Difference between revisions of "The Breakfast Club"

Latest revision as of 12:50, 8 March 2013

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
Ramza Beoulve had not wanted to press upon the hospitality of the Twilight Detective Agency. First and foremost, they were good people that were helping him out when most people would have turned him in to the Inquisitors for the Bounty. Second, the longer he stayed, the more like the Church was to pinpoint him and learn of the Agency's aid. And last, he was deathly afraid that the antics of several of his comrades might cause them to rescind their offer of aid. He'd already had to dig deep into the treasury to repay Tifa for some damage caused to the stables. And by treasury, he meant a simple consolidation of the funds within their purses. Marlowe had gotten more than dirty looks from the Braves that night.

And so he had ordered that no more than three of them were to be present at the Cloud Nine at any given time. The rest were to stay at Traverse Town hotel. It sounded a prudent measure at the time, as the Inquisitors would be looking for a larger gathering, and they'd be less likely to cause damage to the establishment.

Right now, Gared and Sheryl were both chatting quietly at a table opposite to Ramza's booth, while Boco paced around the stables outside. The faithful fowl was not truly tied up or fenced in and would at times position himself to peer through the window of the Cloud Nine like some watchful guardian. And what was the diabolical super heretic doing at his own booth?

He was discovering the joy of waffles, with maple syrup and a smattering of butter.

To the side was spread out a map with the best approximation of the world as he could find. His cowled cloak was hung upon a rack at the door. His weapons propped up against where the booth joined the wall. In one hand, he was learning how to use a ballpoint pen. A clicking sound punctuating the silence every time he made use of the novelty. In the other, a fork.

Faruja Senra has posed:
Luckily, so far, the Church's eyes have mostly been away from Traverse Town. With so many problems for the holy organization to deal with, Ramza certainly has leeway here, as it tries to reassert itself in the world and grow once more. The number of actual Church personnelle in town at the moment are but a handful, many of whom are simply passing through. For one Templar Faruja Senra, it's on personal business. Luckily it falls under the category of 'save souls and kill undead abominations.'Handy category, that, when it comes to saving someone you love.

It's been a rough time for the ratling too, judging from the utterly exhausted look to him. Relatively packed as it is, the trio of Zodiac Braves manage a nice round of hiding in plain sight, the Templar stepping into the bar with a light clank of armor and swish of robes. It helps that they're on his blind side as he walks straight past them and to a bar stool.

A light frown forms on the rat's muzzle as he notes the absence of a certain bartendress, much to his dismay. "Ahh, Faram blast it all! Just when a body could use her friendly face...sod it. Now, now Faruja. The Lady is most occupied between the both of them, she is no maid at thy beck and call." Mutters the rat to himself, before forcing a smile to the tender on duty.

"My good Ser! If you would be so kind as to pour me a glass of rum." Pause. The barman's replay has the rat bewildered. Faruja's head tilts. "...Pardon me? How...How can any bar, nevermind Lady Lockhart's be bereft of /rum/?" That's right. Traverse Town has no rum. At all.

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
Gared and Sheryl had a talent for appearing nonchalant as they sized up Faruja. As auld and good friends go, the two were a match made in heaven and all of the Braves realized it except the pair. Deciding that the demihuman was a patron worth keeping an eye on, they raised their voices and began to chatter about a different topic as a means of alerting their friend in the corner. It was ultimately an unnecessary, though appreciated gesture, as Ramza was already well aware of him. Its not like he could miss him, after all, not with statements such as the ones he made. Feigning a casual attitude, he takes another bite of the waffles, then another. They were excellent after all. The presence of an identified Templar didn't change that.

If Gared and Sheryl had not been so good at their act, there might have been a horrified silence as Ramza waves the barman over. Their signal after all, had been a suggestion that they depart hastily. WHY WAS HE NOT LEAVING?

"May I please have another glass of milk, Ser?"

Why was Ramza Beoulve, one of the most wanted men by the Church of Glabados tempting fate? Perhaps it was because he'd heard much of this Templar already, and wished to take in his measure. His new acquaintances had suggested he was a good person after all.

