World Tree MUSH

    As far as travel destinations go, it isn't one of Ivalice's garden spots.
    A stagnant lake and foggy mire surround the crumbling, broken ruins of a dead city. It was a glorious palace some four years ago, but after a sudden invasion by the Archadian Empire, the whole of the kingdom was destroyed in a cataclysm whose details are murky to this day.
    Roads are visible from above, but most of them are impassable where buildings had toppled. Bones lie mixed into the rubble; a chilling reminder that an entire kingdom was wiped off the map, and a chilling reminder that there were as many civilian losses as military.
    The Necrohol is very quiet, as befitting a mass grave.
    Thick fog shrouds the ruins and chokes its hallways. The Mist is so thick as to be visible, colours kaleidoscoping in the densest banks, lending an unsettling feeling to the area. It makes for most potent spellcasting, but it also twists the use of magick into a volatile and dangerous risk, as prone to backfiring on the caster as the target.
    A recent bill of mark offers the reward to anyone who can retrieve a certain jewelled spear from this place. The former treasury building isn't difficult to find, marked by shattered structures and broken masonry. Ornamental weapons, armour, luxury textiles, silver-minted currency known as gil, and still more litter the ground.
    Pragmatic folk acknowledge this place isn't worth plundering. It's supposedly full of monsters. Not a single piece of treasure is worth risking one's life, so some of the valuable stuff is still just lying around for the taking. The bill of mark had suggested the place would be empty but for monsters.
    That might make it awkward, then, for would-be treasure hunters to find they're not alone here.
    Up ahead in the ruins of the treasury chamber comes the sounds of... rummaging? It might well be a monster digging around in there, with the suddenness and violence of what sounds like things being thrown this way and that, tossed carelessly. It's pretty loud even in the sound-muffling Mist. On the other hand, the sound of cheerful whistling is very probably not a monster. It's surprisingly tuneful; an old Dalmascan folk dance with bizarre, halting measures that's way too cheerful for a creepy place like this.
    One can almost imagine the restless dead frowning at the intrusion. Two voices, very much mortal, occasionally interrupt the tune.
    "Save for me that brooch." A woman's voice, scratchy and smoky, exotic inflections.
    "Dalmascan silver." A man's voice, smooth, well-articulated, thoughtful. "Nabradian work, and that was wrought by a master craftsman. Small wonder it was in the royal treasury. Save those daggers, would you? The jewels on those hilts won't be a total loss. Some of these are missing..."
    "By your foot, sky pirate. The rest of the jewels. There."
    "Why, so they are," the man comments, cheerfully. "And the Mist...?"
    "It is tolerable."
    "Most excellent. We should have all of this sorted within an hour. Let's get to it, my dear."
    The whistling and the strange measure of the tune picks up again, echoing eerily in the dense Mist. So the conversation goes; a comfortable back-and-forth.
    Drawing into the Mist would reveal a young man of about six feet, short blonde hair combed back, wearing a white silk shirt, gold and olive embroidered vest, black leather leggings, and a rifle slung over one shoulder. He's busy sifting through the wreckage of a lockbox and its contents, presumably looking for something still of value.
    A short distance away from him, an even taller woman is going through a smashed container, sorting lavishly decorated ornamental weapons. She has a bow slung over her shoulder and a quiver at her hip, and something in the slouchy, liquid grace of her movements suggests she can handle that bow pretty well.
    One never quite knows what one's going to find when there's treasure involved.

    With all the visual clutter, Ryuunosuke has to send a couple of his heads out as drones to scout around. And using IR vision is about the only way they can see through this mess. Even then his visibility is likely not what it normally is. Definitely not a great vacation spot, no.

    Furthermore, whatever this Mist is, it's setting him on edge in a way few things do. It's making him nervous and jumpy, and that makes for a not-very-nice snek. Then again, Ryuunosuke's not generally 'nice' even at the best of times. It's hard to describe Yamata-no-Orochi as 'nice' in general.

    Even if he totally does the right thing most of the time.

    Of course, he's not stupid. Ryuunosuke hears whistling and rummaging, and isn't about to rush headlong into danger. He sends a drone instead. The drone is quiet, and the Mist is thick, so it might be missed by Balthier. Though Fran may hear a very, very quiet 'vwooooo-' in her immediate area if Ryuunosuke can manage to get the drone in. In the meantime, the second coming of Orochi sneaks near to the door, so he can see and act quickly if necessary.

Emily Nyx is certainly no stranger to ruins of a bygone era. The surviving inhabitants of her world call it the halcyon remnant. That said, it's been a long time since she's been in ruins this ... recent. She has a frown as she makes her way along.

Right now, she's in a form which looks like a Feol Viera: porcelain-skinned and golden-haired, with shorter ears than Fran's, although she's also only five and a half feet tall (not counting ears), and she still has her familiar glowing purple eyes and the face of a thirty-six-year-old woman. Maybe she's just a "hume with bunny-ears"? Does this actually matter to a shapeshifter? She's also dressed in a silvery-white robe which covers her completely from the neck down.

