#over drinks

He wove through the lightly packed room as unobtrusively as a wisp of smoke, never so much as brushing the sleeve cuff of another as he passed.

There was a woman seated at the far end of the bar who had spaced herself three down from her nearest neighbor. She was handsome - square shoulders, wheat-colored hair, and a thin patina of soot on her arms and clothes that  suggested a profession in manual labor. Her ale apparently held a good many stories to tell, as all her attention fell squarely on the half-finished drink. So much so that she didn't notice the darkly dressed man slip into the seat next to her until the woman behind the bar said: "Oh, hello, Mr. Derelict."

The woman beside Derelict nearly leapt out of her chair in surprise at his abrupt appearance. He affected a slight slouch in his posture, and propped an elbow on the counter so that he could rest his chin on his palm. From all seeming, he had been relaxing there for hours already.

Derelict donned a wry smile, white teeth sharp to a point threatening to show at the corner of his lips, but didn't yet acknowledge his skittish neighbor. "'ello, Arleen," he said, the cheer in his tone concealing a razor's edge, "'ow've you been?"

The barmaid returned the smile and drew out a pad of paper and a stub of a pencil, "About as well as one can hope! What'll you be having tonight?" She poised the pencil over the paper expectantly.

"Nothin' much, tonight, luv," he made a dismissive gesture toward the pencil and pad, "Just a dry martini for me - on the rocks, lemon, not lime - and then," he casually motions toward the woman beside him, "Whatever she's 'avin'." He finally tilted his head to turn his too-dark eyes on her, and gave her a small, encouraging smirk.

She stammered on the first few words a moment before collecting herself, and responded in a somewhat husky tone, "Another pint." She pitched the mug against her lips, downing it in a few swallows, then set it back on the counter and slid it toward Arleen, the barmaid. She scooped it up quickly and bustled off toward the bar proper.

Derelict's attention didn't leave the woman at his side as Arleen departed, and for several moments after. Just at the point one would get to "-ble" if speaking "uncomfortable" aloud, he breaks the silence, "So, Dawnin Farcast," he addressed her by name before asking for it, "From what I've been told, you've found yourself in quite the sticky situation, 'aven't you?" His attention roved up and down the woman - though his pupil-less eyes didn't let that show. He watched for any and all movement, especially for the unconscious sort - it was from those subtle twitches that he got his honest answers, not spoken word.

A shiver ran up Dawnin's spine as he spoke her name, as if someone had walked over her grave. She had heard plenty of rumors about this man - "the Shark; the Shadow" - but they didn't prepare her for actually being in his presence. Where others in the man's field of loan sharks, racketeers, and dons kept thickly muscled goons at hand to intimidate, Derelict illicited a sense of creeping anxiety by his presence alone. As if by simply showing up to meet him, one has already made a terrible deal with the devil under uncertain terms.

Dawnin's muscles tightened, and went slack again as she took a deep breath, "Yes. That's true," she answered stiffly, carefully calculating each word before she spoke it, "What have you heard of the situation so far?"

Derelict shook his head slowly, a helpless smile touching his lips, "Why don't you tell me your side, and we'll see 'ow much of it rings a bell to me." His obsidian eyes glinted dangerously in the low-light, "I like to judge me level of involvement on 'ow well stories match up."

The tension in the air tightened around the pair, and her mouth opened and closed several times as she hunted for the right words. "W-we ranch aldagot out Center-wards," She rushed through her summary as if she were ripping off a bandage, "but last week, some rustlers set up camp in one of the far side of our property. There's an old cottage and a lighthouse out there that no one's touched in ages, and they've turned them into a sort of fort!" She finally took a breath, then started again, this time less rushed, "It's like warfare with them - they come out at night, rounding up just a beast or two, then vanish with them. By the time we notice, they're already off to market. Then day comes around and they're holed up behind stone walls." She averted her eyes, staring sidelong at the floor as her voice takes on a melancholy hue, "It's impossible... We'd run them out ourselves, but..."

"But...?" Derelict implored, "But? But?" He had caught the small expression of unease on her when she had looked away, and he latched onto it, prodding the weak spot. Derelict considered comfort to be the foundation of negotiations, so when he found a place to apply pressure, he did so with a sadistic sense of glee. He found it typically sped up the path to the heart of the situation.

Dawnin's  sandy cheeks turned a embarrassed shade of red, "But... we can't exactly just /kill/ them, or even report them for that matter..." She trailed off.

"Because of that somnus you 'ave growin' in that western field." Derelict stated nonchalantly, picking up the trail.

The color drained from the woman's face and her jaw slackened in disbelief, “How did you-” she started, then went quiet, burying her hands in her lap and looking away once again. Her anxiously hopeful expression had soured into a sunken shame. “It’s all we can do to...”

Derelict held up a hand to stop her, "Say no more, luv.” By that point, Derelict had shifted his position to rest his cheek on his fist and elbow on the counter, watching as Dawnin went about her story. He wore the amused smile of someone who knows too much - of a fox who knows the combination for the lock to the hen-house. "Terrible shame - it really is,” he remarked idly, “so what you’re saying is that you need these ‘omewreckers tended to, and you need it done quiet-like. ‘ave I got the jist of it?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she replied with a silent but sure nod.

“Well!” Derelict declared, “Looks like you came to the right unscrupulous gentleman.” His grin widened to its fullest, pulled back to show a wicked slash of too-sharp teeth. That was what he’d been looking for the whole time: a clear description of the terms. He had just needed to allow her to work up close enough to the brass tacks, herself.