Then again, it might just be the waffles.

Either way, the pair was now gesturing a little more emphatically behind the Templar's back.

Faruja Senra has posed:
The bartender, named James, looks up from dealing with the rather put-out Templar to gaze over at the patron in the corner. "Coming up in a moment!" he calls out. Turning to the Templar once more, Faruja sighs. "Fine, fine. Ahh, but forgive me. 'One of those days' as you humans say. Just a scotch will do. No, no, let me. I am up for a touch of company at any rate."

A moment later, a Temple Knight of the Holy Church is striding casually over towards possibly the worst Heretic in the last fifty years with a glass of milk in one hand and scotch in the other. Blame his poor eyesight, but upon walking up, he doesn't immediately recognize the man. Of course, there are many blonde short-haired persons in Ivalice and lands beyond. Between that, and quite a bit of fatigue and worry, the game doesn't seem to be up just yet. "Here you are, Ser, Lord bless you. Curious choice of drink if I may be so bold."

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
Whether his eyesight be poor or not, the Burmecian was not like to miss the armor. While it was rather indistinct and more pragmatic than what most soldiers in Ivalice would wear it still marked him as a warrior. Ramza took that to heart as he accepted the glass of milk from the Burmecian Templar with a gracious smile. "May the graces of Holy Faram be with you, Ser Faruja, was it?" He wasn't really being facetious, mocking or even ironic. He actually did believe in Faram. While he may have had a different name, and teachings before the time of Ajora Glabados, Ramza had no doubt that there was a god.

"Oho, 'tis a bold inquiry indeed. Is it really so peculiar that a sellsword might ply their trade with aught but spirits in his belly?" He stated this all in good cheer. He was used to the implied jape in the question, and it didn't annoy him in the slightest.

"If I might venture a bold inquiry of my own; what brings you so far afield from sacred Mullonde?"

Faruja Senra has posed:
The armor is certainly caught by the ratling, but he pays it little heed at first. When the young man before him gives an honest return of his greeting, Faram included, the Templar gives a smile that's nothing short of overjoyed. "My, my, my! Faith's flame doth burn yet! The very same. Have we met, my good Ser, or do my jaws simply run overly loud this eve" Pause. One ear tilts in that quizzical manner of his people as he tries to place the face. Something in the back of his mind kicks the rat in vague recognition. His tailtip tingles as though he's forgetting something very important.

Faruja finds himself smiling despite. Ramza Beoulve is a charismatic, likeable fellow when there are no stigmas of Heresy attached. Easing himself into a seat, he sighs a long sigh of weariness and frustration, sinking heavily into it. Chuckling, claw toes flex as the ratling gets comfortable. "Ahh, yes, I do suppose 'tis far easier to negotiate work when the room does not twirl about like a Cleyran dancer!" The Templar responds, rubbing his chin lightly.

"Plenty of work at that for a man of your calling, Heartless abominations stalk every blasted corner. Hmph, I suppose that is true anywhere in these dark times." Another sigh, and the rat shakes his head.

Tilting back his glass, the rat downs about half the double shot he's ordered before answering the young man. "Personal business." Pausing, he rubs the side of his head. "A...friend is most ill, and is bedridden. My superiors kindly gave me leave to see to her." From the concern in his eye, and the tone in his voice, it may just sound as though the person in question is more than a simple friend.

Letting out a small breath, the rat then sips lightly on his drink. "...Lord as my witness, truly, I must have seen your face somewhere." It's said lightly, in a mildly confused manner as he racks his exhausted mind for exactly where.

Faruja Senra has posed:
"Oh, but I forget my manners! Tell me, whom do I find myself so honored to share a drink and table with, hmm?"

