Post by StaolDerg on Jan 2, 2021 1:43:46 GMT -5
Elna’s port was scenic past the bays of deep blue that built up the ancient port city’s lifeline of maritime trade. The four islands beyond that made up its outer districts were lined with older buildings of dynastical summer homes, the luxuriously built decorations upon their limestone and marble faces still kept to an exotic finish in the salty breeze of Bromsoll Bay.
An Inselni rested comfortably upon the balcony of one mansion, looking out into the bays shores lapping against the cliffs below, her soft green scales complementing the kelp forest that prospered in the reef just beyond the beach. Jewelry covered her from crown to tail, shining like a magnificent forest of glittering valuables.
She took a sip of the rum that sat on the table beside her day bed, letting the semi-sweet taste run in her mouth as she sunned in the morning sky. Tail draped lazily over one leg, she basked in the glory of her own little paradise, free from the messy politics of the mainland, slowly rotating the glass in her hand.
The atmosphere was disturbed as the echo of footsteps echoed through her lower horns, the Inselni not bothering to rise as they halted a healthy distance from her.
“Your Lady.”
“Ah, Walkeri. Good. Speak.”
Not terribly bothered, she reached for the glass again as the Crown brushed a hand against his fine jacket, regarding his superior by the horns sticking above the back of the day bed.
“Our friend has returned. He’s got a briefcase with him, and ah, a gift, I should think.”
The Inselni nodded with a small smile, flicking a deft finger towards the space beside her.
“Show him in. And bring an extra seat, please.”
The Crown bowed, quickly leaving.
The Inselni took her time refilling her glass, remaining in her lounging position. As other well-dressed Crown brought in a fine sitting room couch to her opposite side, she pulled open a panel within the table to draw forth a second glass, which she similarly filled with rum, though nowhere to the volume her cup held.
Her horn shifted again as she recognized the footsteps of Walkeri returning with someone else. She closed her eyes as she waited for him to seat himself, nodding at her employee. “Thank you, Walkeri.”
She opened her eyes to a Crown dressed in less high-class clothing, more reminiscent of a bartender’s or teacher’s simple suit. The scar upon his face was a pattern unlike other Crown, the design more organic and resembling an Inselni, though certainly not the one perched atop the day-bed. He politely greeted the Inselni with a simple nod, being reciprocated similarly with a well-mannered dip of the head.
“You look well, Mavli. I trust business is well?”
The Inselni laughed, waving a hand to the side dismissively.
“You know how it is, Kalka. Bustling. And I should thank you for protecting my transports so quickly. Most kind.”
Kalka smiled, folding his hands over his lap, leaning back in the seat. He took his own drink from the table and swirled it about, watching the dark liquor through the delicately-formed lens of the glass.
“It’s what friends do for one another, no?”
“Indeed- but you’re not here for the chat, are you?”
The Crown chuckled. “I would’ve made for the Greatferns on the Harborfront if I wanted to lecture. I have a proposition for you.”
Mavli raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“The Yalka family has gotten the lion’s share of the trains this month. Naturally with the Mayor sacked by Her Majesty, we can’t just raid the next shipment- so we’ll have to compromise with what other option we have.”
“I won’t send my boys to fight over a couple crates of dry crackers. “ Mavli interjected disinterestedly. “No one’s going to pay more than the loose hair on their back for the lot.”
Kalka nodded. “Except that they’re not rations- hell, it’s not even liquor or food for that matter. It’s a full shipment of medicine from the relief shipments abroad.”
Mavli watched him with puzzlement. “For what? The hell they want that for? Going to open up a pharmacy?”
“If only. No, I’ve had my eyes on the Yalkas for a while. They treat it like a gold shipment- they even got some guys of the Opera Gang to shove it in the bank vault at the Square. Something’s up and I want in.”
The Inselni eyed him carefully. “You already protect my transports and give me a nice view of the affairs under the table. In case this goes south, I want some insurance.”
“Naturally.”
She didn’t fully believe him, of course. Just about every one of the syndicates treated their ill-acquired gains as golden cattle, but she could care less. After all, she was the richest out of them all- and her main income source didn’t come from train robbery, either.
