World Tree MUSH

    There are realms aplenty throughout the boughs of the World Tree ripe for the picking. Whatever it is that one's heart might desire, it can probably be found, somewhere, for a price. Then there are those who operate outside the realm of the law... those who strike their own price on goods. Those who take them from others.
    Not all of them are heartless brigands, though. Some take only from those who can afford the loss. Others live for the thrill of the challenge, and targetting the bigger prey takes audacity and cleverness, not to mention a certain ability to improvise and roll with the punches.
    Needless to say, the sorts of scoundrels and pirates that populate some of these clusters of worlds, or pass through them, aren't really well-loved by most men of authority and law.
    The Strahl is one such ship. Sleek and smooth, she garners attention wherever she goes. Unfortunately, she garnered a little too much attention the last time she passed through a town. The ship is anchored out of bounds beside a very Victorian-like industrial town, far enough away from the city limits that it won't be noticed; but cloaked, only its anchor visible, and well-hidden between a jumble of rock outcropping at that.
    Notorious sky pirates Balthier and Fran had somehow gotten a message out to the crew of the Polar Vortex that they were interested in a deal. A business venture, of sorts. To come meet them, at these coordinates.
    It's here that the fastidiously well-dressed and cleanly hume crouches atop the rock outcropping, far enough to be away from the anchor but close enough that /they/ know it's in sight.
    The man has one leg hanging off his perch almost carelessly, magitech rifle across his lap. The setting sun picks out the embroidery of his gold-thread vest; the twist of silver in his left ear. Beside him, standing on the topmost rock and keeping watch, is a tall, dark-skinned woman -- a viera -- with stark white hair. She also happens to have peculiarly-arranged feet, for a hume, and the tall, piebald ears of a hare or rabbit. They swivel this way and that constantly, her red-brown eyes constantly scanning the horizon both near and far.
    Despite the woman's alertness, the man's bearing is relaxed and nonchalant. He doesn't look particularly worried about the possibility of ambush. Drawing closer, or perhaps spying from afar, though, there is a stillness in his eyes that seems a curious complementary match to the alertness and focus in his viera companion's. This sky pirate is no wet behind the ears pup; that much is clear at a glance.
    Hmmm. Curious. What could he possibly want with the crew of the Polar Vortex...?

    It really wasn't that hard to get word to the notorious Captain Rimehart, if one was willing to put the effort and patience into it. Not with the way she seems to revel in leaving little clues in the wake of her activities. Almost like she was taunting whatever local form of authority to try and come after her. Or potential business.
    Much like the crew of the Strahl the menagerie that mans the Polar Vortex knows better than to get too close to an urban area they don't intent to actually raise a ruckus in. But rather than come down to drop anchor the airship remained high in the atmosphere, where it's chilly ironclad hull and the plumes of frost and mist that swirl below her in a mimic of waves would 'cloak' it as no more than a lingering high altitude cloud formation if there was any sort of limited means of even detecting that high in the first place in this world.

    Renya had other ways of getting to the ground without the notice a massive airship would draw, and conveniently so since it also brought her enforcer along as a just-in-case precaution. The icy vixen was the only one that was allowed to actually sit upon Vex's shoulders, tails of her coat and her scarf fluttering behind her as the chimeratic beast swooped towards the designated meeting point. "Make an impression but don't scare em -too- badly," Renya comments to her ride while peering towards the site, then keys open what would be the equivilent to some kind of radio device. "Ye two hold position until we're sure it ain't no set up."

    "Aye aye Captain." 'You two' being the raccoon twins lurking somewhere between there and Vortex in a smaller gyrocopter style craft. One of their own creations, with Maven at the controls while her brother Magnum sat behind her and slightly higher up so he could aim past her with his guns if it was ever needed. "You hear that Mag?", Maven joked over her shoulder. "No shooting unless they deserve it." Making fun of her brother's itchier trigger fingers, to which he just briefly sticks his tongue out at her in return.

    Jets of aether are seen before heard, and with Vex coming down at a pretty -stupid- speed, it's clear that Renya has done this before seeing as she's calm in the face of the pair's descent. When Vex does land to a skidding halt, the creature allows Renya to step off before standing up to her full height of eight feet and change, due to her wings. She isn't going to say a lot, she'll just be over here, arms folded, scowling daggers at the hume and company. 