She pauses at the entrance to the treasury chamber, and breaks into a grin as she hears the banter within. She briefly inclines her head towards the drone, then walks straight into the chamber. "Finding anything interesting?" she calls out to Balthier and Fran.

>> SUMMARY[Emily Nyx] >> Caution? What's that?

     "Are you sure this is the place?" 

     The voice, one belonging to a certain Wolf O'Donnell of the infamous Star Wolf organization, asks after the location below as a flying craft near-quietly observes from above. His tone of voice has added depth due to the enclosure of the cockpit he sits within. The majority of what he sees of the ruined city are details displayed over instruments, panels, and holographic screens. 

     "That's the place, Cap'n. No doubt about it," returns a voice over his communications line. A single screen dedicated to comm visuals displays the face of a chameleon. "How's it look from your end?" 

     The gruff mercenary piloting the personal craft makes a face marked with a cross between disgust and unsurety. "Not good. There's no way we can easily get a group in here to hunt for the item in question." This statement is punctuated by a deep sigh as the one-eyed wolf person taps at a panel which has a flickering light. "That's odd." 

     "Cap'n?" 

     "Nothing important. I need Fionn to take a look at my IPS; make a note of it and tell the boys to stay on stand-by. We may need to come back later when we have better supplies, but it'll be worth the venture for what's being offered in return." A clawed finger flicks a few switches before gripping the controls. The craft's nose dips lower and it begins to descend. "I'll get a better look, first." 

     The lower altitude brings with it an easier to hear whine of engine noise along with the accompanying light guiding the oddly-shaped vessel down below one hundred feet to a standing hover. There is likely nothing that stealthy about this, either. "Bah, well, the reports were right, Leon. There's some kind of thick fog; I can't get much of a visual on anything." 

     From Leon's end, where the lizard is gathered with a small troop of tough-looking mercenaries on a staging ground ready to deploy if so commanded, he sees the image of Wolf on his screen as the lupine slides a Head-Mounted Display on with a blue lens covering the patch of the boss's left eye. "What, Cap'n? You think you can see through it with IR?" 

     "Worth a shot," comes a crackled reply. 

     Leon adjust his comms panel to try to adjust for interference. "Sorry, Cap'n, but I'm losing you for some reason." Whatever Wolf says after is mostly lost. Back on Wolf's end, he tries to mention that he's detecting faint heat signatures just outside the Palace entrance and that it could be leftovers from a scuffle. 

     "Probably a sign that other hunters are here for the same thing," explains Wolf to his companion despite the signal going fuzzy and not knowing. "I'm going to take a look myself. Keep alert. I'll signal if I need you. Wolf out." Before opening the canopy to the craft, O'Donnell first affixes a breathing mask over his muzzle just in case that strange fog has dangerous gases included, and then the top of the cockpit slides back. Wolf rises, steps out onto the wing, and removes a satchel tucked in behind the pilot's seat to throw over a shoulder. This bag also has a machete strapped to it. The lupine goes in armed further for exploration -- he always has his sidearm on his thigh. A signal given shuts the canopy just as Wolf leaps down to the ground; the craft rises up and away to reach a holding pattern somewhere above the city leaving the rugged pirate to survey the damage and enter the Palace. Clues of fallen creatures seem to provide a trail and heavy boots from the imposing figure announce in no uncertain terms the path being traced leading toward the position where others already seem to be.

    It's hard to imagine a monster whistling a folk dance tune from the neighbouring Kingdom of Dalmasca. Either it's another thief, or this world has some very bizarre monsters. (In actuality, this world does have some very bizarre monsters, but that's beside the point in this specific instance.)
    Both of the viera's tall, hare-like ears twitch until they're both pointing forward, as the woman's head snaps up.
    "Fran?" The man doesn't bother looking up from a tray he's sorting through, which has what appears to be jewelled place settings in it. Most of them are missing jewels where they've been cracked or broken; some are warped as though from extreme heat.
    "I hear..." The viera tilts her head, red-brown eyes sliding along the foggy perimeter of the Mist. "Something."
    "I doubt it's just the Mist playing tricks," he sighs, wearily. "Not on your ears." The sky pirate tosses the warped silverware aside, pushing himself to his feet and shrugging his rifle down. "Where?"
    Her eyes slide toward the direction of Ryuunosuke's drone, but it isn't quite specific. Her nostrils flare, as well. Burnt ozone. Machinery? Her head turns again, as though she were casting about for the specific location of the thing, ears twitching subtly this way and that to get a better bead on the electrical whine.
    To the machine's infrared, there are indeed two life forms, here; the taller of the two sports tall, hare's-ears atop the crown of her head, and seems to run a bit hotter than her human-looking companion by thermal imaging.
    No sooner has she nearly found the thing than her efforts to find it are interrupted. Her ears swivel straight forward to note Emily Nyx's entrance; Balthier glances over from where he'd been prodding at a pile of rubble with the muzzle of his ornate rifle. "Not half as much as to make this trip worth the trouble." Those hazel eyes settle on Emily, and his brief smile doesn't reach them. "And you, my dear, do not appear to hail from anywhere around this place."
    "Most assuredly not." Fran's red-brown eyes settle on the Greater Eudaemon, studying the other woman in dispassionate curiosity. It's the study of one warrior to another; the assessment of both threat and capability. Given the viera's wary body language, she has decided to err on the side of caution. "No race I have knowledge of."
    "Naturally. I suppose that means it's open hunting season across the vines. We've found our way back here, and so has everyone else." Balthier sighs, a flick of his wrist bringing the rifle up to rest over his shoulder in casual posture, but he's watching Emily Nyx's every move. "Welcome to what was, once upon a time, the Kingdom of Nabradia. I saw it, once, five years ago, before all of... this... happened--"
    That sure sounds like engines. Both Balthier and Fran exchange a look, and the viera looks up, to where the fog hangs oppressively, but it's the tread of heavy boots that seize both their attention, two pairs of eyes snapping toward Wolf's entrance.
    "Well, well. More visitors. That irritating shopkeep's bill of mark seems to have made the rounds, hasn't it?" Balthier asides, to Fran. She doesn't answer; she's busy watching both, now, and her ears keep tilting back towards the eletrical whine of Ryuunosuke's drone. There's a lot to keep track of, so she leaves the talking to her partner.
    "I suppose you're all here for the spear," Balthier sighs, reaching his other hand to hang carelessly off the rifle's muzzle.