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
Sheryl and Gared might have fainted dead away. Instead they were still talking mostly about nothing in subdued voices. Boco was nowhere to be seen in the stables. And the young man was sipping his milk, and eating at his waffles. As Faruja continues to speak, he rolls up the map and places it aside. It was not a surreptitious gesture. Everything he'd written on the map was in shorthand that'd take them a long time to decipher, and the intelligence they'd gather from it wasn't anything interesting anyhow. No, he put it away out of a genuine desire to be polite. He ignored the question inquiring about his identity at first, sure it would come up again. "Plenty of work, but I'm having a dry spell at the moment. I pay it no heed, for there will always be merchant wains that need protecting from highwaymen and naked steel required to fend off the Heartless fiends who nest within the umbrage as you say."

Ramza's expression is one of polite sympathy as he describes the plight of his friend. "That is most gracious of them. You have my condolences. I will be certain to include your friend in my prayers." He would too. While prayers were more difficult without the parrotlike framework that the Church instilled into every youth, Ramza still found the time to craft his own. Not as much as his brother Zalbaag did, for faith's /flame/ burned brightest in him amongst the Beoulves.

Ah that ever so important question, it'd already come up again. He had half a mind to tell him, to see if the Templar would be half as reasonable if he knew that he was sitting across the table from Ramza Beoulve. While tempting, he thought better of it instantly. The odds were against him that he'd be willing to do aught but attack him the moment he heard his name. "Fain forgive my manners. No, we are newly acquainted, though I heard you speak your name to the barkeep. I admit to being aware of your reputation though, as a fine example, and champion of the Faith. Truly I find myself at a loss, for you should not feel honored to share a table and pleasantries with a common mercenary. No, it is /I/ who am honored that such a heroic figure would notice me." A chuckle, without even a touch of anxiety. He meant every word that he said. Ramza didn't consider himself a hero after all, and did not receive praise as graciously as he ought to. He tended to deflect it upon others.

"My name is Barbaneth Lugria, a man of Gallione stock, from the Magick city of Gariland and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." His sole lie. The first name of his pseudonym. While Barbaneth was like to be a rather common name in Gallione after the hero of the Fifty Years War, and Ramza doubted his father would mind him taking his name; it was still a deception that he misliked. Another piece of waffle found its way into his mouth as he awaited Faruja's response.

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
While the barkeep was dithering around the bar, Ramza waves him over, stating. "Ser, another round for my guest. And another plate of waffles, with a slathering of cream cheese across them. If he's to put more fire in his belly, then repast would serve him well." It was a gamble that he hoped would not offend. Either way, more waffles were coming. If the demihuman mouse did not like cheese, then it meant more waffles for him.

Faruja Senra has posed:
Nor does Faruja pay too much attention to the map. After all, the man's already admitted to being a sellsword, the Templar would hope the man would have one! Real sympathy added on top of the young man's charisma have the ratling nodding, a clawed and gauntleted hand cross the air. "Thank you. Please, do so. She is in need of them. The Lord looks most kindly upon such naked generosity." His voice is low, tightly controlled. It must be grave indeed!

Sip. The rat swallows more alcohol, looking quite quick to drown his worries. With so much deflection, humility, followed up by compliments, Faruja quickly finds himself liking the man, as far as first impressions go. Oh, if only he knew! A small laugh escapes him, the first real one in a few days. "Oh, come now! You've manners, Faith, a silver tongue...and I mean that kindly, mark you...and are good company. Admittedly, as a rule, I much prefer regular soldiery to mercenaries. However, 'tis best never to sell a person short I think. Mayhap but a few months ago I would be less amiable to sit beside a person of such a calling. Time changes anyone, nezumi, human, or otherwise. Even occasionally sees fit to teach we stubborn mortals a thing or two!" He'd never imagine he'd fall in love with a darkness-using werewolf, after all.

A snort escapes him, and the ratling leans his head back. "My, my, my. What /ever/ would Lady Flay and the rest say at that? Faruja Senra, 'Runt', 'Sparky', 'Longears' with a /reputation/! Oh, times have changed indeed." It's said mostly to himself, remembering his old squad fondly. To Ramza, he gives a pleased smile. "Strange to have one's reputation preceding him, this is truly a first! Have we an acquaintance or two in common, then? Lady Lockhart perhaps?"