    There is a chance that there's a boarding vehicle parked somewhere behind the rock outcropping. After all, there's no sign of an airship, or any kind of ship, in the immediate vicinity that might belong to the pair of sky pirates.
    The hume is content to lounge on the rocks, somehow making it look both comfortable and resplendent. Maybe he's just that fastidious, but there's not even any dust on his impeccably tailored white silk shirt. Rifle balanced across his lap, he even has the audacity to fiddle with a cuff while the representatives of the Polar Vortex make their descent.
    ...Even he's got to admit that that's quite impressive, although he keeps his gaze bland.
    The viera has of course tracked the pair immediately. That's her job. The instant they're within range, though not yet visible, those tall ears wrench around until they're pointed forward, straight at the disturbance in the air. She watches dispassionately as Renya and Vex drop at unsafe velocities toward the boulder-strewn plain.
    "Think they'll crash?" This, distractedly, from the hume.
    "No." The viera is laconic, her inflections are strangely foreign; each word straight and to the point like the arrows in her quiver. "There is control, even if no appearance of such."
    "Mmm." He sighs, leaving off the cuff he'd been fiddling with. "Well. Best we get to it, then. I'd like to quit this place before I find even more sand in my clothing."
    "After you."
    Drawing himself up to his feet, the hume is a good deal lankier once upright, resting his rifle casually across his shoulder, his other hand hanging at his side. The viera falls into step beside him in silence, but her ears are still alert -- swivelling this way and that, listening to everything, even as her eyes are locked on... not Renya, whom she apparently trusts her partner to handle, but on Vex. There's no scowl, no glare. In fact, there's no animosity at all. There is only a simple hawk-like intensity; a singularity of purpose.
    The hume draws to a halt at a respectable distance, close enough to speak, but not so far that he has to shout. "Captain Rimehart, I trust. And...?" His hazel eyes flit to Vex, settling on the chimaeric beast. And who's that?
    If he's intimidated, he's good at not showing it. Both his hands and his hazel eyes are steady. His smile is easy, affable; an expression that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

True to form Renya acts as if not noticing the approaching fair, instead fussing with the presentation of smoothing out her coat and straightening her scarf to keep up appearances. But the sharply attentive would notice the angular ears jutting out the sides of her tricorne acutely turned in their direction. The impassiveness until Balthier speaks up is all a part of her act. As the greatcoat is flicked about and smoothed out it briefly flutters enough for the gun-like handle to be visible at her side but the heavy fabric settles over it before an actual identification of what kind of weapon it may be is easily made.

    With that she finally turns towards the pair, giving her collar one final tug upward and out to adjust it. "Aye. Ye be the ones summoning the scoundrel of the Vedrigris skies?" The vixen cants her head to the side slightly, then smirks a little at one corner of her mouth. Something in the casual mannerism yet steady gaze says more about the man than his limited choice of words does.
    "Ye can call her Vex." Renya just grins a bit more, and offers little more explaination than that. "Neither of us are foolish enough to not come without someone to watch our backs, after all."

    And for now, Vex is a pillar of stoicisim (sp?), as much as Fran is. There probably won't be much for her to say. Her gaze may flick between the pair, and even Renya, but little else will occur without provocation or order.

    Balthier glances casually over a shoulder, eyes sweeping the deserted plain. There's no one else here but a gathering of airship pirates and scoundrels of the skies. Once he's made a point of sweeping the place, his gaze turns back to Captain Rimehart, canting his head just slightly to one side.
    "Putting aside persons of a slightly less than lawful bent, I see no other living souls here, so yes, I believe it safe to assume that I was the one who sought an audience with the fair Captain Rimehart. And her, ah, hm. First mate. Bodyguard?" He squints sidelong at Vex, as though uncertain of quite how to classify the... whatever that is. Good heavens, it looks like it could have come out of Draklor Laboratories. Perish the thought. He gestures loosely to indicate himself. "It's Balthier, if you must know--" Nobody actually asked, and he gestures toward the viera. Her ears twitch indifferently. "--and this is my partner, Fran."
    Unconcerned, Balthier keeps his rifle balanced over his shoulder, either trusting in his own reflexes or his viera partner's. And partner she seems to be. There is not a whiff of 'superior' or 'subordinate' between these two. Their posture alone suggests--
    "Oh, I wouldn't be so crass as to say I must needs order others about for my own safety. I can look after myself." The faintest twitch of his mouth; not quite a smile. "Fran and I are equals. She is here, quite frankly, because she chooses to be, and I would not fain prevent her from doing something she wanted to do."
    He straightens, watching the two throughout his speech; there is an undercurrent of wariness, despite his easy, affable mien.
    "We've a business proposal for you," he continues. "I'm to understand most of our ilk frown on such ventures, but it will only serve to benefit both sides, in the end."
    Slowly and deliberately slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he folds his arms, casual for the moment, even though Fran has lost none of her alertness. His mouth twists again. "Can't hurt to hear the details, at the very least, hmm? After all, you're already here."