    Ah, there are more people. More voices. And none of them sound terribly unfriendly. So Ryuunosuke takes the opportunity to reveal his position. The drones zip back to him, he reattaches them where they belong, and tucks it away against his spine where it belongs. Then he walks into the room proper, his hands clasped before him -- notably, in a position where they can be seen.

    He doesn't exactly look completely human either, with his slightly flatter face, the all-red eyes with the upside-down triangular pupil, and the odd seams running from each corner of his mouth to his ear. At least he's got all his heads/drones tucked away, so as not to make him look even LESS human.

    Hearing the mention of the spear, Ryuunosuke nods. "I am afraid it has," he confirms. "So it seems you will have a bit of company for this raid." Yes, he's familiar with MMO terminology. Part of him was a teenage boy in a cyberpunk world, of course he knows MMO terminology.

    Not wanting to get shot by anyone ELSE in attendance either, he offers a polite bow to the others assembled as well. "Greetings," he offers to the group at large.

Emily is ... well, she really doesn't seem like much. Really, in her current state, Fran could probably take her in a fistfight. She smiles and nods. "Emily Nyx," she says. "And I'm a shapeshifter. Greater Eudaemon, from a world called the halcyon remnant." She's surrounded by a glittery light -- or possibly actual glowing glitter -- as she transforms into ...

... what appears to be a female, black-haired version of Balthier. Except with a white shirt and black pants. She still has the glowing purple eyes, though. "And yes," she says. "I saw the posting as well, and I thought I should at least investigate matters." She still has the same voice; It's the same voice Wolf heard her use, too.

     Wolf O'Donnell isn't in a rush; that much can be said. Rather, the wolf man seems to take the time to enjoy the scenery. In this, what constitutes as pauses now and then to study details, lost trinkets and items, perhaps a kick to a fallen monster or two with a boot to take note of general shape, density, and cause of death, allows the fellow to learn more than what one can from just tracking a trail and hearing voices. How many steps does it take to cross each room? How many doors have been passed? How many obvious exits are in place? Which positions make for the best points of ambush? 

     The faint glow from the lens covering the wolf's left eye might be more immediately visible upon appearance, a technological presence that provides a boosted form of his normal heat and low-light visions in addition to motion tracking when needed, although his overall tall and extremely non-human presence likely becomes more defined as his bootsteps fall closer upon entry. 

     Hooking thumbs into his pants pockets, the scruffy-tailed lupine turns around to regard the entryway, the walls and ceiling, as he listens to people apparently playing nice. He chuckles softly, although the noise is odd from the mask being worn. It supports basic vocal amplification, so he can talk conversationally just fine, but it's still an obvious sound of wearing such a protective device. 

     "It's like one big happy scavenger family." 

     From the overall style of dress, this figure aims to create a 'bad boy' sort of appearance, no doubt, although it's hard to say upon first meet (for those whom haven't yet made his acquaintance) if this holds true in any fashion. The machete strapped to his pack is just as visible as the large blaster on his hip, as well. Some people prefer to give plenty warning? 

     "Tsk tsk tsk, using the same tricks on new people, I see," remarks Wolf as his slow turn about leads him to more direct engage those speaking. Cycloptic gaze is shifted from Emily to Balthier as if curious of which reaction this change might garner, but this glance also shows notice of that rifle. 

     Settling into a standing posture, thick arms crossing over his chest, it seems there's going to be some discussion on the matter of rights of acquisition, as applicable. He notably doesn't introduce himself. He simply observes.