"Hero? Hardly. Naught more than a humble servant of the Lord and soldier. Speak to me of those whom sold their lives against true evil, be it in Manhattan, Ivalice, Burmecia.../they/ are the heroes, sacrificing themselves for the sake of friend, family, and stranger alike. We whom yet draw breath must look to such valiant souls, and pray that we might one day be worth half as much as they."

Taking in the name, the ratling nods, leaning back in his chair. He feels almost relaxed, as much as he can be with heavy thoughts still in the back of his mind. Including that itching feeling of knowing the man's face! The name doesn't strike too many bells, common as it is, and him being not native to Ivalice. "Well then, Ser Lugria, allow me to propose a toast to the brave fallen, hmm?" Faruja raises his glass, swallowing his drink after clinking Ramza's own.

Cough. A smirk comes to his muzzle, as food is prepared. "Ahh, I picked the correct table indeed! Much obliged, good mercenary, I should eat indeed." A shake of the head. "Hati would kill me otherwise." No offense, from the sounds of things. He quite likes cream cheese.

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
Sensing his distress, Ramza actually reached across the table to briefly put his hand over Faruja's. "Have faith, Ser, and not just in Holy Faram who is assuredly already watching over her. Believe in her. For your belief will give her strength. I have seen belief in one's friends accomplish miracles, and I have no reason to think otherwise of her."

His hand slides away politely, afterwards, for with men it is not often allowed to invade one's personal space for long. "Mayhaps you give my common blood too much credit. Always have been I told it makes naught but a common man. And here I sit in front of a Champion of St. Ajora's faith. It is a humbling experience which lends credence to it." A sip of milk, as a long, thoughtful pause occurs. After he wipes away at his mouth, he continues. "And yet I cannot feel aught than as I do. We are not our names, nor our blood, but the sum of our actions. Wouldn't you agree?" He thought that Faruja might, as he imagined that any surviving nobles of Ivalice might treat him as a lesser being as well. Faruja's reflection upon his old squad brought a happy smile to Ramza's face. "They do change with each passing season."

The young man nods. "I've taken my repast here once before. The Lady Lockhart is a fine and virtuous maid, and I am fortunate to have met her in passing. Another young lady of Lionel stock named Minerva Alaire spoke well of you. What she had to say of the dashing Burmecian Templar might have brought color to your cheeks, as a man of honor, I swear it!"

Ramza laughed heartily as he spoke of Heroism, such that it startled Gared and Sheryl. They quickly recovered and began to converse, for the fifth time on the finer points of Chocobo breeding. "Good ser, that is what the /best/ heroes say. Deny it if you must, but I know true gallantry when I hear aught of it. It is a good man that does not stand idly while innocents suffer. And while you are correct, many paid a heavy price in the fight for their homes and there are many unsung and forgotten tales of heroism; the living need heroes such as yourself to inspire them. Never think otherwise."

As Faruja raises a toast, Ramza does the same; though it might have passing strange since he was holding a half-full glass of milk. "A toast then, to the brave sons and daughters of Ivalice, Burmecia, and Manhatten who gave their all for their homes. May we rout the fiends responsible, and return our homelands to the glory they had in the days of yore." Well, the days of yore being before the worlds merged, at least.

"Well then, what are you waiting for? You should take the Lady's advice, else you're like to stall her convalescence."

Zeke has posed:
What's that smell? For those familiar there's a sudden.... Rum-like oder to the air just as the door opened. However given all the rum has seemingly gone missing from /THE ENTIRE CITY/ this is probably noteworthy.

The person walking in, contrary to the salt and rum oader wafting from his clothes is perfictly sober. In fact his soberness is in sheer defiance of his rather piratical outward appearance (Long Billowy coat. Check. Great bloody awesome hat? Check. Sword on one hip gun on the othrer as well as more guns elsewhere 'pon his person? Check.) Zeke smiled warmly when he spotted Faruja. "Preperations are almost complete. Though I doubt we'll need her long enough to warrent Davis has rigged us a way to convert sea water into something drinkable." He sounds... Excited. A grin childlike in it's earnestness is plastered there and would be even if he hadn't spotted Faruja. "Even better it takes water from the bilge and makes it actually useful!"