    Fran is given the occasional regard, but other than noting the ears could easily blend her in with their own world Renya has little to concern herself over, her attention remaining on the man. "Enforcer," she chips in confirmation. Bodyguard wouldn't be entirely accurate, that's only one of the things Vex does. Other than be an intimidating presence in general. And one of only two people that Renya allows to stand outside her chain of command and answer only to her.
    In contrast Renya was not one to stand entirely still. There was always that twitch of triangular black tipped ears paying attention, the faux casual swish of her tail from one side to another. The smirk had curled a little more at the 'slightly less than lawful' remark, but she was keeping her full flamboyance in check for the time being and the shrewd cunning that lurked under the ostentatious attitude showed a bit more.
    The twitching stops at the mention of proposal, one ear cocked at Balthier while the other leans a bit towards Fran as if listening to her, or more likely the sound of weapons being enacted if this so-called venture doesn't pan out. A cackling snicker does escape between her fangs though. "Thought I saw something familiar in that stride. Of a man seeking... oppritunity, aye?" She held her hands out partway in gesture. "By all means mate, do go on."

    The gyrocopter was maintaining it's almost lazy hover overhead, being designed to actually hold one position while aloft, something even the aerial skiffs and gunboat zepplins could not do. There was little to see, but something did have Magnum leaning over his sister to squint at the ground below with the eagle eyes of a marksman. "... Is that an anchor, sitting midst of nowhere?"
    "But no ship," Maven murmured back. "Could be a waypoint marker." A pause, and then she grunted softly. "Or a sailor's tombstone."
    Magnum just 'nnnngh' in response like he wasn't entirely convinced, but that wasn't out of the realm of possibility either. They'd had their fair share of crew that had requested being buried on familiar ground with similar, abiet less blantant, memorandium as a marker. Pirates were notoriously picking about such things... if one had kept the proper payments stashed to cover doing so.

    The sky pirate's head tilts now and again as he speaks, and he pauses every so often to adjust the lay of a cuff, or to let his eyes ever so casually sweep over the assembled company of scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells. Excepting himself and his companion, that is.
    Where Renya has some difficulty standing still, the hume does not. Eventually he settles himself light on his feet. The very lack of motion in his posture and his eyes are perhaps the greatest indicator of the seriousness of his offer. He's even toned down his own theatrics; true enough, it could be in part to accomodate Renya's own theatrics. It's hard to say. This one is a difficult one to read, this hume with the patience and stillness of a viera.
    "Only a fool passes opportunity up," he remarks, canting his head slightly to one side, fixing Renya with hooded hazel eyes. The last of the dying sunset glints off the twist of silver in his left ear; gleams on the gold-thread embroidery of his fine vest. He's certainly a well to do sort by the look of it. But there are shadows under his eyes to suggest just a bit of hardship; of repairs effectively made on a wing and a prayer.
    If he were a godly man, anyway. He is not.
    Balthier and Fran exchange a brief look, but only brief. Fran's attention returns to watching the assembled company. She does not glare at Vex, but she does watch, does observe silently.
    "I've a hold full of reappropriated goods. Archaeological salvage," he adds, shifting his weight slightly. "It's bound to be quite valuable no matter where it's let off. Gold would appear to be one of those commodities in high demand regardless of the world involved." His mouth twists; the faintest hint of a confident half-smile. "I've a few engine parts I may be in the market for. If you've something similar, mayhap we can reach a bargain; my chief engineer shan't have a problem making adaptations where necessary."
    "There's more where this came from. Such goods ought buy plenty of wine, or fine textile, or whatever it is your preferred expression of hedonism may be."
    Fran looks on, unblinking. Balthier, however, seems almost nonchalant by comparison. His smiles don't quite reach his eyes, though, and after a moment, both sky pirates' eyes slide toward one another, then back to Renya. One of Fran's ears makes a quarter-turn forward, as though she would be the first to hear a yea or nay.
    For now, though, they wait, tense.

