Chaos Precip

Jones settled down in front of the little cafe on a stone picnic table so pockmarked that she guessed it was from before the Solution. She set her bags - paper, oilcloth, leather - down on the table and leaned back with a happy little sigh. Shopping for a long voyage took a lot out of a girl, but she couldn't deny that she enjoyed the planning as much as the sailing. It felt good to be by the ocean with the salt in her hair. It also flt good to be wearing freshly-made trousers on the Theive's Guilds' dollar, but that was neither here nor there.

She drops a few coins on the table in front of the waitress to get herself a bowl of 'Gator gumbo and whatever passed for beer in this part of the world. She watched the street while she waited for Remy to meet up with her after he finished making his own purchases.

Clarice was...ignoring people. She was really good at that in fact, and since she'd opted to bounce out of the house with her hood down, well, there was some staring. And whispering whenever she cared to listen...but frankly, they needed a few supplies and the market was a wonderful place for them.

Plus it gave everyone a good, long look at the Organization people (or at least one of them) that had been announced the day before. She was suppose to meet with the Mayor later in fact. Even more important than the supplies though was a chance for everyone to have some space. It was important to provide opportunities for personal time, even in groups as small as theirs. Perhaps more importantly in groups that small. Now it was just TJ and Havelock in Bill's small house, hopefully everyone could have a quiet, relaxing day.

So, Clarice was smiling and strolling, and weighing prices...and letting people gawk at her. The smaller children were making a game of running up behind her and almost touching her coat, but she'd restrained herself from turning around and yelling 'Boo'. That never went over well and she didn't want the market crowd to get ugly on her!

Sometimes, you just need a vacation. Sometimes, though, you get caught up in the middle of a band of religious fundamentalists, lose most of your merch, and break your arm before fleeing your usual haunts and making off to parts unknown. The first thing Jones did, once she was far enough from the coast that she couldn't smell salt, was beg help off a Water adept to heal up her arm. With that accomplished she moved on via teleporter to a little place that one of her contacts said might could use her skills.

The place didn't look like much to Jones, not compared to the seedy glory of New Orleans, but she didn't mind. Much. As soon as things calmed down she'd bee out of here, anyway, and small and peaceful was what she needed right now.

The only thing she needed as a place to stay.

Some days, Jones thought she might have been better off staying in the Duty Town and raising a couple dozen kids. Today was shaping up to be one of those days.

She cursed quietly but creatively as she struggled up the on-ramp to what the signs call I-10, pulling a Radio Flyer full of homemade wine along behind. Every time the wagon hit a bump the wine bottles clinked with the threat of breaking, and Jones didn't trust the glasswork worth a damn. The superstitious morons in the 'Dome -- she could think of them as nothing else, despite years between her and the Science-worship of her childhood -- made some of the best wine in the Southeast, but they didn't have the first clue how to store it.

Too bad for Jones, who had to get it all the way back to her boat without running into thieves or spilling the goods all over the place. It had cost her dear -- the entire book of Job, a favorite with the religious groups still holding on in the South -- and she wouldn't see it wasted even if it meant taking all damn day getting back home.

Dear Mr Reese,

How are you and the rest of the town getting on? Somebody who was passing through told me the walls around the old cult came down a few weeks ago. Ain't heard anything else, so I reckon they're all dead.

Things are fine here in New Orleans. I finally got myself a room off the boat, though it's a sight to see! More rickety and filled with rats than the Erythrocyte ever was. It's dryer in wet weather, though, and the landlady says it's lasted through two hurricanes and a couple of chaos storms.

Business has been slow lately but I think I just got myself a decent job. If it all works out I should have some new stories to send for the kids.

-L.-A. Jones

Remy didn't often find himself with a free evening so to speak, being as how most the Thieves Guild were a nocturnal lot, but when he did find himself with time on his hands and no lady to help him spend it, well, he liked to play cards. A nice, friendly game of cards in the dim recesses of one of his favorite 'hole in the wall' bars. It was far enough from the water to avoid most of the 'tourist' trade, and patronized often enough by the Guild to carry a decent alcohol assortment.

They even had music most nights. Tonight there was a smokey, moody jazz band in the only well lit corner. Just the thing for a relaxing evening.

His table was mostly full and they were playing a high stakes game where cigarettes were the main betting tender. The group around the table wasn't even cheating much. Nothing like thieves on hand to keep men honest.

[Posted around New Orleans. Written in a neat architect's print but covered in splotches of salt water that make the ink ripple outward.]

JONES SHIPPING CO.
COVERING THE ENTIRE GULF OF MEXICO
FROM TEXAS TO FLORIDA
IF YOU NEED IT MOVED, WE CAN MOVE IT
NO QUESTIONS ASKED

FIND ME WHERE CANAL STREET MEETS THE RIVER
RATES NEGOTIABLE.