Open/IC Contact Post 2023 Edition

[cryptoherpetology]

Text overflow, PSL tags, IC death threats left on pretend doorsteps; s'all good.

Hit me with some RP we couldn't fit anywhere else right here.

Comments

[noreasonneeded]

[OOC: Let me know if anything doesn't work or needs changing! I'm also good with brackets if those are preferred.]

There was a particular scent in Ketterdam that carried from the harbor through the streets. The smell of humid rain and parching salt, of seaweed and too many bodies existing in close quarters. Even now there was a light pattering from the night sky, thick with clouds to blanket the stars. They weren’t needed, not when the city’s lanterns burned so bright. The so-called respectable districts might have turned in for the night, but the rowdy realm of the Barrel had only just begun. The rain never truly washed away the sins that sank into the streets, but it did clear footsteps so that one person might be interchangeable from another given enough time and downpour.

This part that Kaz was passing, this widening perimeter encompassing Fifth Harbor and now quite a bit more, was where Kaz had been staking his claim. The properties under the Dregs’ domain weren’t as garishly designed as most in the Barrel but still glinted with the promise of an evening spent as wrong as people wished, and places to sleep off any regrets. They were what one might expect to find in any large and financially lush city. There was a distinct lack of skin trade though, and no children either selling or purchasing drugs where the Crows laid claim. His territory had boundaries, and those who failed to stay within them found themselves floating in the harbor.

Tonight though he wasn’t merely a Barrel boss, not as he left east of the Geldcanal away from the Geldstraat. Notoriety had given him business far beyond Ketterdam these days, across the seas even, but his reputation was tied to certain rumors and staples that made it easy for him to slip past unnoticed when he wanted. Tales of Ketterdam’s devil made him out sometimes to be ten feet tall with fangs and claws hidden beneath his gloves, and his crow’s head cane drew more attention than the precise angles of his actual face or the color of his eyes. Tonight he’d gone undercover to scope out some prospects, and returned to snatch up his cane and change back into his familiar suit, a smirk on his face at how often people never looked past surface shadows.

It had been a long night. Nights. Days and years, really. Still, he didn’t think of resting. Miles to go, brick by brick. He merely drank coffee while heading to his office at the club. He had a visitor he was expecting to discreetly be brought in through the back way. Someone he had learned about through less than savory means, though not someone he trusted enough to bring into his office at the Slat. One of the merchers he’d been trying to take down for awhile now due to their ruthless underpaying of Kerch farmers and stripping of farmland resources to then sell for overpriced gains had, unsurprisingly, their fingers in many illegal trades. Including that of cryptid animals.

Kaz’s interest in the man’s investments wasn’t heroic. It was perhaps petty, but also prudent. If he could unseat this man’s position of power, he could perhaps take over his holdings. He might even become a silent partner in the man’s joint venture with some others on the Merchant’s Council. Pulling such strings put an even larger target on Kaz’s back, but the gains could be immeasurable. Ketterdam needed change, and he was prepared to ensure it came at the cost of those who deserved to pay.

Leaving no string to dangle, Kaz had found someone with far more expertise in cryptids. He’d vetted the man as best he could, enough to think it was worth having a talk with him about a joint job venture. Kaz knew his way around Ketterdam’s University District, and the book nerd in him had a love for the library found at the university even if he never gave himself the free time to enjoy it these days. He’d been tempted to break into the library on whimsy to hold the meeting there, but he wasn’t a man who acted on whimsy over practicality - sometimes spite, but not whimsy. A discreet meeting in a place he trusted it was, along with the promise of the other man remaining safe during it. Dirtyhands kept his promises, after all.

His office at the club was, much like the man seated at his desk, efficient rather than ornate. While Kaz dressed in expensive, sedate suits to present a mocking mirror to the rich merchers in the city, at heart he was a man who preferred to invest his money in people and projects over creature comforts. The desk, two chairs, bookcase and floor cabinet were of dark wood and functional but not new or trendy. The walls were also warm colored, though enough lanterns were lit to keep the room visible. There was a carafe of water and some booze on a stand, along with whiskey glasses. Local Ketterdam artist works hung on the walls, utterly legal as he kept those that weren’t hidden. Everything was incredibly tidy and clean, meticulously organized.