Kalka reached into his suit, tossing her the ‘gift,’ a silver ring covered with inscriptions.
The Inselni frowned as she caught it, her curiosity turning to bewilderment. “You’re quite a gambler, Kalka. Your whole gang? To me?”
“That’s not all, my friend. Here.”
He handed her the briefcase with a smile. “You asked for a list of those you suspected were going to cough up soon to the Territorials in the Old District- so here you are. Happy hunting.”
A devilish grin crossed the Inselni’s face. “I didn’t think it’d take you so little time.”
“You’d be surprised. I hope that’s enough?”
The Inselni laughed. “Plenty. My boys’ guns are yours. Have a good run, Kalka. Try not to get shot. I’d hate lose such a good... ally.”
Kalka leaned against the column of the Port Customs building, waiting. The sleek black cars of the Yalkas were parked outside in a neat line, partially occupying the government parking spaces. The dark shadow of the back entrance terrance mostly hid his figure if he leaned against it, his dark grey suit only complimenting his needs.
The streets themselves were clear- the local Opera Gang had seen to it with their guards patrolling the sidewalks.
It wasn’t long before the doors opened from his side, the gang members hauling several wooden crates towards waiting trunks. They moved quickly towards their convoy, but not before Kalka was approached by one of the Opera Gang as their backs faced him, dressed in their clerk uniform.
“Busy day today, boss.”
Kalka nodded silently, looking halfway towards his agent.
“I hear that the crates have a nice amount of powder in them. Whether or not its penicillin is beyond me, though.”
The Crown grinned at the news, watching the crates load in and the convoy beginning to pull away. He suddenly turned and headed down to the parking lot himself, the agent departing in the opposite direction, back where they came from.
Kalka quickly made his way to his own car, slipping into the passenger seat. The other occupants racked sat in silence as the driver gunned the engine, taking after the convoy at a casual speed. All of them had submachineguns- undoubtedly obtained from the black market.
They needn’t have driven far, for as they came upon Elna’s harbor front, the whole convoy was up in flames. The glittering waters reflected the burning wrecks as the car stopped a healthy distance away, Kalka strolling towards the scene as his men disembarked with him and followed.
The battle was already over- by the looks of the street, the whole storefront of the block had lit up with automatic fire the moment the cars’ trucks had exploded, gunning down those who weren’t killed by the initial blast. The attackers were combing through the wreckages, helping the locals put out the fires while their weapons still smoked from the holsters on their backs, acting as if the whole ordeal had been an ordinary affair. A few prisoners had been taken, lined up against the alley wall of some grocery store, the shoppers watching nervously as both men from Kalka and Mavli’s syndicates kept them pinned against the bricks. Those unwounded included a rather heavy fellow, seething as he saw Kalka approach him.
“So, Meyvari.” Kalka crossed his arms as he paced around the Yalka godfather’s back, smiling.
“Let me make something clear. I’m sorry you had to learn like this- I really am! But lessons are meant to be remembered- and I should think that this experience should shock your memory. The shelter districts are my territory, and mine alone. That means none of your boys in there, none of your fights in there, and certainly none of your disgusting pixie dust there either. Honestly, think of the children!”
“You’re a coward,” the other man interrupted, struggling against the grip of the other men. “You had less men than me, so what do you do? Enlist the Mistress of the Bay to do your filthy work? Blow up my men by swapping out our cargo while we’re busy? Shame on you. Shame on you. Stand up and fight with honor, you filthy rat. I hope you’re licking her sole.”
Kalka shook his head, unfazed. “And you’re superior by selling copious amounts of drugs to students who already struggle to feed their families? For what, your precious in-exile friends in Elenria Horizon? Or perhaps the royalists? But really, I should thank you. After all, you gave me some new friends!”
He motioned to the other men pinning down those beside Meyvari, releasing the other prisoners, their firearms returned to their hands. Others dressed in the Yalka family’s suits rounded the alley corner with their own guns in hand, side by side with their supposed enemies. The godfather’s face contorted with a mixture of shock and rage as recognized the faces of those he’d thought loyal until now.