    The sky pirate glances down at the rubble underfoot, toeing some of it aside and revealing another scattering of gil, the silver currency used no matter the country. He frowns, but he doesn't pick it up. Eventually his gaze flicks back to the collection of uninvited guests.
    Treasure-seekers. Of course there are treasure-seekers. Ever since that fat old bangaa posted a bill for the return of a Nabradian royal relic, he'd expected as much. There are plenty of things to find and to take out of the Necrohol of Nabudis. The overwhelming majority of those 'things' just happens to be 'bones' and 'rubble.' There are some things of monetary value, though. The glint of gil is visible here and there under the dust. Broken items are mingled with intact items; all sorts of valuable ornamental items, probably given as gifts to the royal family. Maybe some of these things even belonged to Prince Rasler Heios Nabradia before his own untimely death.
    "Hm." It's a thoughtful sound as Balthier tilts his head, eyeing his uninvited guests in feline disinterest. "I suppose introductions are in order. The name is Balthier. And this is my partner--"
    And I'm a shapeshifter. The words register a moment too late, and so both Ivalicians turn and stare, squinting, at the shapeshifting Greater Eudaemon. Now that... is really weird. "Fran, do you..."
    "Yes."
    "Is that..."
    "It is."
    "Why is that..."
    "The gods work in mysterious ways."
    "The gods have naught to do with this." Balthier's tone is disgusted and his expression looks like he's bitten into a sour citrus fruit. He shakes his head, flicking a hand at Emily Nyx. "Take that off. It doesn't suit you at all, my dear."
    Fran is too busy to actually comment, because now she is watching Ryuunosuke, Emily Nyx, and Wolf O'Donnell all at once. Her eyes and hear ears are both busy; the subtle movement of the latter visible.
    Balthier doesn't relinquish his grip on the rifle. It stays on his shoulder in a casual posture, but the way he's standing suggests that he could reach for it quickly indeed. His posture is easy but his hazel eyes are still; preternaturally still, and despite the obviousness of Fran's intent study, her partner is no less observant.
    He shrugs.
    "It's over there." The sky pirate points toward a crumbled wall and broken vault. "I've no interest in it."
    ...Really?
    That easy...?

    Ryuunosuke raises an eyebrow at Emily's transformation. "That seems rude, to take another's shape without permission," he notes calmly. "Particularly to then make changes to it." He of course, refers to the form of 'female Balthier'. Wolf's words get a bit of a smirk. "Well, one could reasonably assume we are all here for... similar reasons, if not the same one," he notes. "I am sure some arrangement can be come to, amongst us. We all seem to be reasonably intelligent people."

    He politely covers his mouth to hide the snicker as Balthier expresses discontent at his female 'lookalike'. But yes, the spear is (mainly) what drew him here. Though he does need to ask, "Oh? You would ask for nothing in return for it? Even though someone is offering a high price for it? Might I ask why?" Because people NEVER let easy money go, unless there's a reason.

Emily smiles. It shows faint amusement, but it's otherwise unreadable. "Hello, Wolf," she says. "Hm, yes ... I do qualify as a scavenger, don't I?" She chuckles at the 'same tricks' comment, and her grin almost looks cheeky as she shoots it directly at Balthier. "What can I say? He hadn't seen it before. The halcyon remnant just doesn't have enough opportunities for amusement."

And then the cheekiness vanishes from her smile as she looks Balthier in the eye. "I'm not 'your dear'," she says, with a hint of sharpness. Still, at Ryuunosuke's words, there's another glittering transformation; her new form is a six-foot-tall hume with long dark red hair and a midnight blue version of the robes she had before. "Although you are correct in that the gods have naught to do with me."

She gives no comment to Balthier simply pointing them towards where the spear is. She just turns her faintly amused grin at Ryuunosuke, and gives him a subtle nod. She didn't miss how easily Balthier was giving it up, either.

     The reaction so had is a very different one from what Wolf witnessed of Panther Caluroso's stunned silence upon meeting Emily for the first time during a leisurely shopping trip. This undoubtedly makes Wolf laugh. It is no passing laugh, either, but a hearty one verging on crossing the line into guffaw territory. He does not uncross his arms as he does this, although he does tip his head back a bit in genuine entertainment. 

     "So -you- are the Balthier and Fran I've heard about." 

     Much like his entrance, this biker-dressed animal person seems to be in no great hurry to explain, but it would seem that he's at least heard of the duo from others. At least partially. That's interesting, and, overall, not at all surprising when taken into context with the current job. 

     A slight cant of the head is given as the wall is pointed out, a busted-open entrance into a vault, and the response to each of the others present suspecting traps and treachery and questioning the logic of it leaves one particular path open to take: Wolf O'Donnell sighs and turns to walk toward the opening mindful of his step, although anybody that wants to stand in his path without stepping aside may get a bit of a shoulder in passing. 

     "Fine," says the lupine guy whose voice sounds a bit rough and aged. He may have had his name spoken, but that doesn't mean people will understand it's a name. "I'll do the honors."

