[li]When the man grabbed his arm, Jack froze solid. There weren’t many faster than him and even among the Urchins, he was considered one of the best at pilfering. There was something odd about this guy. (at least odder than usual).
[li]‘Sorry Miser,’ Jack began but Sherman was already starting to cough and his grip loosened so Jack ducked down, ran a loop around his legs and shifted into the shadow of an alleyway. He didn’t go any further however. The man had made him curious and he still had an employer to please. Of course, he had no idea where that employer had gotten to but that only made matters a little more dangerous.
Watching the unfolding events from his inconspicuous perch, Waylander began to part his lips in what was half smile half snarl. The emotion of wanting the job performed as efficiently as possible was conflicting with the growing sense of excitement bubbling at his core. The urchin was undoubtedly talented, however despite this Mr Sherman had evaded his advance expertly and managed to keep his ‘fork’. In addition a cavalcade of characters were appearing despite the player being momentarily detained, making Waylander’s strategic web even more complex. The one delving in the shadows near Sherman could be an issue, or a resolution to a problem. Nothing was clear yet, which generally meant in waylanders experience that when things do become clear they also get messy.
Though knowing that the boy couldn’t have gone far, Mytana decided against following. The urchin had failed, and more interesting now was the mark.
Quietly, keeping an eye out for other potential threats, Mytana walked up to the gentleman and held out a handkerchief, to help clean up the blood.
As Sherman’s gaze went back and forth, it settled on the figure approaching him. And what was this? A handkerchief? How charming! "Thank you, my friend!" Jones quickly wiped the blood from his mustache and mouth. When he finished, he neatly folded it up and almost considered returning it before deciding to keep it in case of another accident. "Now, to formalities. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. I am Sherman Jones, at your service." He gave a deep, sweeping bow, as he twirled his top hat between his fingers before he stood upright, waiting for a response.[li]
edited by Sherman Jones on 6/26/2013
Mytana smiled politely, and dipped his head, before shrugging apologetically, shaking his head and gesturing to his throat.
Reaching into a pocket, Mytana handed the gent- Sherman a piece of parchment he kept for such introductions. In fine handwriting it said simply "I am called Mytana. I do not speak."
[li]
Jones couldn’t quite keep the surprise from his face as he read the note and handed it back to Mytana. But, just because his associate didn’t speak didn’t dissuade Sherman. “Well, that is unusual, to say the least! But I can do more than enough of that for the both of us! So, I don’t suppose you are here about the spiders, eh?”
Mytana gestures fairly quickly, keeping his expressions and movements simple. He had no more parchment at the moment and Jones didn’t know him enough to understand some of his more complex communications. I have heard about them. Are you?
[li]Jack watched the two people talking, or not talking as the case may be. He still didn’t come forward but resolved to follow them all the same, so while they were conversing he began making his way up to the roof tops where he could watch and tail them without being seen.
((A thousand pardons for disappearing. It’s probably for the best that I stay out, as I’ve taken stock of the far-too-many things occupying me outside of work.))
Jumping from roof to roof Waylander made his pursuit. Not of Sherman or the mute however, as he was certain that the urchin would perform diligently (if only out base greed) and besides, little could be done while their purpose remained clouded and Sherman had that ‘fork’. Instead this pursuit was of a possible alias in the form of an unfortunate zailor. A new disguise would be nececery to keep ahead in this increasingly murky job.
Puckeridge hefted his half-dozenth bar stool, and locked eyes appraisingly with another snarling docker. How long had it been since the last time he’d done this? Shroom-hopping has its place, but the bar-room brawl is truly the sport of kings.
But the fun, he thought ruefully, would have to wait. He was already bleeding. And he didn’t have time for a trip to the Boatman; not with such important business waiting to be done.
He went in fast and low - a trick he’d learned from the Bishop of Southwark - and, wriggling free from the sprawling confusion, stumbled towards the door. There was no point in subtlety now. Time to make the acquaintance of the inestimable Mr Jones.
It took a moment for Sherman to catch on, but he caught the gist of what Mytana was trying to communicate. “I am, as a matter of fact! It is quite the enigma! I’ve never heard of sorrow spiders that-” Sherman stopped his flow of words as the door behind him opened, and a cacophony of sound flooded the street. Puckeridge appeared, spotted with blood. “My good man, you appear to be leaking! May I perhaps pay this favor forward?” Jones exclaimed, procuring the bloody folded handkerchief from his coat, and reaching it towards Puckeridge.
"How… thoughtful," said Puckeridge weakly, eyeing the bloodied rag. Not the most hygienic of welcome gifts… but an ice-breaker, all the same, and a chance to weigh up his new companions as he tied it with elaborate clumsiness round his damaged hand.
So this was Sherman Jones. A touch overdressed, it must be said - with a demeanour suggestive of a life of wine and honey. Out of his depth, here in the docks? Or merely concealing his talents?
Safest to assume the former. "We shouldn’t tarry," Puckeridge warned. "You saw what they did to your companion. They’ll come for you in a moment. And for me too, I imagine." With a hint of suspicion, he glanced at Mytana. Who was this? Why was he here? And above all, what did he know?
Mytana watched the new arrival with some wariness. The fellow with the damaged hand seemed to know Jones, or at least know of him. Perhaps there was more to this than previously thought.
People tended to be more free with their knowledge when you played the innocent, though. Mytana had used that many times before. So he smiled in a friendly manner, and held out his parchment piece.
"I rather do like this suit, and bullet holes tend to take away a certain glamour… Very well, let us be off!" Sherman quickly unstrapped his rifle, brought it down to use as a walking cane, and set off down the street. "I am Sherman, and this is Mytana. I didn’t happen to catch your name, friend. But, I am currently searching for the source of the rather intriguing spider activities around these parts, if you two would like to join me. I can’t promise a pay other than the Player’s former share, but sometimes a good mystery is pay enough right?" Jones spoke fast, looking over his shoulder at the two behind him. "I’d say the first place to start would be asking one of the locals about those web-covered houses! It sounds promising enough, anyways."
edited by Sherman Jones on 6/28/2013
Puckeridge felt his heartbeat quicken, heard himself gasp for air. Spiders. No-one had said there’d be spiders.
Spiders? Jack wondered why they were talking about spiders? There was three of them now which really complicated matters but all he had to do was wait till the one they called Sherman Jones was on his own. Jack was good at waiting.
The unfortunate zailors uniform fitted like a glove, and his handy skyglass Knife would undoubtedly become useful if things continued to progress in the current direction. It was now time to find some where to wait and make an entrance when they pass by.
Sherman thought he heard a gasp from behind him. What was wrong? Did he have a button undone? But before he checked his suit, Jones turned a corner, and noticed a zailor in the alley way. “Ho there, friend!” Sherman called out to the disguised Waylander. “Might you know where one of those spider infested houses would be?”
The disguise would work for the moment, but to maintain the illusion he would need to perform.
“I know where everything is round ear for a price mate…”
This distraction would hopefully create a window opportunity for the orphan to do his job.