Prompt 10: Avail

The Drowned Winch was in its usual state for the evening. Quiet contemplative older sailors were sipping their drinks, some recording their thoughts. Perhaps for an inevitable memoir, or to send home to their family to remind them of their adventures across the sea.

The younger ones were drunk. Every kind of drunk. Stupid drunk, slumped against a wall and slurring every word that left their simpering mouths. The loud drunks had flocked around a table and were in the process of shouting sea shanties at the top of their longs. A few sleepy drunks were passed out face first on their tables, while a few others hand slumped onto the floor. All of them seemed to be having a good enough time.

Agatha Hargrave was here for none of them. Instead she was focused on two gentlemen sitting quietly in a corner. Her incorporeal companion had informed her of the pair earlier in the week. Niamh had simply told her out of idle boredom, having floated about Limsa Lominsa while Agatha had been spending days inside to come up with some sort of scheme.

A bit of idle watching had revealed the pair to be Garlean defectors. They had taken the opportunity to flee upon the Garlean's failures at the Praetorium, and had made a minor reputation among the locals by being rather open and honest about that fact. They weren't looking to repair past mistakes, and simply wanted to settle into a new life. Limsa Lominsa, with its rough going crowds already, had happened to be the perfect place to do so.

None of that particularly mattered to Agatha. What had interested her was that apparently they had spoken of a stockpile of crystals. And it just so happened that she desired a stockpile of crystals.

Her approach was swift, and purposeful. She drew up a chair and sat at their table with no invitation, and leaned in close so that she could whisper and still be heard.

"Gentlemen," she muttered, ignoring the look of annoyance the pair of them gave her.

On her left sat a roegadyn, a good deal taller than her. He was on the younger side, especially compared to the older hyur that sat across from him. The old man looked calm enough, and waved a hand at the roegadyn to hold off on drawing his weapon.

"Ma'am," the hyur said. There was a gruffness to it, but he remained polite.

"I do not wish to take up any more of your time than I already am," she said, trying to sound professional. "It has come to my attention, per some old reports, that you two know the location of an old stockpile of crystals." The reports were a lie, but a believable one.

The pair shared a look, the roegadyn in particular looking on edge now. The old man kept his cool, and leaned forward. He looked Agatha dead in the eyes as his fingers drummed on the table. "Aye, we might. Started hordin' 'em away from the local beasties so they couldn't summon eikons. What would it mean to you?"

"I've a need for them. There are those who are having issues with aether. I believe they would be useful to resolve such a matter."

The pair shared another look, this one longer, and much more communicative. The roegadyn nodded, and the hyur nodded in agreement. 

"We'd had similar thoughts," the hyur said. "I take it you have plans on where to distribute."

"I do," Agatha said, "Will you be here in a few days time."

"Here every night," the roegadyn said, seeming proud of the fact.

"Aye," said the hyur.

"Good."

And with that she stood as quickly as she had sat down, returning the chair to its point of origin. She now had her source, now it was just a matter of adding in the slight curve of acquisition. She wanted a confused trail if anyone would attempt to follow.

A third party would be required.

Prompt 9: Lush

Among the benefits of returning to Gridania was a night like tonight. Walking through the streets with her family, all of them dressed in their best, heading to what was, in her opinion, Gridania's premier attraction. She was certain that most tourists would have disagreed with her, and she couldn't care less.

Mih Khetto's Amphitheater was far from extravagant. The stands, the gates, the seats, the stage, all of it was relatively simple, especially when compared to a theater she had seen in Ishgard. And yet there was something miraculous about it. The acoustics, the soundscapes, all of it was superb. And nothing would ever win out over local theater in her heart.

She couldn't help but smile at the familiar routine of accepting the night's pamphlet, walking down the aisle to her family's seats, waiting with anticipation for the city's choir to fill the air with music. A more peaceful night couldn't have been asked for. A cool breeze passed through the theater, allowing the cloth roof to billow. The trees were beginning the transition into fall colors.

Her brother looked tired, but pleased to be present. Her mother had a soothed expression on her face, head rested on Frieda's father's shoulder. The crowd applauded when the orchestra finally took the stage. Frieda took in a breath as the conductor's baton rose, felt a wave of euphoria when music flooded the theater.

On instinct she readied herself to tap along with the beat, before feeling that someone near her was already keeping tempo. Turning to look at her brother, she saw his foot tapping along. She smiled even wider, nudging him ever so slightly. He looked away from her, but continued on. She leaned back to enjoy the show.

It was good to be home.

Prompt 8: Clamor

A bard had once told her of a clamoring mass of people, much the same as the crowd she was viewing from the upper streets of Ul'dah, in the most romantic of terms. The downtrodden rising up to claim what was theirs in revolt, waves of anger thrashing against injustice. The people forming into a single weapon of righteousness.

That certainly was not happening here.

The crowd certainly was out to claim what was rightfully theirs, but it was nothing so noble as to fight for their rights as an oppressed people. These were not workers tired of poor wages, no, this was far more terrifying. A crowd of angered gamblers who felt they had been cheated.