    Someone is talking and a question is asked of him, but the sky pirate doesn't quite notice it, because he's still busy staring in disgusted bafflement at the shapeshifter so rudely assuming his form. Without permission, no less, as Ryuunosuke so tactfully points out. He looks distinctly displeased as Nyx looks to him with that cheeky look.
    "So glad to be of service," Balthier comments mildly, absently tapping the rifle's muzzle against the shoulder it leans against. "Seems I've struck a nerve, have I? Tit for tat. Best you keep to yourself, as far as that much is concerned. There are those here in this world who might be less welcoming of that sort of thing than I."
    Fran hasn't spoken yet. She's still watching pretty much everybody except Balthier.
    Why would he just let the spear go? Balthier cants his head slightly to one side, watching as the others question his motives. Now that the creepy distraction of a doppleganger is gone, he can think a little more clearly about the skulduggery afoot.
    "That wouldbe because there are more valuable things here than a jewelled, pointy stick... but only if one knows where to look." Balthier's response is nonchalant, and he blinks somewhat owlishly at the call-out from Wolf, turning to study the space pirate extraordinaire. "And you must be the space pirate fellow I've heard mentioned in certain circles outside of Ivalice. Wolf O'Donnell, was it?" He doesn't return his rifle to his shoulder, instead canting his head the other way.
    Despite his nonchalant posture, those hazel eyes are entirely too still; too calculating. He must still be erring on the side of caution. "I suppose you must have seen the bills papered all over Bhujerba. Or Archades, although I can't imagine you'd have much of a warm welcome there, even under the current regime." He lifts a brow, eyeing Wolf. "Pay the poster no mind. Besides, it's a terrible likeness. Completely wrong, you know. Those helmets must make the Judge-Magisters half blind."
    "Viera don't even have brunette hair," he adds, frowning. "The sheer ineptitude that went into that report is frankly somewhat insulting."

    Ryuunosuke observes Emily's newest transformation and offers, "The blue and the red set each other off well. Particularly in that they are both dark shades." Fashion advice from a millenia-old snake demon in a human body? Snake Eye for the Straight Guy? Or gal, as the case may be? He does catch the subtle nod, and offers a small smile in response, pleased that someone else picked that up.
 
    Well, since Wolf appears to be taking care of the spear, Ryuunosuke stays away. Keeps him safer in the likelihood of it being some sort of holy weapon or implement. He'd rather not have his hand burned today. Or get smited by a pissed-off god. Or whatever else happens in worlds where gods actually interfere in the affairs of mortals. He's pretty sure such a benevolent god would really not like him handling a holy weapon.

    Ryuunosuke notes the answer to that question and quirks a brow. "Oh? And where would one conceivably look?" There's not a single shred of patronizing in his tone; he's honestly asking. As for the bad likeness/report of Balthier and Fran? "On the bright side that means you have been too elusive to get a proper description. As in, much to quick for them. Physically AND mentally."

Emily smiles and nods, watching Wolf's retreating back. "Yes, quite the complete-lack-of-likeness, wasn't it?" she says dryly. "Their grasp of artistry is simply beyond anything else I'd seen since I left my homeworld."

She shoots Ryuunosuke another grin. "I've been working on my sense of aesthetics," she says. "There wasn't much of an opportunity for that in the halcyon remnant, either. I think I'm starting to enjoy this sort of thing!"

And then she pauses, watching the passage Wolf went through ... and then shrugs. "Releasing capacitor seals three and two." She's surrounded by three distinct auras, one silver, one gold, and one pearlescent; the gold and silver ones shatter, and the third fades away. She then wordlessly saunters down the passage after Wolf.

     "Well, it seems we've both heard of each other. But, posters? No, no. I had a client nearly flip out when spoken of in introduction with them fearing that I was some /other/ pirate named 'Balthier' with a, what was is, distractingly-gifted rabbit-eared sidekick? You nearly cost me a business relationship without even meeting you-" Wolf pauses at the entry to the vault to see how illuminated it is; if it's poor, it's no problem. No torchlight needed. 

     "Impressive of you, but I'll consider the reward for this partial payment anyway." Partial? Part of the reward or part of the payment 'owed'? 

     Is the wolf guy simply smug? Is he just that good at playing tough? Whatever the case, genuine or not, the tall gun-for-hire enters the vault and walks right over to where the spear rests, followed or not. No deviation. No slowdown. No feather-steps testing for trap panels or whatever else might be present. Wolf simply approaches and then reaches out a hand to pick the spear up and potentially test its weight and sturdiness.

