The bard winced inwardly at Draxton's grating play-on-words --
Ghastly, but at least it confirms
that this snake's been partaking of spell-based boosts to his sociability; anyone with a particle of real
savoir-faire would have better taste than to resort to bloody puns,
in mid-negotiation! -- but nods outwardly, in subtle acknowledgement of the merchant's code-phrase and the accuracy of Serd's reply.
Crow's first question had been meaningless stage-dressing, of course -- he had no doubts that this really
was Draxton Serd -- but his remark to follow, innocuous though it seemed, was anything but:
"So
cagey, even now, Master Serd...? Can't say that I blame you, given all the chaos those
party-crashers stirred up! Seems even in the best of company, there's always
someone -- and not always the someone you'd
think it is, either -- trying to cause trouble, rob a fellow blind, betray his trust ... pick his pocket, even..."
The bard's gaze had slid away from Draxton's as he spoke, as if caught up in a brandy-addled sideline of thought, and his hand drifted idly to his side, as if to check his own coat-pocket's contents remained intact. For a breath's span, creases of
outrage wrinkled 'Curwin's' cosmetics-tanned brow, and his eyes flashed in remembered anger.
The bodyguard's posture
stiffened, as the VRS spy's hand strayed near his pocket -- a reminder that Serd wasn't the
only player in this particular game, that goaded Crow to wrap things up expediently as he could -- and the bard aborted the gesture, shook his head as if to revive his slacking attentions, and peered again at the Richemulouise merchant.
"Too bad," he mused, both ring-adorned hands grasping for the table's edge, as if seeking stability after having misjudged the
palinca's potency. "If even
that much information is too much for you to reveal, then I guess we may not be able to come to an agreement, after all! Not if you can't even, say, show me at least a
sample of the wares you're offering -- the man I'd thought to introduce you to'll demand no
less, before wasting his time on the likes of us -- or speak any further of events that'd confirm you were there ... and
trustworthy ... that night."
The bard's masqued features showed the disappointment of a man seeing a potential fat
finder's fee dwindling into non-existance. Then he blinked, shook his head again, and looked speculatively at Serd.
"Don't suppose you'd be able to tell me anything
else about those
other party-guests then, either...? Like, say, how to get in touch with the folks, as
didn't leave by carriage, with the rest of us? Could be I've an interest in having...
dealings with one of them, not just with you. A query or two to
ask them, that I never got the chance to ask that evening, with them departing on their own.
"There was that redheaded
brain-doctor with the Demento accent, I remember
that one... and some smart-mouthed pretty-boy who'd hauled his damn
guitar to the party... then there's that chap who didn't know his limits,
Donovan-something I think it was... oh, and that bumbling Vaasi yokel who thought 'Chicken Gabrielle' was a bloody breed of
chickens, of all the fool things...."
Crow blinked again, gazed at Serd a little woozily.
"If you're not man enough to tell tales on yourself, merchant, maybe you could clue me in on
what happened to some of
those fellows, there? Just enough to get in touch with any of 'em, so as I can discuss a matter of ...
personal importance, of no interest to you, sir."
The bard's face goes blank and stiff, in emulation of an increasingly-tipsy schemer's imperfect attempt to conceal his intense interest. His hands tighten their grip upon the table's edge, knuckles whitening visibly beneath 'Curwin's' diverse collection of rings.
[OOC: Nathan wants us to wrap this up quickly, so let's avoid dice-rolling when we can just role-play it out. And in this case, Crow
wants Draxton to conclude "Curwin" isn't telling the whole story. Read between the lines, and he's 'accidentally' revealing that someone at the party -- one of the four men (Conrad, Crow, Donovan [RIP
], or Rosnel) who
didn't catch a ride in Buchvold's carriages -- picked "Curwin's" pocket, stealing an item of
extreme value to the smuggler! In fact, Draxton's use of Detect Magic will have revealed he's carrying an item in the pocket he thoughtlessly started to pat, to confirm it was still there ... an item the size and shape of a small notebook. Its aura appears to be layered in at least two abjurations, as if "Curwin's" not taking a chance on losing
this one to thieves.
[Looks like -- at least to Draxton -- this "Curwin" might well do anything the merchant asks ... smuggle Serd's goods, give up his contact's name for free, pay him off with magic items ... if it'll get his stolen notebook (no doubt full of incriminating secrets) back! Gosh, if Draxton has any idea which of those four suspects might have swiped it -- along with every
other book or document he could get his kleptomaniac mitts on
-- at the Manoir, he'd better contact that person ASAP: maybe they'll
sell him the means to blackmail the smuggler! Hmmm.... now, who does Draxton know of, who quickly took the initiative and made a list of all the loyalists' names, hence would have the four suspects' contact-information, if anyone does? Three guesses, alhoon, and if they aren't "Buchvold, Buchvold, and Buchvold", I'll be very disappointed in Draxton!
[Oh, and on a less-convoluted note, Crow's angling to at least see Serd's preliminary notes on the mummy's book, if the book itself isn't available. It's not an unreasonable request, nor does it breach his 'cover': another FoS member would want to get
some tidbits of arcane information out of such a transaction, not just cash.]