“H-How? How? Is this some kind of fucking sick joke?”
Kalka laughed, his smile growing wider as he drew a revolver from his suit, pressing it against the other man’s head.
“Oh yes, my friend. And you’re the clown.”
An Inselni rested comfortably upon the balcony of one mansion, looking out into the bays shores lapping against the cliffs below, her soft green scales complementing the kelp forest that prospered in the reef just beyond the beach. Jewelry covered her from crown to tail, shining like a magnificent forest of glittering valuables.
She took a sip of the rum that sat on the table beside her day bed, letting the semi-sweet taste run in her mouth as she sunned in the morning sky. Tail draped lazily over one leg, she basked in the glory of her own little paradise, free from the messy politics of the mainland, slowly rotating the glass in her hand.
The atmosphere was disturbed as the echo of footsteps echoed through her lower horns, the Inselni not bothering to rise as they halted a healthy distance from her.
“Your Lady.”
“Ah, Walkeri. Good. Speak.”
Not terribly bothered, she reached for the glass again as the Crown brushed a hand against his fine jacket, regarding his superior by the horns sticking above the back of the day bed.
“Our friend has returned. He’s got a briefcase with him, and ah, a gift, I should think.”
The Inselni nodded with a small smile, flicking a deft finger towards the space beside her.
“Show him in. And bring an extra seat, please.”
The Crown bowed, quickly leaving.
The Inselni took her time refilling her glass, remaining in her lounging position. As other well-dressed Crown brought in a fine sitting room couch to her opposite side, she pulled open a panel within the table to draw forth a second glass, which she similarly filled with rum, though nowhere to the volume her cup held.
Her horn shifted again as she recognized the footsteps of Walkeri returning with someone else. She closed her eyes as she waited for him to seat himself, nodding at her employee. “Thank you, Walkeri.”
She opened her eyes to a Crown dressed in less high-class clothing, more reminiscent of a bartender’s or teacher’s simple suit. The scar upon his face was a pattern unlike other Crown, the design more organic and resembling an Inselni, though certainly not the one perched atop the day-bed. He politely greeted the Inselni with a simple nod, being reciprocated similarly with a well-mannered dip of the head.
“You look well, Mavli. I trust business is well?”
The Inselni laughed, waving a hand to the side dismissively.
“You know how it is, Kalka. Bustling. And I should thank you for protecting my transports so quickly. Most kind.”
Kalka smiled, folding his hands over his lap, leaning back in the seat. He took his own drink from the table and swirled it about, watching the dark liquor through the delicately-formed lens of the glass.
“It’s what friends do for one another, no?”
“Indeed- but you’re not here for the chat, are you?”
The Crown chuckled. “I would’ve made for the Greatferns on the Harborfront if I wanted to lecture. I have a proposition for you.”
Mavli raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“The Yalka family has gotten the lion’s share of the trains this month. Naturally with the Mayor sacked by Her Majesty, we can’t just raid the next shipment- so we’ll have to compromise with what other option we have.”
“I won’t send my boys to fight over a couple crates of dry crackers. “ Mavli interjected disinterestedly. “No one’s going to pay more than the loose hair on their back for the lot.”
Kalka nodded. “Except that they’re not rations- hell, it’s not even liquor or food for that matter. It’s a full shipment of medicine from the relief shipments abroad.”
Mavli watched him with puzzlement. “For what? The hell they want that for? Going to open up a pharmacy?”
“If only. No, I’ve had my eyes on the Yalkas for a while. They treat it like a gold shipment- they even got some guys of the Opera Gang to shove it in the bank vault at the Square. Something’s up and I want in.”
The Inselni eyed him carefully. “You already protect my transports and give me a nice view of the affairs under the table. In case this goes south, I want some insurance.”
“Naturally.”
She didn’t fully believe him, of course. Just about every one of the syndicates treated their ill-acquired gains as golden cattle, but she could care less. After all, she was the richest out of them all- and her main income source didn’t come from train robbery, either.
Kalka reached into his suit, tossing her the ‘gift,’ a silver ring covered with inscriptions.
