The Fearsome Encounter (GBS3G8) [Round 3: Ark of Hope]

"I'll talk m' brother down later," was Hookers' only comment as Cepra batted ex-bluebird mist away from her goggles. "Right-ho! We were lookin' for ya, those Interior folkses had a propper-zition for yer sweet self."

"He's your brother?"

"Yeh, whatever. Anyway, I think our'genda's to blast the Trump wannabe, seeing's, y'know, he's got no idea what e'en he's actual doing. Leastways that's what the Interior's reckonin'. We ended up inna cargo hold, so you should follow me there if'n you're lookin' fer a bit of work'n lucre."

If the best employer given the circumstances was a flock of birds, Cepra conceded, well, she'd dealt with weirder. And certainly dealt with worse. "I'm not signing up to anything until we've made a deal."

"Good," said Hookers the skimmer. "I'd've been right disappointed in yer if you did, hun."

---

A spider and a skimmer walked into a bar, which was really more of a cozy space between a bunch of crates and underneath a stairwell. (Cepra complained about the stairs, to which Hookers agreed that having that many legs must be a pain. She hadn't had any before she met Avery!)

"The Afterparty heartilly welcomes yer patronage," intoned Hookers, puffing up her chest feathers and doing the best she could to sound pompous with her accent, before immediately breaking character and giving Cepra the side-eye. "I'm told by th' nautical folks it's a pun, but I d'nreckon I'd want it even if I got it. Yo! Mixi!"

"Mixi" ("Mixatonic" "Die-Hard" "Does anybody actually know this guy's real name") was a Siamese Fireback, strutting about the bar and having a hell of a time trying to serve the two or three patrons. They stared at Cepra with a dull passivity that bordered on disturbing, while Hookers hopped up onto the counter beside the bigger bird, and was summarily ignored. Mixi bowed to Cepra as best as his physiology allowed it, raising a wing to her silver claw.

"Ms. Samedi," he drawled. "It's a pleasure. I swear. No, really. I'm Mixatonic. Barkeeping duty, though how the hell I'm supposed to do business without thumbs is Avery's fucking guess." He proffered his wing as if in a handshake, but shook his head. "No, if you would, pass me the other one." Cepra frowned, but extended her silver claw for the pheasant's perusal. Mixatonic's eyes narrowed, and he hissed a satisfied little note as she turned her hand over and let him get an eye right next to the claw.

He shot up again, barked to a horned parakeet who had been wrestling with a few unlabelled jars and medicine bottles and toothpaste(?) tubes, who fell off the counter and reappeared with a stoppered vial of something sluggish and cherry-red.

"It's fresh?"

"Fresh as this guy could be after you pickled the fucker," deadpanned the parakeet, bobbing his head toward one of the dazed patrons.

"Alright," nodded Mixatonic. "Ok, so, Cepra, I can call you Cepra, yeah? Half the reason I volunteered for this barkeeping post was so I could viddy this pretty claw of yours. Just, trust me, right? I know my poisons. Heck, I was spitballing with dosages for these lewds-" Mixi pointed with a foot at one of the gormless bargoers- "but human physiology's much the same, much the same, yeah? Anyway. I wanted to see this for myself, so could you, uh-"

Mixi motioned to the vial of blood. Hookers rolled her eyes. "Sorry, hun. Our ressin' poisoner here was the only one who 'spressed interest in runnin' th' bar. I figger you'da fancied talkin' shop in a place like this, 'n we were wanting one anyway, so here y'are!"

"Wait, you lot made this lousy excuse of a tavern-"

"Hey, now," growled Mixatonic, "For less than half an hour's work, with no fucking thumbs, I think you can cut us some slack-"

"For me?" Cepra marvelled at the three birds, momentarily forgetting they were people just as dangerous as she was in the bodies of cute, non-threatening birds. The penguin or that Kittybrewster guy she might've had to worry about, but Hookers, Mixi (what kind of wannabe lets people call them Mixi?), and the parakeet here? Pfft. "No, listen," she snickered. "It's kind of adorable. I appreciate it." She looked around for a table, found the table, and gave the slack-jawed patron sitting there a critical look before shrugging and settling her many elbows across from him.

"Alright," shrugged Cepra. "What's your offer?"

"Grshtskrhrhrhgstrg?" queried the parakeet, who apparently could not be behooved to stop speaking Abyssal for the provided company. Mixatonic just rolled his eyes, and shoved the vial of blood at Hookers. "Stuff off," she said, before taking flight and landing on the man opposite Cepra.

"Right 'squizzit," said Hookers. "So, th'party line goes tha' we don' wanna go toe to toe wither the Zannit Zealot or Popeasaurus lookin' for that Arkmajigger. Our intel's blinkered, but prolly still trumps those two - so we don't reckon 's worth our while to fetch that there ark-tifact. Lookin' at the ship-tuation-"

Mixi groaned without moving from his hunched-up sulking position, and even the Arkfolk that Hookers was perched upon frowned a bit. Hookers just cackled to herself.

"Sorry, hun. My point being, th' Ark's magic's prolly all politics-like. So we're gonna make our own magic down in this cargo hold!"

"With a shitty bar?"

"With a monopoly, hun. This bathtub were right cryin' out to us fer some entertainment, so that's part of Parley's gift to th' people. We'll be operatin' all quatermasterly-like too, make sure we're gettin' a cut of the currencies when Old Papa Commerce's wheels get to spinning."

"So, that's your big plan? Money-laundering?"

Hookers winked. "We gotta compensate you somehow, hun! 'fraid we can't cough up more'n drudgery and box-hauling 'til we're better-established, but I'm sure we'll need trouble disposed of later if that's more your thing!" Cepra appeared less than convinced, so Hookers made what might've been a grandiose motion with her wings. "You take the profits! Yours to spend as y'like - us'n Parley just need the political foothold."

Yeah, that lit her greedy spidercreepface up. Hooker's perch seemed to notice her for the first time, and looked at the shoulder-bird with confusion. Hookers pecked him gently on the cheek to reassure him, and Cepra finished drumming her fingers on the table.

"No deal. Too good a deal," she said. "Plus, these guys don't look rich, they probably trade with paper money or something. I can't use that if one of those other guys fuck up and we all get moved to the next place."

Hookers opened her beak, and closed it. "Hrm. Fair guff, hun. Hang a tic though, we knew you were too smart fer th' easy swindle, so there's gotta be a good reason-"

"-Not gonna ookadeet," Mixi cut in. "We make damn sure those trigger-happy god-fellators and the wolf either cooperate, or get distracted. Then we seize control of the Ark, arc, arks, whatever; figure out that otchkied asshole's deal, then we whisper into those aforementioned ears. They can risk life and limb and deal with the Mr. Johnson for us more discerning types." The fireback barkeep flew over and landed on the table between them. "We stay until we feel like leaving, no point gathering resources we can't keep. Idiot," he added to Hookers. She batted him in the face with a wing.

"What th' big grump said!"

Cepra had to concede that it sounded like a more concrete plan than what anyone else had proposed so far, including the Mr. Johnson, if she understood Mixi's weird figures of speech right. "Hang on, you mentioned three, and there's us, but wasn't there that other guy-"

Hookers chose that moment to lose her balance and topple off the doped-up guy's shoulder. Mixatonic, also, seemed to get a sudden case of the Gravities. From behind the bar came a string of laboured Abyssal, then a soft pop as the parakeet couldn't take the strain and disintegrated.

"Haha, Viscount?" Hookers laughed from the floor, with effort. "Yeah, I'm guessin' this'd be our negotiating him right now..."