    When it's all said and done Renya's first response is to bark (almost literally) a laugh. Something in the way Balthier words things, treading a thin line between what his goods are and aren't while avoiding certain common terms apparently amuses her. Particularly 'reappropriated'. The merchants of Deadlight's grey market love tossing around such terminology to avoid using phrases like 'stolen' or 'salvage'.
    Then she grasps the collar of her coat, a hand to the side, and gives it a good rustle, almost as if to shake off the moment of bemused laughter. "Ye be in luck mate, as I been looking for venues outside the typical plunder, swordsellin' and embarassing various militant institutions too full of theyselves." Her grin is toothy now as she leaned back into her more boisterious demeanor. "Certainly a manner of business can be worked out. Though as one can imagine I run the ship, not the one that makes it run. That takes a more... dedicated touch." Renya ends with a playful wink before half-turning and lifting a hand to her mouth and the device cradled in her palm as she mutters into it.

    A few moments pass before the gyrocopter makes its way down though with those long strong ears and the familiarity of an engineer Fran heard the motors and rotors well before then even with the machine being unusually light on the noise otherwise. The craft jostles a little as it settles on the ground and the rotors spin down, allowing the pair to hop down from the small aerocraft.
    From first glance it's not hard to tell the duo are twins, other than one being female they do look as close to identical as they possibly could. The difference is more in how they're dressed, as Magnum is strapped with multiple gunbelts and even a makeshift bandolier while Maven only has the one weighty toolbelt and what looks like a refurbished furnace hatch slung across her back in the same manner one would carry a shield. That and the way Magnum regards the unfamiliar duo with a stoicness not unlike Fran's, while Maven ambles over to the captain with a more energetic manner.

    Renya clamps one hand upon her tricorne and removes it to make an exaggerated sweep of her arm to end in a wave in the raccoons' direction. "Me own masters of all things mechanical, the Highjack Twins Maven and Magnum. If ye want to discuss engines, they be the ones to speak with." The hat is returned to her head after the gesture, giving the upturned brim a little extra tug to settle it properly betwix her ears.

    For the few seconds that it takes for the message to pass on and for its audience to process it, Balthier remains silent. He is patient in a way that his vulpine counterpart isn't; no idle gesture from him, no fidgetry. He simply stands with his arms folded and his breathing steady.
    He exchanges a look with his viera partner, but aside from that, neither of them seem keen on moving too much. As much as he's loathe to admit it, he needs this, if he's to keep the Strahl airworthy.
    She can't outrun any authorities without power to the glossair rings, a working engine, stabilizers--
    Balthier's acquiesce is as calm as Renya's is flashy, when she barksout her vulpine laughter. He does not exhale in relief. Musn't lose composure. Musn't blink in the wake of quite so many teeth. The only sign of approval he allows himself is a faint quirk of the corner of his mouth.
    No sooner has the gyrocopter shifted in the wind than the viera's ears stand stark upright, straining amidst the white cloud of her hair. She lifts her red-brown eyes to the skies, scanning until she locates it more precisely.
    "They come," she says softly.
    "I know."
    She looks at him with a flicker of what might be surprise in anyone else, lost as soon as the craft touches down. Her regard is cool and disinterested, but for the way her ears remain fixed forward. She's not just watching the craft and its occupants; she's /listening/ to it.
    "Interesting."
    It's the viera's only audible observation. Somehow between one breath and the next, her bow has appeared back on her shoulder, and her arms have folded much like her companions; like strange mirrors.
    "I'm afraid it would take a fair amount of time, most likely more than any of us quite have at the moment. I'll call down my chief engineer." Balthier reaches, very slow and deliberately, for his leggings; draws from one of the pouches at his waist a small communicator of some kind, pressing a button on its side with a forefinger. Its dim light shines green. "Nono. Get down here. Like the vengeful gods are at your heels." Hurry it up, moogle.
    It's not long before a small figure can be seen running around the outcropping, from the same direction as the peculiar anchor-shaft that Magnum had spotted -- yet there's still nothing there, and still nothing but a seemingly rusty-looking chunk of a poleshaft, caught fast among the boulders.
    The creature that comes running up is very obviously not human. He's a moogle; a small, fuzzy, winged, grey creature in an engineer's overalls, with a fuzzy pom-pom that dangles from his head. Those little wings look too frail to support him in flight, but he seems to do alright by running. His big dark eyes are obviously intelligent, even as he skids to a halt beside Balthier, staring at the gyrocopter. He takes a step forward--
    --only for Balthier to smoothly reach forward and hook a forefinger into the back of his collar. "This is Nono, my overly eager chief engineer. Ah-ah, Nono. First things first. This fine crew is interested in helping us with our little 'dilemma.' You've the information, I trust?"
    "Of course I do." The little moogle's voice is just a bit squeaky, owing to his size, or lack thereof. He sniffs disdainfully, reaching a tiny paw into his overalls and withdrawing a curled scroll. He waddles up to the Highjack twins, offering it. It's schematics, of a very loose sort, of a very generic type of engine that is not the Strahl's, because he can always adapt something generic to something specific. And giving something specific to potential competition is a bad idea.
    He waddles back to Balthier, standing on the hume's other side, and the trio look intently at their Polar Vortex equivalents. "Will that do?" Balthier asks, cocking his head faintly to one side, arms still folded. "I've information in there by which we can be contacted, as well."