Faruja Senra has posed:
Waffles! A waitress delivers Faruja's food, and he digs in. Politely, of course. If there's one thing many Burmecians are known for, it's manners.

Faruja doesn't move away as a hand is placed to his own, having been in far too much contact with a certain wolfess lately to be bothered too much. "Quite. She is strong, stronger than myself I would wager. A mere cur.." He stops suddenly. "She will live." It's said with absolute certainty, but with an odd edge to it. Whatever's going on, there's a story there.

When blood is mentioned, the Burmecian frowns slightly. "Bah, what is /blood/!? Naught but words, I say! Whomever told you such a thing should have their tails tied about the muzzle methinks! You speak truly, Ser Lugria. Far too often, in Gaea in Ivalice both, this concept of blood casts a person in chains to station. Or worse, made a leash to yank about the ignorant and innocent like some pet!" There's deep bitterness in the rat's voice that he can't quite hide. Seems he's had personal experience with the concept.

A wave of the hand, and a small smile. "However, with the opening of worlds, my heart sings with the promise of a better day ahead, Lord willing. No matter the darkness we face."

A nod at the name of the lady monk. "Ahh, good and valiant Lady Alaire. Interesting woman, rarely have I seen such dedication to the martial arts outside of Burmecia's own monks, tough as a Bangaa at that. Never my forte, I prefer a spear over my bare claws and teeth. Bah, but ignore me, lest I drag us down dark roads of conversation. Too much of that all around these days. She does me far too much honor. No more than any other of my calling would. Now, the High Templar, or perhaps Ser Foll..." Abruptly, he stops. Best not to finish that thought. "Many a brave Templar, may I one day be half as worthy as they."

The rat pays little heed to the others, too focused on Ramza. Still, he can't help but occasionally squint at the man when he thinks Ramza's not looking. So familiar...it's starting to really bother the rat. Thankfully drinks, and delicious waffles, are slowing down his thought processes.

"Oh, bloody hell, cease! Worse than her, I shall be red in the ears and she shall believe me off flirting or somesuch." Indeed, his folded back ears are quite red. "Mmm. You /are/ correct on that however. Promise me something, hmm, oh dear sellsword?" he starts, before looking Ramza in the eye.

"Never go against what thy heart knows to be true and righteous. That, and that alone guards us from stepping away from the path the Lord wishes to walk. Then, truly, even a common farm nezu, or simple human soul can claim to approach something so grandiose as 'heroes'."

Sniff. Sniff sniff. Faruja deftly finishes off his drink, before standing. He knows that smell. "My good, dear, /valiant/ Captain. All well and good, and indeed we shall be off once things are settled here, but do tell me something Ezekiel Fawkes."

Standing, he walks over, peering at Zeke with his drink still in claws.

"Where /ever/ has the rum gone?"

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
The young man hadn't expected quite as fierce a reaction as that. Now there was a distressing thought. While Ramza meant everything he about blood and station meaning naught compared to deeds, there was an edge in the Burmecian's voice that reminded him of Wiegraf, of Milleuda and their loathing for nobility. If the Templar learned the truth, then Ramza had a feeling he would pursue him twice as hard based on his heritage alone. Swallowing his waffles he just continued to smile and nod in as Faruja affirmed what he'd just said, despite the bite to the words.

As Faruja speaks of Minerva, again he gives his affirmation through his body language. He'd had the same impression of the woman. But when Faruja speaks of the High Templar, and the others of his order, Ramza's expression briefly darkens as if the cheer has faded from his life. "Ser Faruja, methinks you are twice as worthy as they already." It wasn't idle flattery, he knew of whom he spoke. Still the good cheer returned to his smile and face, as if to lend credence to it being just that, flattery.

Ramza actually belts out a hearty guffaw at his reaction to the flattery. "For your sake, I will cease speaking true when it comes to complimenting your gallantry. I would not want the good Lady to mistake your humility for gallivanting." As Faruja demands a promise of him, he nods gravely, his expression somber. "Ser, I could do aught else than to be oathbound to such principles. On my father's grave, I do so swear it."