This was not the first time she had seen the streets of Ul'dah come to life, whether out of anger or happiness. Nor would it be the last. But it was certainly a sight to see. Winttrach leaned over a bit further to get a better view.

Merchants hurriedly picked up their stalls, leaving behind that which could be considered the least valuable. Which for some of the stalls, had meant items that could still fetch a hefty amount of gil, assuming they weren't destroyed in the process. The crowd moved without much regard for the stalls. If it seemed something was in the way, it was thrashed aside in a wave of people, which usually left something in pieces against a wall.

The few guards that had tried to stop the procession were quickly swept up in the crowd. Whatever authority they had on a good day, including the risk of angering the syndicate, was being ignored. Quite a few guards had found themselves caught up in the commotion, having lost their own bets on the fight from earlier.

The fight was rigged, as would be obvious to anyone who could make out the garbled screams of the horde. Again, not the first time Winttrach had seen such. She had been offered a similar bargain on more than one occasion, and each time refused. Never in her wildest dreams could she have put on the spectacle from earlier.

At best fixed matches were overdone theatrics. A put on bout that was made to look as legitimate as possible. Give those who weren't in on the trick the idea that everything was above board, allow them the show they want. Send them home thinking they still had a chance, even when there was nothing of the sort. She had seen those matches. Those where the clear winners were taken down at the last minute in a fight they should have won. It certainly wasn't honest, but if they needed the paycheck, who was she to judge.

This had not been that. This particular fight had been advertised across all of Thanalan. A risky maneuver for a rigged match, but not entirely unusual. The pair doing the fighting weren't so far apart in skill as to make either losing suspicious, though there was a clear favorite. An up-and-coming rookie, one not short in skill at that, against a grizzled veteran. The latter was meant to lose.

And lose he did. He lost in the most dramatic fashion possible. She had seen bards with less skill in theatrics than he who took the dive in Ul'dah's gladiator arena today. Each blow was treated as a mortal wound, even though no so much as grazed the veteran. The audience had sat there dumbfounded, herself included, as the match progressed, until even the rookie was left with his jaw flapping in the breeze.

When his opponent refused to continue with the bout, the veteran fell over with all the dramatic fair he could afford to give. Before the crowd could react, the veteran had sprung up from the ground and strode over to his opponent, and began wildly shaking his hand.  The rookie had looked from the veteran, to the crowd, and back, and bolted for the fighter's quarters.

Now the fruit of that labor was storming through the streets, and was beginning to round the corner out of Winttrach's sight. Turning back from the ledge, she started the long trek home. She gave it a few days before the rabble died down, though she was forced to wonder if anyone would manage to collect their winnings.

Prompt 7: Nonagenarian

 The viera's ears twitched as a drawer slid open. They twitched again when she overheard the sound of coins being counted. She didn't let it distract her from her work, and continued sorting out vials from her satchel.

Every now and again she made a few notes on a sheet of paper, or altered the label on a vial, but the bulk of her work was sorting. She had brought a small contraption for the vials to slot into, slotted out into a seven by four grid. It was a four week treatment of medicine she was still in the process of slotting in.

A midlander girl emerged from the small hut's kitchen, returning to the living room that Kodiana was diligently working in. The viera glanced up at the girl, who she reckoned was still in her late teens. Regardless of her age, she had a tired, weighted look in her eyes.

Placing the bag next to the vial holder, the girl offered Kodiana a tired smile. "Thanks for all of this." She walked over to a chair and practically collapsed in it, "Gran'll really appreciate it."

With a short nod, the viera finished her work. She tore the page from her journal, and offered it to the girl, who took it but didn't yet read it.

"All yer instructions'll be on there. Think it's pretty straight forward, personally, but if there's any problems, don't hesitate to ask me anythin'."

The girl nodded, looking down at the vials but not looking at them. "Right. Again. Thank you." She looked up at Kodiana, that tired look only growing, "Gran's gonna be 90 next month. Can you believe that?"

She nodded slowly, "Yeah? Be there 'fore I know it myself?"

The midlander appeared surprised for a moment, before nodding. "Your people leave for quite some time. I can't even imagine it."

"Neither can I, really, 'til I've seen it myself," Kodiana said, replacing a few items in her satchel.

The girl shook her head, "I just can't imagine living to be that old period. So far away so...Tiring." There was something in that last word.

The healer let out a sigh, "There any family around to help you with any a this?"

A long look took over the girl's face, "If there was, I wouldn't be here."

"Maybe ask around town. Plenty a folks in Gridania seem kind enough."

"Maybe so," the girl muttered, with the tone of someone who knew better. She shook her head, "'It's a pretty far walk', 'maybe we'll come visit next week'." Her head fell into her hands, "I hate this."

Standing up, Kodi made her way across the living room, and knelt down next to the girl. She already had a good deal of height on the girl, but now she felt even larger. Her arm extended around the girl, and she pulled her as close as she could manage with the arm of the chair in the way. "It's rough, I know it's rough."

"I just," the girl said, words starting and stopping abruptly through tears, "I hate it. I just. I want this to all be over, but then I feel terrible because." She gagged.

Kodi's head tilted towards the floor, resting against the girl's, "We'll get you through this. I promise."