    Thankfully for Ryuunosuke, there are no benevolent gods in this world. The Occuria are only watchers, and their interference is more subtle by half than the descent of a smiting fist. They act through mortal agents and the blood of the Dynast-King. No holy retribution for the serpent god, today. Rejoice!
    "Anywhere. In case you hadn't noticed, which I daresay you hadn't," Balthier adds amicably, "there is treasure strewn about the capital, much of it undisturbed where it lay. This place is too dangerous for the average treasure hunter or grave-robber. We'd taken care of some of the monsters on our way in, but they'll come sniffing back around for their fallen comrades, soon enough."
    Reaching down, Balthier picks up a coin, only slightly damaged. "Take, for example, the humble gil. Gil is recognised and used by every major political entity in Ivalice." He flips the coin with his thumb, catching it and showing the back of the coin to Ryuunosuke. "This, however, is Nabradian mint. It will never be struck again. There are collectors who would take advantage of that, or those bizarre souls who would pay a great deal of money to own a piece of something from the Deadlands." He returns his free hand to the rifle over his shoulder. "Next question...?"
    The posters? Balthier sighs a resigned sigh. "I'll not argue that there was raging incompetence at play, but actually, I suspect there may have been some degree of official tampering. On the other hand, I don't actually care enough to prove my suspicions one way or another." That means going to Archades, and he's not going to Archades unless there's no other choice. It's not as much of an instant yuck as having to cross paths with the famous Dr. Cid, who is no longer part of the picture, but it does mean crossing paths with Archadian authorities, and that's just not exactly bunches of fun.
    His hazel eyes flit to Wolf. A distractingly-gifted rabbit-eared sidekick? He and Fran exchange a look; one of those black-tipped ears swivels backward in dubious expression, on her part. Balthier doesn't guffaw -- he has more dignity than that -- but his mouth does twist in an expression of open amusement. "Is that so? I'm afraid that's your problem, not mine, but it's good to know that the leading man can still command an audience."
    "More of a... supporting role, really." No apologies. She's not really sorry so it isn't her style to say that she is. Instead, Fran lifts a stark white brow. It's the first she's spoken for some time. Her red-brown eyes sweep the assembled company, lingering for a moment on Wolf; her head tilts briefly, the motion is only accentuated by the way those ears lop to one side. Partial payment? "Oh...?" The temperature of her voice drops a dozen degrees or so.
    Balthier sighs, seating himself on tumbledown rubble, arms braced across his knees. He gestures impatiently towards the vault room where the spear rests, at about the same time Wolf takes it in his hand. It's a fine weapon, but it's obviously made for form over function. It's badly balanced for a weapon of its length, and that spearhead doesn't look like it's quite as sharp as a real weapon. "You can take that back to the fellow who posted the bill of mark, or you can sell that elsewhere. He's selling you short, you know," Balthier calls after the space pirate and the Greater Eudaemon, voice sounding almost bored. "That's not nearly as much as you ought to fetch for something like that. Try Balfonheim. Bhujerba. They're both open ports, which means they've both healthy black markets."

Emily follows behind Wolf, and looks the spear over appraisingly. "This looks like the kind of fake weapon a Eudaemon would conjure up as a prop for firing bog-standard lasers," she remarks idly. "Except that it's just been sitting around untouched for four years. Hmm."

She shrugs, and looks up at him. "Feel like splitting the money?" she says. "Or should I just follow Balthier's advice and start poking the ruins with a stick?" What appears to be a six-foot-long fireplace poker materializes in her hand. "Notwithstanding the ... atmostphere, it's been quite some time since I had the chance to do that." (Not that she's particularly looking forward to doing so, but shapeshifters have excellent poker faces.)

     While Wolf has basic sword combat training and is arguably quite deadly with or without a knife in close quarters combat, spears and polearms aren't really his thing. Turning about and whipping the spear upright to tap the butt against the floor, O'Donnell has the humor and presence of mind to flash a mockery of a guard pose for those that see, Emily foremost. ...it really doesn't work that well with his outfit. 

     "Yeah, I figured as much, but sometimes it's not about money. Sometimes it's about reputation. I think any of us would probably agree that, in the world of the business of acquisition and trade, reputation is what keeps your livelihood afloat more than sheer profit." 

     Wolf actually holds out the spear to Emily when she asks him about sharing, if only to NOT hand it over and create the potential to admonish any attempt to receive it with a click of the tongue and the wag of a finger. It would seem that Ms. Nyx is not the only one present that can be terribly cheeky. "Come on, let's go address the monster in the room. With everyone," he says softly to her, but due to the mask it is not in any way hushed. 

     Unless Emily objects otherwise, Wolf aims to walk back through the broken vault wall into the chamber where the others are. "So, I'm gonna ask, because it has to be asked," begins O'Donnell with as much boredom as Balthier might very well exhibit vocally, although this could all just be a bit of a test. "But..." 

     "What between you all stops me from walking out of here with this all on my own and keeping the full share to myself?" Also known as 'convince me why I should share'. He doesn't creep toward the exit or secretly (try to) signal for backup. If anything, he finds a bit of wall or rubble to lean back against to have an honest listen to arguments against. That seemingly monocular HMD-assisted gaze passes around through the murky air at each in turn...including Balthier and Fran.