One could almost mistake that as him saying 'No no! Get down here!'. But there is a certain inflection, even if subtle, given to names and as someone who's constantly dealing with such oddball monikers Renya seems to catch it. Quick enough that the first thing she does is hold up her left hand mainly to the chimera standing just behind her side. No Vex, that is not food. Nor really worth the effort of a predator even if he was. None which needs to be said, the hand signal in its own seems to be enough.
    The Twins eye the moogle in similar attire. At that one step that doesn't quite get made with intent it's Maven that almost reachs for the oversized wrench hanging off her belt, but in much the same way Balthier snags a moogle collar Magnum reachs over to grab his sister's wrist and lightly but firmly nudge it away from the tool that also serves as her main weapon and shakes his head a little. "Pardon her, she's a bit... overprotective."
    Which gets a snort out of Maven in return as she shoves him playfully with her shoulder. "If it'd been one of yer guns you'd done the same," she returns.

    But potential conflicts are swiftly forgotten as the schematics are offered, each of the twins grabbing an end to unroll it between them. Renya for her part just casually steps over to stand behind the middle of the pair, hands clasped behind her back as she leans forward to 'read' over their shoulders. For as much of it as she understands, the vagest of notions of general mechanics. When she said she ran the ship but didn't make it run, she wasn't exaggerating. "Well?"
    "It's almost.. too generic," Maven murmurs softly. "But we'd do the same thing with our work, so no surprise," her twin adds. Then both pause to peer at Nono. An unorthadox being even by the standards of their crew, but a dedicated machinist can see the spark under all the cute fluff and gringy clothing. "... Certainly he knows what to do with it." Which decides in a bunch of chittering back and forth between the two that's almost too fast and soft to really make out. "It will take a bit of time to sort out approximate equivilence in components." "But it can most certainly be done, especially if he handles the retrofitting himself."

    Which gets a simple "Ah" from Renya as she rights herself, and takes a step to the side to walk around the duo while they're still browsing and stride back towards Balthier. The flamboyance has become downplayed again, but it's still there in the swagger, likely already going through her head how she can turn this into one of her escapades in the process of handling business. "Aye, aye, as do I." A playful little flick of her hand and from nowhere (but likely up her sleeve) one of the personalized gold coins she uses as calling cards is produced between two fingers.