Prompt 6: Extra Credit (List)

• Pick up order of gysahl greens. (KWEH! - the bird)
• Check in on patient from last week.
• Had to reset shoulder, idiot can't follow instructions.
• Left three vials of pain killer, recommended shot a night (do all of these people measure things in booze?).
• Wrote letter, left with postmoogle for delivery to Golmorre Jungle.
• Gave SPECIFIC instructions on where to leave it JUST outside the jungle. Can't say I didn't try, kupo.
• Gather herbs.
• Still need a few more to fully stock, cross off tomorrow.
• Restock potions.
• See above.
• Pay monthly rent in Lavender Beds.
• Check postmoogle again for letters.
• None.
• Go to market for weekly meals.
• House visit appointment at 5.
• Racist git, told me to get out the moment my hears poked through the door.
• Pick up order from the book store.
• Some stuff coming in tomorrow.

Prompt 5: Matter of Fact

The exchange was short as always. Which was far from the optimal way to describe it, as the person passing off the item was a lalafel.

Winttrach hunched over to press a sack of gil into the lalafel's palm, accepting a folder from his hand. Prying the seal on the folder off, she started leafing through the papers held within. After a few minutes of review, she glanced down at the lalafel who had conveniently just finished counting out his pay.

"How recent is this?"

He shrugged, running a hand through his onion shaped hair, "Probably a couple weeks old at this point."

"Do you know if the situation has improved at all?"

That got a derisive chuckle out of him, "Lady, nothing up there is improving right now."

Her eyes narrowed as she skimmed the page again, picking out a few details. Eventually she replaced the page in the folder, tucking it away into a bag. "I suppose I will not be traveling there soon."

Again the lalafel scoffed, turning to walk away "Unless you wanna carve a path through Garlemald lady, fact of the matter is you aren't getting to 'er. See ya next month."

Prompt 4: Clinch

 Knife met steak, fork met chunk of steak, chunk of steak met mouth. She chewed for a solid minute, eyes focused firmly on the clock on the wall for the entire duration. If she had to give Eorzea anything, it was that the quality of its food was absolutely sublime. The thought that this was considered low rate was impossible to fathom.

Brushing her white hair from her eyes, she leaned against the table, and continued her staring contest with the clock. Low rate as the establishment apparently was, she could do nothing but lavish it with praise. The food was intoxicating to her impoverished palate, and the staff had been more than accommodating when she had asked for a private corner. All it had taken was a bit of extra gil.

The same praise could not be given to the individual who was meant to meet her. They had been difficult to establish contact with, which was the nature of speaking to a thief. She was willing to dismiss that as the realities of her work. But that was where the difficulties were meant to end. Since their initial meeting, she had struggled to keep up the correspondence. Even establishing the details of this meeting had been difficult.

She stared at the clock for another fifteen minutes, setting her knife and fork on the table with an annoyed sigh, and raising a napkin to pat at her lips. Her currently incorporeal companion gave her the slightest taps on the shoulder, and she drifted to the hallway leading up to the private section. Someone was most certainly about to arrive. She could see the shifts in the hallways lighting, noticed the slight steps in the carpet. Even if the footsteps were silent, the signs were obvious.

"Do not waste any more of my time," she said coldly.

The raen emerged from her hiding spot in the hallway, grinning like an idiot. Her long pink hair shifted around untamed as she took her chair, and began digging into the steak that had sat there for an hour now.

Without waiting for her food to finish making its way down her gullet, the new arrival looked up at her contact, "When are you going to tell me what it is you wanna talk about lady?"

Bringing her napkin from her lap and setting it at on the table, the white haired woman took in a breath, calming herself from an outburst. "Now. And you shall not interrupt me, unless I ask you a question." There was no uncertainty in the words. Rolling her eyes, the raen motioned her to go on, loudly chewing with her mouth open.

"You are planning to steal something quite valuable," the white haired woman said flatly. The raen's face changed somewhat, looking more serious at the accusation, but any sort of response was cut off by the woman's raised finger.

"I will help you. You either accept my help, or you do not. If you do, you follow my plan to the letter. That is the offer. Do you accept it?"

The raen's face curled in offense, "Lady, I barely know you, and I don't need you to do my job. I don't even know your name."

"Angela Harkness," the hyur said flatly, leaning against the table. She didn't even offer the raen a moment to consider if it was an alias, "And you do. Else you will fail. You desire a rather expensive jewel, which is currently being toured around Ul'dah. You will try to steal it. You will fail." Again she slew the raen's opportunity to respond, "Yes or no. Answer now."

Sliding back in her seat, the raen clearly felt threatened. Her arms crossed, and she tried looking defiant, but whatever dismissive interest had been in her voice had vanished.

"Okay."

"Then we have a deal." 'Angela Harkness' stood, "I have supplies to gather, and will share further details with you at a later time. You will not make me wait the next time."

The raen nodded like a scolded child, staring at the steak on her plate, no longer feeling hungry. A chill ran down her spine as she felt a hand creep across her shoulder followed by what seemed to be high pitched laughter, long after her point of contact was long down the hallway.