The Inselni frowned as she caught it, her curiosity turning to bewilderment. “You’re quite a gambler, Kalka. Your whole gang? To me?”
“That’s not all, my friend. Here.”
He handed her the briefcase with a smile. “You asked for a list of those you suspected were going to cough up soon to the Territorials in the Old District- so here you are. Happy hunting.”
A devilish grin crossed the Inselni’s face. “I didn’t think it’d take you so little time.”
“You’d be surprised. I hope that’s enough?”
The Inselni laughed. “Plenty. My boys’ guns are yours. Have a good run, Kalka. Try not to get shot. I’d hate lose such a good... ally.”
Kalka leaned against the column of the Port Customs building, waiting. The sleek black cars of the Yalkas were parked outside in a neat line, partially occupying the government parking spaces. The dark shadow of the back entrance terrance mostly hid his figure if he leaned against it, his dark grey suit only complimenting his needs.
The streets themselves were clear- the local Opera Gang had seen to it with their guards patrolling the sidewalks.
It wasn’t long before the doors opened from his side, the gang members hauling several wooden crates towards waiting trunks. They moved quickly towards their convoy, but not before Kalka was approached by one of the Opera Gang as their backs faced him, dressed in their clerk uniform.
“Busy day today, boss.”
Kalka nodded silently, looking halfway towards his agent.
“I hear that the crates have a nice amount of powder in them. Whether or not its penicillin is beyond me, though.”
The Crown grinned at the news, watching the crates load in and the convoy beginning to pull away. He suddenly turned and headed down to the parking lot himself, the agent departing in the opposite direction, back where they came from.
Kalka quickly made his way to his own car, slipping into the passenger seat. The other occupants racked sat in silence as the driver gunned the engine, taking after the convoy at a casual speed. All of them had submachineguns- undoubtedly obtained from the black market.
They needn’t have driven far, for as they came upon Elna’s harbor front, the whole convoy was up in flames. The glittering waters reflected the burning wrecks as the car stopped a healthy distance away, Kalka strolling towards the scene as his men disembarked with him and followed.
The battle was already over- by the looks of the street, the whole storefront of the block had lit up with automatic fire the moment the cars’ trucks had exploded, gunning down those who weren’t killed by the initial blast. The attackers were combing through the wreckages, helping the locals put out the fires while their weapons still smoked from the holsters on their backs, acting as if the whole ordeal had been an ordinary affair. A few prisoners had been taken, lined up against the alley wall of some grocery store, the shoppers watching nervously as both men from Kalka and Mavli’s syndicates kept them pinned against the bricks. Those unwounded included a rather heavy fellow, seething as he saw Kalka approach him.
“So, Meyvari.” Kalka crossed his arms as he paced around the Yalka godfather’s back, smiling.
“Let me make something clear. I’m sorry you had to learn like this- I really am! But lessons are meant to be remembered- and I should think that this experience should shock your memory. The shelter districts are my territory, and mine alone. That means none of your boys in there, none of your fights in there, and certainly none of your disgusting pixie dust there either. Honestly, think of the children!”
“You’re a coward,” the other man interrupted, struggling against the grip of the other men. “You had less men than me, so what do you do? Enlist the Mistress of the Bay to do your filthy work? Blow up my men by swapping out our cargo while we’re busy? Shame on you. Shame on you. Stand up and fight with honor, you filthy rat. I hope you’re licking her sole.”
Kalka shook his head, unfazed. “And you’re superior by selling copious amounts of drugs to students who already struggle to feed their families? For what, your precious in-exile friends in Elenria Horizon? Or perhaps the royalists? But really, I should thank you. After all, you gave me some new friends!”
He motioned to the other men pinning down those beside Meyvari, releasing the other prisoners, their firearms returned to their hands. Others dressed in the Yalka family’s suits rounded the alley corner with their own guns in hand, side by side with their supposed enemies. The godfather’s face contorted with a mixture of shock and rage as recognized the faces of those he’d thought loyal until now.
“H-How? How? Is this some kind of fucking sick joke?”
Kalka laughed, his smile growing wider as he drew a revolver from his suit, pressing it against the other man’s head.
“Oh yes, my friend. And you’re the clown.”