And then Captain Ezekiel Fawkes enters, the likely culprit to the Missing Rum mystery. This might have troubled Ramza if he didn't have a big ol' glass of milk in front of him. Yes, this was one hardened campaigner, to be drinking milk in a tavern.

Gared and Sheryl continue their game of feigning nonchalance at their table as the privateer comes in and shows familiarity with the Templar. Their conversation full of idle pleasantries and meaningless small talk just continued as they watched a catastrophe in the making.

Ramza Beoulve on the other hand, took it all in stride, his voice and smile one of good cheer. He was actually in fine spirits, despite the situation, and that frightened the onlookers most of all. "Ser, you didn't tell me that you were expecting such august company." He then addressed Zeke. "A privateer of your caliber is always welcome at my table. Can I interest you in some fire for your belly, or some of the finest repast that this establishment has to offer?" He meant the waffles, of course. Though if Will were here, he would have insisted it was his Black Pot suprise. While he may have sounded overcomplimentary to a stranger, Ramza was in fact sincere in his words. He'd always had good experiences with sailors, and never considered them boorish company. "Might I venture to ask what sort of voyage is forthcoming for the pair of you?

Zeke has posed:
Zeke looked a mite bit embarassed before ordering a plate of waffles, sausage, eggs, tea, fried potatoes, toast with blackberry jam, and a baegle.. Only after he finished ordering did he look first from FAruja then to the other patrons and gave a small sigh. "I... Kindof am at fault there I am afraid Ser Knight." He grumbled soft before elaborating. "See given where we be headed and it oft being better t'go in and leave without ever drawing blade I figure a wee bit of... Help would be in order to keep the locals pacified." Then hastily he added. "In addition I thought it might help make them more open to future negociations if aid is needed. After all while Many are deserved of punishments for preying on the honest folk of the sea others have been forced into such life, and the current troubles of the worlds as well as Becket's own ambitions coming to the forefront have made them band together. I trust many of their sort more than I do trust those of the East Indie Trade Comapny." He looked about, still embarassed. Did he just say he /trusted/ pirates?

"What?" He tried a bit of pre-emptive defense. "I've known a few over the years and I'd wager given half a chance and the opprotunities the opening of the worlds offers there would be a great many that would at least make the attempt at going honest." Sure there'd be plenty more wanting to go terorrize new seas and shores just for the fun of it, but at this point. He flet Company and Crown needed a swift kick to the back of the head.

"A priveteer?" Zeke laughed soft. "Nay lad nay. Just a simple merchant shipping goods and persons wherever they need to go." While that is what he preferred to think of himself as he has had to take arms far more often as of late. "It's merely the situation and times that've forced me to take a more protactive approach to dealing with threats." Handwaggle. "That and th'fact under most situations I trust me own judgement on the ground moreso than any standing orders from On High. After all just because someone thinks yer bein shipped int a warzone an a den o theves doesn't mean if ye find out it's a village forced t'take arms t'defend themselves from eldritch an shadowed beasts of malice does not mean ye blindly shell them to kingdom come after all."

Faruja Senra has posed:
Faruja's otherwise warm gaze darkens at Ramza's words about his fellow Templar. That scratching in his brain tugs all the harder. Quickly, he smiles again, though it may seem slightly forced. "Hardly." The rat responds, even as suspicion colors his voice ever so slightly as things start to come together. But luckily enough, there is a Captain to distract the rat from finishing his thoughts.

A tail swats Ramza on the armored back as he goes to better greet the Captain. "Excellent, excellent! We need more men and women of Ivalice, I swear. Near to Burmecia's own, or at least as humans can get I say!" Some of his warmth floods back into his voice at the oath. One made, and one Faruja will remember.

"My, my, my, and Lord bless the surprise! The company is /well/ worth acquiring. Ser Lugria of Gariland, Captain Ezekial Fawkes, the finest and most pious merchantman ever to grace this Templar with his presence!"

Sigh. A hand rubs the back of his head. "Oh, bah! Well, 'tis well worth it. I drink too much as it stands at any rate." Wince. Faruja is pointedly trying to not think of how much that cost.