    Leaning back on his seat of rubble, the sky pirate folds his arms, although he's still watching the others. Actually dropping his guard seems rare for this man, for all his amicable interactions. The stillness in his eyes almost approaches his viera companion, who seems much more a natural hunter than her hume partner. He must have picked up that quiescence from her, or maybe he's just naturally still and prone to careful observation.
    Reputation? "Indubitably." That's part of the reason why the gross incompetence of those posters aggravates him so much; the rest of it is just such gross incompetence to begin with. It's an affront.
    "By all means, poke at the ruins with a stick, if that's how you prefer to do things." Balthier waves a dismissive hand, even as he leans over to see what Fran's picking through. More of that jewel-handled silverware. "Mind that something doesn't come crawling up out of the ruins once poked, but that's the only warning you'll have out of me. I've no intention of rushing to your aid if you wind up over your head in this place."
    "It's called a necrohol for a reason."
    Sure, he and Fran have come here to plunder the place, but they do have a care about what they stir up while they're here. Discretion is often the better part of virtue, or at least the better part of profit. It pays to be careful in some places.
    "Nothing," Balthier says with a shrug. "It's hardly a loss to me. There are plenty of other places in Ivalice that have things of value. Neither my fortunes nor my reputation are in any danger, here, and it would cost me relatively little to simply walk away. On the other hand, I have no reason to stop any of you, either."
    Red-brown eyes follow the monocular gaze of Wolf O'Donnell, and Fran does make a point of making eye contact. She is aware of his study, the look seems to say, even as she watches him herself. There is a slight, almost imperceptible narrowing of those eyes. She holds her silence, though.
    "On the other hand, if you're actually threatening us... well. You are on our territory, such as it were, and I know things about the Necrohol that would make life terribly inconvenient for you." Balthier's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm afraid I don't take well to threats. The leading man is expected a certain degree of civility, but both my partner and I are perfectly willing to soil our cuffs if it comes down to that."
    There's a short pause.
    "Metaphorically speaking, of course, in Fran's case." Those flat, hazel eyes settle on Wolf. "Now. Are you /really/ interested in causing trouble, Mister O'Donnell...? It would be by far more convenient for you to cooperate. Who knows? We may be able to provide assistance to one another, in the future. I've an airship of my own, but more importantly, I think, to you: I have knowledge. Of Ivalice, of Archades, of Rozarria... now, your men can find things out for you, but wouldn't it be by far easier to rely on an inside perspective?"

Emily half-raises her hand to take the spear, but when Wolf pulls it away ... she breaks into a wide grin, and nods in approval. "I should let you keep it just for that," she says. She's clearly incredibly delighted with Wolf's attitude.

She nods along with Wolf and Balthier's banter. "I'm not too bad a combatant myself," she says, "and I can flee in a trice if need be. But in all seriousness, I meant it literally." She shrugs. "I have no objections either. I don't precisely need food, as others do. It's just a thing to occupy my time, really."

She grins at Wolf. "Although I do recommend finding the black market as Balthier recommended, just because I'm biased towards seeing the look on that bangaa's face that the spear went elsewhere."

    Ryuunosuke, who has kept silent up to this point, speaks up then. "Ideally things could be split. But, as was mentioned, there are likely other valuables scattered about. And if we do not make enemies of each other this time, perhaps we could work together in the future. The rewards of battling each other do not outweigh the risks here, I do not believe." He seems fine with just letting Wolf have the spear, too.

     Upon taking up his position in order to listen to what anybody has to say regarding the notion, his gaze having passed each by one at a time, Wolf takes up a more discerning task of really giving the spear a thorough look-over while listening. Fingers roam the length, inspecting for details of its creation, and winds up spending quite a lot of that focus around the spear's tip. Not being the most familiar with the artisanry of this World, it turns into a studious measure of pokes, twists, and turns. But why? 

     Any amount of attention paid, at least by Balthier or Fran, will probably pick up on Wolf's intentions immediately. The weapon appears to be mostly ornamental, so perhaps there might be a way to disassemble it in part. If not, well, that just makes things harder...unless the aging merc is relegated to using force in order to remove the spearhead from the spear itself. 

     "What, that's it? Honestly, I expected more from at least one of you." 

     O'Donnell chides, perhaps in darker reflection to Balthier and Fran's dislike of 'threats', but it becomes apparent soon enough, with a shake of his head, that he's not actually complaining that much about not having much contest over the prize. But...it does make the victory, as it is, feel a bit hollow. 

     There's something about the Leading Man's mannerisms that smack thickly of a certain chameleon he knows. As such, there are no raised hackles over self-referencing. The gray and white space pirate makes a mental note on the comparison. 

     "All right. Since everybody has been playing buddy-buddy since the moment I stepped foot in here, I'll play along. For now. I could use more money; we probably all could else we wouldn't be here. Unless...well, some of us might be here out of /boredom/," Wolf emphasizes without naming names but totally making it clear who he means, Ms. Just a Thing to Occupy My Time. "But I've got a group of people willing to help search and loot. You let me have the spear, and, well, I'll consider it payment for services. We can organize bringing them in, search, and my boys and I only count as one as far as dividing things up further." 

     Wolf sucks through his teeth, the noise of which is also amplified by his filtration mask. Another look is passed around.

