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While most of the power he portrayed was a bluff, Viltre of the Kavensei did not much care for power. Shows of force had their place, and a special one in the underworld. From his perspective, though, it meant that something had gone wrong. Unproductive on its own. Just makes more of itself. Their gift had eased some of the tension in the room, a few of the silent strings thrumming at a lower pitch.

"Suppose there's a couple folk t'steer clear of. Nobody as dumb as a few years back, thank On'os. Run a tighter ship these days." The woman, very likely a pirate, or else a retired one, took up a coin and bent it between her teeth. Saisfied by the angle and softness, she wiped and put it in a pouch on her belt. The scarred man beside Variel tilted his head idly. His own belt was occupied by hia hands, thumbs tucked behind the leather. Tucking them into his sash might illustrate a few things prematurely. "What happened?"

The greying hair shook in a clatter of beads, scoffing from deep in the owner's throat. "We had one gang, cooked up an adoption scam not too far back. Idjits got stabhappy, took a lot to cover our asses. Even worse, they didn't clear it-" The honeyed voice of the weighty hybrid broke in. "We're getting off track. Where exactly is your intended 'guest'?"

"If you're willin' to hear us out. 'Xar?" The grass-cloaked scribe turned to Variel, or 'Xar, as he'd called her. She'd been given a sealed letter prepared earlier. Weather-beaten and prematurely aged, it bore details down to the letter. Another layer to her partner's lie. "Figured it'd be harder to take off her than me. Turns out the Friends get paranoid about information security."

In fairness, Variel's partner in crime did not keep his pockets easily rifled. Even worse, he tended to leave surprises here and there, in the usual pickpocketing spots. The local thieves tended to leave embarrassed rather than hurt when they tried their hands his way. Nothing serious, nothing damaging. One had grabbed a pouch of stinkslime, someone in the last town had snagged leaden coin blanks. Today it had been a noisemaker and the stares of the whole crowd. ...Before putting their new faces on, of course.

The letter was handed over, still sealed and somewhat grubby. Inescapable consequence of the mail, as it tended to get handed off to whomever was headed in the right direction. The wax was broken, and the slightly less stained message itself unfolded. It detailed their intended contract, the town and house in which he currently laid low, and contact details for a courier service in the Joria outpost. A waystation on the Tale plains, good place for a dropoff by strangers, not least for its varied population. The husky man looked it over, nodded and turned it over to the pirate. She gave it another examination, then looked up to their guests. "Joria? Really? Conjured ye'd think somewhere bigger t'do better."

Mild surprise splashed onto Viltre's new face, brows up and mouth parted a little. The shrug followed naturally. "Is that where they want? Didn't tell us; didn't ask. Can talk monetary specifics once we can agree on a crew."
"Come back in two days?"
"Can do." The pirate's hand came out and the disguised thief's met it. His handshake too was another lie; firm and solid, an honest man's grip. They released a moment after, thumb tucking back behind his belt. "Got me curious about the screwups, tho'. Can't imagine y'let 'em stick around."

The veteran sailor snorted, clearly disgusted at the thought. "After that big a hit t' our margins? Ran 'em outta town, had 'em tailed to Sulburi t'make sure." The tall leafling considered this, and nodded thrice. Once each to her and the larger man, and once to his partner. "We'll be sure not to disappoint you. Gonna head back to our lodging, then."

Had he less control, the tall thief would have given in to the urge to smile. The warrior couldn't hide her satisfaction. It fit the story, and these folk wouldn't be surprised to see it, but... For all her talent, Variel was not difficult for her partner to read. No, that's not fair. Very few are all that difficult to begin with. She wears an acceptable straight face. ...And I suppose I have an advantage or two there. As for their accommodation, it would hold up a few days. The lie could be maintained. It helped that he'd done faces along similar lines to their own; they would be simpler to recreate.

This deal had gone well, and of course the Friends meant to hold up their end. The target himself needed the transportation, and soon. A little rough treatment was a small price for guaranteed arrival and good information. In point of fact, there were precious few solid untruths in that whole situattion. Never hurt to be prepared, however.

For now, the pair wound out of the warehouse, back to the Inn. There, they xould plot further, and discuss exactly how exiting this development was...