Snort. Clearly there's a point of disagreement between the two. "A pirate is little more than bandit at sea. Forgive me if I find little sympathy, thy own company excluded. I do suppose 'tis difficult when men such as the good Governor remain in positions of power." A shake of the head. "However, 'tis hardly my forte, Burmecia was most safely landlocked. I defer to thy greater experience in the matter, dear Captain."

Faruja hmph's lightly. "Admittedly, there is always a touch of housekeeping in any organization that needs doing for just such situations. 'Tis why...correctional offices exist." Otherwise known as the Office of Holy Inquisition, in the Church's case.

At Ramza's question, Faruja glances to Zeke, then back to the man himself. "Something of an operation. I am afraid I can divulge little else at the moment, respectfully, unless Ser Fawkes allows it. It is /yours/, after all, my friend." A nod to Zeke.

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
The young man noticed that look, and he realized that the game was almost up. He was half a second away from making a gesture that would indicate that Gared and Sheryl should initiate their emergency escape plan. And then the situation seemd to diffuse on its own as he made his sincere oath. The pair at the opposite table relaxed, as did the youngest son of the Beoulve family.

He decided that it would be best to shift the focus to the Good Captain, and responded in kind to his statements. "Good ser. Why would either of us think ill of you for that? It seems a prudent measure, and so long as you speak true in your dealings with them then you are only making an transaction, nothing more. And as for pirates, if they deal more honorably than corrupt officials, then why shouldn't you put more faith in them?" Ramza skirted away from the context relating to corrupt /Church/ officials, but only just barely. "I can't fault your approach. These are strange times, and aught can happen when you travel to unfamiliar shores. Far better that you prepare yourself to treat with the natives than to presume the worst and visit horrors upon the innocent."

The young man nods as Faruja tries to explain that its Zeke's operation. "Well if it is a clandestine enterprise, I certainly won't pry."

Zeke has posed:
Zeke dipped his head lightly to Faruja. "I have no mind or matter. Unlikely Sir Lugria here has even heard of Tortuga, much less would be under Mister Thomas Cook's Employ and he be the one man I would not want to give much warning to." His rather large order only started coming out in pieces. After all that is a lot of food and the kitchen itself is quite busy. Zeke picked up the toast and bit into it while trying ot think. What had he walked in on. Something of this felt.-

He frowned then. Ah. Something of tension here. He didn't know the shape or scope of the conflict, as in this being Matter and Anti-Matter in the same general area else he'd be diving for a barricade of some sort. As it is he just shrugged. "My mother is being held captive by a man who had crewed on my father's boat with me. It would seem she was taken when she fled london and the world's collapse. Unlike your own it is not stitched directly unto other places so it's either these portals or you're stuck with the Caribbean and possibly a spit of Spanish owned florida." He nibbled further on his toast before picking up the bagle to gesture with. "An... Associate of the Knight here," He gestured to FAruja, "Had demonstrated something of her gift of gathering information when i had asked her after the maker of an item of mine. Granted had I Faruja's endorsement sooner I would have never bothered, but when people be making wild claims," Pause, "Or at least claims that seem wild to your own ears due to coming from a place where Magic tends to be limited to bewitchments, unholy defilements of the dead and the occasional and very very rare miracle of God's Graces shining down it helps to question lest ye be hoodwinked."

Ah hey Tea. Sip drink. "However I digress. It was given to me that my mother is in chains in a port city known to be a haven of pirates an disreputable sorts. I have spent every last copper, called in every favor, every marker an debt for this." There was an intensity to his voice. "I thought her lost once. I will not lose her a second time if I can help it."

Faruja Senra has posed:
Quietly, Faruja lets Zeke take the reigns of conversation, concentrating on devouring waffles. Nom! Occasionally he throws in a nod or other such noise of agreement with the good Captain at appropriate points. When possible, he's found, always back up your companions when dealing with any third party.