    With a grunt, Balthier hops down from his perch, straightening the cuff of a sleeve with all the nonchalance in the world. By his posture one could forget that the sky pirates are surrounded by potentially hostile entities. He glances over to Fran, who leaves off sifting through more of the ruins, tossing aside her box of ruined trinkets. Most of them were broken anyway.
    "It is a poor sky pirate who seeks needless conflict." This time it's Fran who chides the wolf-man, shifting her weight to rest a hand on a hip. Her smoky voice is pitched low and even. "'Tis a waste of energy and effort."
    "I don't think Fran's too far off the mark, here." Balthier's languid observation is given as he watches Wolf fiddle with the weapon, trying to find a point at which it can disassemble. There doesn't appear to be one. It was forged just like a spear, only not as good! How convenient. "I have no qualms about putting you in your place if I actually feel /threatened/, but I'm not going to waste the energy in pointless display. I don't have any reason to."
    "Have at it." Balthier raises a hand in dismissive gesture. "I'm feeling sufficiently generous that you can have all of this. I have no interest in it; I've already found what I was after. Right now, going someplace considerably more warm and dry than this miserable Mist-choked hell-hole is sounding more and more appealing."
    Of course, as he says this, he's swiping the brooch and the knives Fran had pointed out, dumping them into a pouch at his belt. He's not going to leave /completely/ empty-handed. That would be stupid. "The spear is all yours. As I said before, I don't have any interest in it." He shrugs, and Fran automatically falls into step beside him, though she's watching the others all the way.
    He flips something at Wolf before he goes; something small and bright. A gil, from the floor; marked with the dead royalty of Nabradia on one side. Think fast. "Fran and I are sky pirates. We owe no allegiances to aught but ourselves. You'll have your battle sooner or later, Mister O'Donnell, and you'll find why my name carries weight in Ivalice. All in good time. No sense rushing anything."
    With that, the sky pirates turn to walk away, with all the nonchalance in the world.
    "What say you to a madhu or four at the Sandsea?" Fran inquires, half-glancing toward the hume.
    "My dear, that's the sweetest thing I've heard all day."
    Oh, right, there are still people back there.
    "Be seeing you," Balthier calls, languidly, without even turning to look back. "Enjoy your mark."
    Either he's trusting, confident, or both; although he hardly seems a trusting man. He can certainly trust the World Tree to force another meeting, though. That's just the way things seem to run. Maybe he's just incredibly confident. Who knows?
    For now, though, he's gone, unless someone moves to stop him or call after him.

    "As I said -- the rewards do not outweigh the risks," Ryuunosuke replies. In general, his thinking seems to be similar to Fran's and Balthier's here. Conflict leads to waste of energy and possibly injury, so why do it when resources are plentiful?

    Though it's probably also worth mentioning that his prior form was a lazyass serpent that drank to excess and slept hard enough that he didn't feel himself being killed.

    "Though if you actually do wish to battle..." he offers to Wolf, with a shrug. "I would say 'not here', else it may attract more monsters." He'd seen the dead ones outside, and monsters don't just appear out of nowhere.

    (Actually they probably do in the Mist, but... yeah.)

    However, Balthier seems to be taking his leave now, so Ryuunosuke offers a bow to the pair. "Take care, sky pirates," he offers. It's not a warning or a threat. Just honest-to-goodness well-wishing. He straightens, and then looks to Wolf and Emily. "Well," he begins, in a businesslike tone. "What say we see what the rest of this place has hiding? We should have some time before the monster population moves back in."

Emily snickers at Wolf's comment which is really obviously about her. "Well, if you want a fight, I suppose we can spar some other time!" she says, with carefully constructed cheer.

She smiles, watching Balthier leave. "... but, yeah," she says. "I'm not about to take unnecessary risks myself. You only have one life to live, after all. Be seeing you!"

But she's watching Balthier hard. There's something about his level of caution which doesn't quite match up with his seeming arrogance. Something to watch out for, the next time they cross paths.

She stretches, and shrugs. "Reapplying capacitor seals 2 and 3," she says; the pearlescent aura appears around her, and the gold and silver ones reconstruct themselves, before all three fade away again. "I'm game for that," she says to Ryuunosuke.

     The coin, as it flips through the air, is marked by a series of concentric yellow outlines that displays its path through the Mist. Well, at least to Wolf. This gil meets the broad meat of a gloved palm, stopping dead in the air as it impacts audibly with the padding, leaving fingers to curl over it to lock it into place. However, O'Donnell watches the exit made nonetheless by Balthier and Fran. He makes no move to stop them. He does, however, scoff and thumb off in their direction while passing a glance between the other two. 

     "Try to play nice and get told off for not playing nice. What do you make of that? Well, fine, arrogance only gets you so far, but we can keep going. I don't know this area, but I've got firepower and numbers, so it's an open offer, but it'll take time. Two down, our cuts are higher. But...if you just want a cursory glance around, go ahead. I can keep watch." 

     The tall lupine wanders slowly in the direction that the air pirates took, not exactly leaving just yet, but 'keeping an eye open'. "And, for the record, it's not about fighting. Surely you can't all be that dense. I wanted to hear some deals being made!" Wolf O'Donnell exhales sharply in what is likely a laugh, then follows this with a shake of his head before pocketing the coin. "But the lot of you just relented. That's why I tossed out an offer of my own."

Emily shrugs. "Fair enough," she says. "I suppose I'm not used to deals-as-such. There's precious little of interpersonal interaction beyond threats, where I'm from."

She grins, and turns towards the exit. "I suppose that's just another thing about the World Tree I'll have to get used to!"