caradoc 'ginger aragorn' dearborn (ex_blackswan62) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-04-11 01:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1980-04] april, caradoc dearborn |
RP Narrative: Caradoc Dearborn
Who: Caradoc Dearborn and NPC Dock-hand
Where: Random Muggle pub # 65465
When: Late night; 10 April
What: Caradoc gets what the Order needs.
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Sawdust and ground peanut shells scattered over the pub floor to soak up any revelatory libations poured out (intentional or otherwise) to the gods of the night; Caradoc’s patron saints, it seemed. Beyond the usual near closing-time commotion at the bar, he sat in the far corner and drew on a cigarette, letting the lacy smoke dribble from his lips as he stared at the rugged dock hand who sat across from him.
“Me capn’s payin’ a mite more for secrecy than your givin’ out, Sir,” came the gravelly, East London voice. “So’s if you’re gonna continue to waste my time with your measly bollocks then I think I’ll be havin’ my nightcap and be on my way.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Caradoc replied, giving the man the wolfiest of grins. “This is just the first quarter. I see the manifests and the corresponding docks; you get the other seventy-five percent.” As he observed the face across from his grow slack with greater interest, he leaned forward and bore holes into the other man’s eyes with his keen gaze. “But if you warn your captain or your mates, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. And you’ve talked to Joyce. You know what I am capable of.”
Ah, Joyce. Caradoc’s old friend and business associate who, for all purposes, had seen him at his best and worst. They had recovered treasures together – Hlathguth’s necklace had gone through Joyce to get to the museum – and had hidden bodies when the need arose. He was the best at intimidating potential business associates with gory tales of yesteryear; and he got quite the kick out of it, too.
“Uh, right, then – “and the requisite manifests were slipped below the table, crinkled and crumpled, into Caradoc’s waiting hands. Smoothing them upon the table, he took a quick glance through the items to be found on the two vessels and nodded, more than happy with his findings. The man hadn’t done him wrong.
With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and produced a sizeable pouch to toss between them on the clapboard table. “Alright,” he said. “Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Zane.” And rising, he slid those manifests into his coat pocket and melted through the crowd to be set adrift in the late-night maritime atmosphere. He found himself wishing that he had learned to sail; he could have been in love with the water.
That thought was, however, quickly pushed out of his mind. He had done the Order a good turn and wanted to share the information he had so expensively bought.