And then waffles are gone, hardly a crumb left. For such a polite eater, he doesn't leave much on the plate. Standing, the rat gazes at Zeke meaningfully. "We shall see her returned to you, or we shall be fit for a pyre, Zeke. Far too many mothers have died due to...to /humans/." The rat can't help but snarl there, even given present company. He sighs.

"...Forgive me, both of you, my temper grows fierce in these days of trial. I should be checking on Hati at any rate. Good day, Ser Lugria, Captain Fawkes. Lord guide you both. Dear Captain, I have managed to secure the assistance of five skilled Temple Wizard apprentices. They shall arrive here in a day or so. Soon enough we shall have proper magery and grit upon the doorstep of thy parent's captors. Ser Lugria, may we meet again, in brighter times!" The Burmecian gives the pair a bow, and then out the door with the rat!

~ Three Hours Later~ Suddenly, Faruja bolts upright from sleep. A look of absolute rage fills his muzzle. "Oh FRACK ME! That was Ramza bloody Beoulve!"

Sanel has posed:
In those three hours, as soon as Faruja bolts up in his rage..

A small form springs out of nowhere to hug the stupored mouse close. And likely lift him off of his feet.

"Yaaaayy! I found Snow Mouse King!"

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
The Young Man genuinely felt for Zeke, as he spoke. He was quite sincere when he replied. "Good ser, I wish you well in your rescue mission. Is there is ever aught that I might do to aid you, then you need only ask." Any edge in his voice softens as Zeke speaks of his mother. Memories of his best friend holding his dead sister's body come unbidden to his mind.

As Faruja excuses himself, he makes it a point to smile, and state. "Ser Senra. It was a distinct pleasure, and an honor to have met you. I pray that in the future we can meet under circumstances just as amicable. And Captain Fawkes. May your endeavours bring her back to you. Remember, if there is aught that I can do.." He lets that linger as a sincere offer. "For now, I must take my leave. I'm expected elsewhere."

The young man would offer his hand to Captain Fawkes, and whether he shakes it or not, he would gather up his belongings from the booth, and his cloak from the hat rack, and leave out the door.

A Chocobo would trot up to him instantly, and he'd mount it before it would trot away with its neck held high until it was out of sight of the Cloud Nine. And then it would zip into a nearby alleyway tearing off like a bat out of hell. The couple of Gared and Sheryl, the white mage and black mage in the Cloud Nine, would wait a full fifteen minutes before also departing.

Zeke has posed:
Zeke smiles wide at Faruja. "You are a Scholar and a Friend Sir Knight no matter your breed or credo." His words were warm and genuine. "After all you're the man that got those two worthless layabouts off my ship and for that I am /VERY/ grateful. As for these Wizards. Will need to meet with htem to discuss stratagy and best use of their talents. Would be a shame to be given such a boon only to not have a good use of material." THere was thought while he started to devour the eggs that came his way. "After all while most of these pirates and brigands do deserve justice of one sort or another is it not always best ot give a man a fair chance ot change his ways and mend his errors?" And yet Tom was going to probably meet a... Unpleasent end. a VERY unpleasent end. The Good captain just wasn't sure how.

As Faruja made his exit Zeke saluted with his glass. "Pleasent times and travels Ser Faruja."

Then a hand which he shook firmly. "Take care Sir Knight and good fortune to your travels." A genuine smile. He didn't know this was Heretic Prime according to the church. Sure he worked for said church but he was ultimately his own master, and he hasn't been shy about making sure they understood that too. Well.. Except for when some halfpint threatened the lives of his crew to command obedience, but htat got sorted out in the end so all's well.

Then He turned ot his feed, yet noted the magi departing and smiled. Interesting times ahead.

THREE HOURS LATER:
Zeke grumbled as he watched the lat of the rum and other 'party favors' get loaded onto his ship. "God willing my crew or Sparrow doens't have all this down their gullets before we get there."

Ramza Beoulve has posed:
THREE HOURS LATER:

Ramza would wake up to sneeze three times in a row. Was someone speaking ill of him? No, that was just an old superstition. He did have a craving for more waffles though. He'd have to address that in a few hours, after he got some more sleep.