bondage for debts, maybe?"
Hard-faced Kavensei shook his head. "Nothin' like that. Yet. Guy insulted my boss, started threatening to involve the guards, the naval authorities. Boss just wants to talk with him, face to face, see if we can't straighten this all out."

Currently there were no moves being made. No threats, just the usual eyeballing that came with this sort of thing. Pains had been taken to make the pair seem formidable, in respectively appropriate ways. Variel bore her lancer's gear, and the knifehilts all about her said more. Viltre, though he bore only his smallsword in plain view, moved with much the same soft grace as the old janarim. Dropping hints that these guests would be missed by an organization, one that knew how to find them, added to the unspoken threats.

This time, the response came from the woman, an Oban herself, grey at the temples and greedy at the eyes and mouth. The probing hadn't stopped, and likely wouldn't. Showing weakness here was risky at best. "An' supposin' we entertain the job, approve this invite o' yours. Why not do this yer own self?"
The green eyes met yellow, and neither looked away. The Oban looked then to her countryman, likely to the same. Pink grass rustled with the tall man's shrug. "We're still setting up shop here, out east. Figured we'd ask the local management first, introduce ourselves, maybe shop around if it shook out that way. It's more profitable all around to be a good neighbor."

Good manners helped all over, if you knew which set to use. And a healthy monetary gift pushed those further still. The fist-sized bag he produced did not jangle. Its canvas was too full for that, even as it plopped to the table. The drawstring's loosing revealed a yellow gleaming cause for that. "Token of goodwill. Don't suppose there's any crew we should steer clear of? Don't wanna make a big scene outta this."