Kaz was seated at his desk, right foot resting on a small stool that was stolen many years ago, fingers steepled and deep in thought. His memory was such that he only ever had to write down what was needed to present clean books to his investors. When his guest was announced Kaz gave a single nod and rose to his feet. He was dressed in a black suit shirt, tie, pants, shoes, and gloves. His waistcoat was silver with black design, almost looking like little feathers. His left hand rested on his cane, right gesturing for the door to be closed. His body was tall yet thin, deceptively hiding lean muscle beneath the many layers. His face was a study in harsh angles seemingly made out of marble, hard to penetrate and sharp enough to risk cutting if touched. His gaze was intense and scrutinizing, even when looking at friends.

“Mr. Price. Glad you didn’t get lost on the way over.”


In Ketterdam’s city streets, there were many ways that could get taken. He gestured towards the chair on the other side of the desk. “I won’t waste your time anymore than I will mine. Have a seat.”

[cryptoherpetology]

[ It's all good.]

The fact that the man across from him addresses him by his family name, rather than his assumed one seems to confirm something, though he doesn't seem threatened by it. The twitch of a smile isn't quite relief, more like a mask dropping.

Currently, one of the universities agricultural research departments is graciously hosting "Dr. Piper's" presence and (mostly) funding a research project he didn't mean to become the de-facto head of, but scholars with his type (and quantity) of degrees usually choose to either breed or treat the maladies of mercher family pets in Kerch. In fact, to find enough scientists with the right kind of expertise, they'd had to import one from some upstart college that had sprung out of one of the larger settlements in Novyi Zem.

The coin for his actual living expenses mostly comes from part time work in the library and tutoring sessions for children, mostly focusing on the life sciences (on a sliding scale) and running cheap tours of the natural history museum. His habit of telling the wives and children of his employers about the exciting and decently if not exorbitantly profitable world of scientific illustration may be part of the reason that scale slides as much as it does. Well, that and leaving room on his calendar for family business.

Family business may not always be pleasant, but it tends to make up for the mess its lack of a need for formality, even if he still speaks Kerch with the kind of over-corrected pronunciation that polishes all the character off his accent.

He's shed off his usual tweed for clothes that seem to have been chosen to make himself look as boring as possible. Dark, muted shades of deep grey and very muted blue in loosely tailored layers that leant themselves more to practicality than fashion in a way that would probably let him fit in as easily with a crowd of sailors, farmers or hunters depending on what kind of unpleasant mess is meant to wash easily away. Only the neatness of his hair and the way he wipes the rain off his glasses speaks to the academic in him.

Evidently, there are at least a few parts of his assumed life that speak to his true nature.

"I've always had a pretty good sense of direction, and I've been here long enough to get around without much trouble."

His willingness to slide his freelancing scale down to accepting payment in pastries, one-pot meals and IOUs he has no intention on cashing in if he can help it from the kinds of families that normally couldn't afford the service may do more to keep his back safe in the Barrel than the pistol he'd willingly surrendered at the door likely does. That, and the sense to never wear or carry more than he can afford to lose. A good reputation prevents as many sins as it covers, in his mind. That, and the kids are a hell of a lot easier to teach, and taking payment in cookies helps keep certain parts of his life a lot quieter faster than the money would.

He takes the offered seat, ignoring the drinks as much for the sake of brevity as background, almost unconscious paranoia about being poisoned. He takes off his glasses to wipe them on his scarf, the glass lenses clearly thick enough to signal their necessity rather than being part of the "Dr. Piper" costume he wore for his various dayjobs.

"I appreciate it, and Alex is fine." His doctorate might be real even if the diploma wasn't made out to his real name, but he's never been one to correct people about the honorific, once again preferring to err on the side of being easy to forget. Going by his first, very common name also makes living two lives a hell of a lot easier for those moments people do remember him. "What is it that has you looking to do business?"

He doesn't bother asking how Kaz found out his real name. He'd made it known in the right places when he'd first got here and cultivated a few rumors of his own, but had otherwise kept his head down. He knows better than to look for the kind of trouble that just finds him naturally when he waits long enough. Maybe one day, he'll learn to pocket his curiosity deeply enough to walk away from it and be the first person in his family to die of natural causes.