He adjusted himself, then sat up straighter in his seat, “Takin’ care of blokes like this isn’t easy, I’ll tell you that. Mean bunch - rowdy bunch. If things were to get too physical, you’d be right to expect it to be a big show.” He holds up a finger to point at his point, “So me solution would be to isolate them, cut off all escape, and, like I said, deal with ‘em quiet-like.” He brings his hand back to scratch his chin contemplatively, “Still makes for a bit of a problem what with it all bein’ on your property. Probable cause is a bitch, and we don’t want them threatenin’ your livelihood. Trust me,” he added, shadows casting a shade darker across his features, “I know ‘ow that is.” He was quiet a moment longer, pretending to contemplate an answer for the woman, though he had already made up his mind on the matter before he had even sat down with her.

“Listen: ‘ere’s what we can do:” he started slowly, but worked speed into it as he went, as if getting caught up in a new idea, “Why don’t you put, say, three acres of that land up for sale - now ‘ear me out, I know that’s family land and you’d rather not part with it, but in the end, it’ll all work out for you. You put up those three - ones at the edge that ‘it the two abandoned places and then leadin’ up to the main road. I’ll ‘ave m'boys snatch it up, and then we’ll take care of them on me own property. Then no-one ‘as a reason to set foot on your property, and whatever ‘appens there is none of your concern.” He spread his arms amiably, “You wouldn’t catch so much as a peep. Besides, that strip along that cliff edge probably isn't great for grazin’ anyway, is it?"

Dawnin chewed her lower lip, her hands fidgeting in her lap, “Not particularly, no," She admitted sheepishly, "He... might make that deal. But that’st just... so much bigger than we had thought, we don’t exactly have the money to be able to pay for something quite so... Big.”

With a flick of his wrist, Derelict brushed the notion aside, “I’ve been runnin’ the numbers in me ‘ead, and I’ve seen the old shack itself." His tone was innocently contemplative, "It's a spot I might 'ave considered pickin’ up anyway if it were up on it's own. Good location, good view, nice and far away from the noise of the city." He was quiet a moment, putting on a show of mulling the decision over. "Nah, I'll offer a fair price - your payment'll be this opportunity for me." He shot her a conspiratorial glance that he noted right away didn't seem to alleviate any of her tension - exactly as he'd hoped, "Not all business is done in coin, luv." He concluded with an oily sort of confidence.

He made a barely perceptible gesture - a flick of his fingers across the bar - and in a span of moments, Arleen hurried back over to them with their drinks in hand. Had he taken his martini with lime, she would have brought it back promptly. But the substitution for lemon gave the cue to not come back till he called for it. Now he wanted that glass in Dawnin's hand. This close to the final decision, her tiniest expressions would speak volumes, and allowing those expressions to play across a glass in her hands would be like printing it in bold text.

Derelict picked up his glass by the stem and gave it an appreciative raise and tip to Arleen, who understood it as "good work, that'll be all" and "it'll be a good tip for you tonight." The barmaid smiled brightly and offered them both a small bow in return before hurrying off again to attend to the other patrons. Derelict always considered it good practice to be good to wait staff. They were some of the best eyes and ears, and good customers got remembered favorably.

He turned his attention back to Dawnin, who had picked up her mug of ale and now held it between both hands. Holding it close, he thought, defensive, considering what would happen if she gives me an answer I don't like. He knew that patch of family land was a serious point for her and her father. He knew this because he had already tried to buy that space through an intermediary, and the old man had adamantly refused to sell. But it was the perfect spot for his purposes, and he was a persistent man.

Derelict let the silence reign for a bit longer - not willing to be the first to talk once the cards were on the table - and soon, Dawnin rested an elbow on the bar and switched the mug into one hand, swishing the liquid inside thoughtfully, then taking a gulp. There it is. Making the commitment to one hand, taking a mouthful and not a shy sip. He allowed himself a small smile, waiting patiently for her to declare the decision he already knew she'd made.

"I think... That my dad should be alright with that. It's not much of the land, after all, and would could use the money to cover the cost of the last aldagoats." He said, hesitant at first, but becoming more confident the more she thought it through.

"Exactly!" Derelict agreed emphatically, "Maybe even a little left over to spruce the joint up, if I've been readin’ the ledgers and askin’ prices right." He pushed more positives in to solidify her decision, and he watched as it all cemented in her expression.

Dawnin nodded hard enough to drop some locks of her sandy golden brown hair over her face, "Right, then. I'll let dad know."

"And I'll 'andle that messy paperwork for you both," Derelict said with a smile, his colorless eyes flashing hungrily, "Don't you worry about that. It'll just take a few scribbles in your end, and you can consider that band of baddies 'andled. Permanently." He added with a dangerous grin.

He would, of course. After acquiring the property, he'd let the thefts happen maybe once or twice over the next week, just to allow a proper tapering off, and them he would call his men back out. They didn't ask for much pay to take up that job for him - they had seemed strangely happy just to be doing it. It was why he was so confident it would all go over well - count on the people who love what they do, but know better than to do it for free. He'd expected to need to push this family more to get them to finally let up - he had dealt with sentimental types before, and usually they waited out till the circumstances were desperate before following his breadcrumb trail back to him for help. So, he was pleased with the results he had gotten after only a week. With the rustlers-for-hire's contract terminated, the "menace" cleared out, and the cottage open and empty, he'd be able to do what he pleased with it.

Enambris did want a seaside wedding, after all.

Derelict raised his glass in Dawnin's direction and gave her a knife-edge smile, like a cat with a mouse, "To good business."

Dawnin raised her mug to match, and though her voice wavered a touch, she agreed, "To good business."