    No eating the chief engineer of the Strahl. Aside from the fact that his knowledge is greater than any of his fellow moogle brethren aboard the ship, he's all fluff and probably no substance at all. He'd hardly be worth the effort of catching; wouldn't even warrant a snack.
    Many have assumed moogles without agency or otherwise not a threat, but the charming little creatures have turned to other avenues to get by in a world like Ivalice. Quite a few of them have turned to magitech engineering. With their small size and attention to detail, their work surpasses even the most clever of humes. There's a reason the seeming captain of this troupe defers to the moogle in regards to his precious airship. There's only one other he'd trust with such a thing, and that one is already standing at his other side.
    "No offense taken," Balthier comments, congenially. "Nono has a habit of getting a bit carried away, at times. It's just his nature. Moogles are very... thorough."
    Yeah. We'll go with that, for now.
    Despite his occasional staring at the gyrocopter, Nono is actually paying attention to the proceedings with admirable restraint. He folds his tiny arms, too, the pom-pom atop his head bobbing and completely at odds with his serious posture. Those dark eyes are intelligent, though, and maybe even a little cunning, too. He'd dearly love to strip down that gyrocopter and figure out how it works just for the sheer fun of it. It would be so easy to improve it with magicite input and glossair rings and...
    Yeah, he's totally dissecting the thing with his eyes. Doesn't care.
    For his part, Balthier looks on as the Highjack twins pore over the schematics, chittering to themselves and commenting generally faster than the hume ear can follow.
    Yet Fran's ears are following. They twitch oh so subtly from one twin to the other, almost as fast as they're going through their rapid-fire exchange. Her red-brown eyes hood briefly.
    "It is generic," she confirms to the raccoon twins. "Fools would we be if we handed the Strahl's schematics to a stranger."
    "Nothing personal," Balthier adds, with a charming smile. "It's hardly a trial for Fran and Nono to adapt something from what he gave you. It protects our schematics, it serves our purposes, and you still get the loot. Everybody, ideally, goes home happy. Or at the very least, content."
    Hazel eyes snap to Renya, following as the vixen circles around the schematic-stricken siblings. He's gone very still again, still for a hume, still almost to match the viera at his side. The instant he spots movement, he's watching as she produces a gold coin from her sleeve, one brow rising almost languidly. An impressive little show of sleight-of-hand, but he would expect no less from the Scourge of Verdigris' Skies.
    He shifts his weight, folding his arms and leaning the other direction, a little closer to Fran. If Renya watches closely, she might see the subtle gestures and expressions that pass between the two. They communicate in a way almost as subtle and swift as the Highjack twins -- only there are no words, no telepathy, no strange and subtle magicks. There is only understanding, and years of partnership and familiarity to fall back on.
    'Should we trust her?' Quarter-turn of a piebald ear. Skeptical.
    'No choice.' Slight incline of head; slight shift of earring. Resigned.
    'Will they keep to their word?' Quarter-turn of the other ear. Skeptical; almost amused.
    'They will.' Slight shift of head, downward cant to chin. Confident.
    'How?' Slight tilt, the briefest eye contact. Skeptical.
    'They are as us.' Decisive.
    Balthier lets his hands drop to his sides, but slowly enough so as not to seem a threat. "I take it that trinket of yours is a calling-card." He eyes the valuable with a bland eye, as though bored, but the fact that he's watching every movement of it suggests he's not as disinterested as he seems. "Or mayhap a trophy from your last job, hm?"
    He glances over his shoulder, toward the darkening sky, and shakes his head. "While I might otherw

    He glances over his shoulder, toward the darkening sky, and shakes his head. "While I might otherwise love to stay and chat, the hour grows late, and I'd soon return to my ship. I've systems that need checking, and while I lack Nono's expertise, maintaining the Strahl is a group effort. I prefer to be apprised of my ship's inner workings."
    "If that will be all, we really ought be off, soon."
    Of course, none of them have actually answered the question of where the Strahl itself is hiding.

    That gets another short laugh out of Renya. "As they said, we'd do the same thing." The Twins were -very- protective of what made the Polar Vortex work the way she did. "Aye, everyone has their job in keepin things ship shape." The pun gets a groan out of Maven and Magnum just rolling his eyes, as they've likely heard that one more times than either of them care to count.

    "It is, it is." The coin is rolled through her fingers one last time before Renya flicks it to Balthier. She's grinning mischeviously. "Sparing a few dubloons is worth the bewilderment folks have at seeing a notorious pirate -give- coin away. We be in touch." Renya motions the twins to pack it up for now, before turning on heel and strutting back to were Vex has been sitting and doing her job in looming and glowering.