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[IC] Strait Up Theft


olopi

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At the mention of the possibility of a pupeteer, the man’s confidence certainly lowered. His face also portrayed confusion about the aspect of the triads, since he had not yet mentioned them.

“That’s…. true actually. We’ve only heard things so far, not seen any. Me and my boys haven’t, some others might have? I should ask around, you are right. Why the tri-“

 

The man cut off mid-sentence, frantically looking around him. He was quite panicked by now.

 

“...Actually, I should get out of here. “

 

Before Flintlock even had the chance to respond, the man had already walked out of the room, doing his best to hide the fact he was leaving as quickly as possible. It was still quite obvious, considering he had almost run into somebody and just ripped the phone the guard had offered back out of said guard’s hand, before making his exit from the scene as a whole.  

 

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Mmmha! There's foul play afoot!

 

But what spooked him? She glanced around at the five people remaining. Where they listening? Where they not? Who could say? This was crimeland, and it was prudent to be paranoid, if one could even call it paranoid when alert anxiety was entirely justified. 

 

Still, the poor young sap had spilt something. Hearing, not seeing. Rumour and gossip. 

 

She dearly wished to search the office for a ledger or a book, mayhap even one of these new computer things. But she was being watched, surely. For a moment she contemplated summoning some dreadful horror to spook said gentlemen away. She wished the dread mists of Leng were still clamming her skin. But the former was to dreadful without absolute requirement, and the latter wishful thinking of a paralysed woman. 

 

No! Instead!

 

"What's that I hear? Gunfire? Listen?" she said, cocking her ear. 

 

"Methinks we are under attack! And Vulnerable! Take cover! Run!" she bellowed at the last five men. 

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A shout, some hectic movements. Two of the remaining men ran immediately, the others were more careful, but also moved out of the room. Maybe it was to see what was going on, maybe it was to have a better escape route.  They probably did not feel quite safe, and once a few of the men were outside, there was an increase in the noise from the main area. It had gotten louder, more disorganized. A few seconds later, Flintlock was the only person inside the dimly-lit office.  It would only be a matter of time before somebody were to call her bluff, probably. But it was valuable time, alone in an office, in the middle of a black market. If there was information to be found anywhere, it was here.

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It was now or never. She had seconds, or minutes, but certainly not hours. 

 

Could she risk summoning some phantasm? It would be easy enough to summon up something horrible, or even mundane. A phantasm of dead soldiers, tentacled beasts, or just plain old men in suits with guns. 

 

But that would mean something horrible coming into this world, even as just a shadow. Ah! Begads! No! She would not do so, not unless she was about to be found out. There was no such thing as safely summoning the dread and unknowable things from beyond. The Unspeakable one always stirred in his half slumber. Every time she used her power, she could feel a tiny thread unwind on his sleep. 

 

Instead, she scurried as fast as she was able to the books, running her fingers down words and numbers. Perhaps there was something she could steal for later?

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Books, that there were a lot of. In the corner of the room there was a wooden box, the lid open. Inside, about 10 folders. All neatly done, in different colours. And all of them filled to the brim. Finding anything in here would take quite a while, at least without looking for anything specific. A quick look through them revealed a lot of ledgers, a few pages filled with notes. Financial in nature, all of them. Various deliveries, dating back to two years ago.  Sometimes, the notes were quite simple “HK BM TCH”, while other deliveries had entire pages written. Sometimes it was contracts, sometimes just notes.

 

Other than that, the room was rather empty. A few bins standing at a wall, all of them empty and catching dust. While stumbling around, Flintlock did manage to spot a gun, taped to the underside of the table. At around the position the man leading the conversation had been sitting. Clearly, he was prepared.

 

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Aha!

 

Treasure!

 

Not gold, nor rum, this time. But information. Words. And who knew better than Captain Flintlock about the power of words. Possibly numbers, too. Maths was never her passion. Nor accountancy, bar the carefree "get...spend....get...spend..." philosophy that had served her so well and so pleasurably over the centuries. 

 

Call that a gun? she sniffed. She took it, nonetheless. Mainly to stop anyone else using it, but on the other hand, might come in handy. Not that she wanted to shoot anybody. Well, maybe just a little. 

 

She stuffed the pages into her blouse, carelessly and quickly. Crumpled pages gave her a more ample, if somewhat crinkled bosom. So be it. She stuffed a few books and ledgers under her arm. Hopes be that there was something to use; but for now, she must away!

 

Moving quietly as she could, she went to the door of the office and peered out...

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And then, because these things could never go smoothly for some reason, gunfire. Actual gunfire this time, from outside the building. What caused it? Who knew. It didn’t matter. Because the last bit of organization had just jumped the shark.

 

In the main hall a few people had already pulled their guns. Everybody was staring each other down, like a Mexican standoff, with dozens of people involved. The first move would be somebody’s last.  One would question what the guards had been doing when patting them down upon entrance, but one could not really speak of corruption in organized crime after all.

 

 In between all of this, some people just scrambled. To secure their wares, or to simply run and hide. The noise got worse, but yet, gunshots pierced through it. It wasn’t just one or two shots, it was many. The situation was tense once again. Would shouting out paroles work again? Would it only lead to everybody finding a common target? …

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By the seven moons of Soggoth!

 

No wonder her outrageous bluff had worked! Real trouble was on its way. They had presumably been expecting such an attack. And order, such at there had been, seemed to have vanished. 

 

Blood would be on the streets. True, the blood of cut throats and thieves, but still. The blood would splatter on her hands if she did not act. 

 

Mumbling under her breath, and feeling the stench of rotting swamps, the sound of piping music, and other sensations that crawled up and down her spine and gut, she reached out for some horrible spirit to summon. Something to distract them all. 

 

From the ceiling of the warehouse, something horrible emerged from the darkness. Slime, tentacles, and eyes, so many black, unseeing eyes. It was like moss, with vegetable hair and fish scales. Something that lurked in foul dimensions of dark diseased mangroves. 

 

It was horrible enough, and hanging, creeping, would surely act as a distraction...depending on exactly what was happening...

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Whatever had just been summoned clearly was the last thing these people had expected. Where before the atmosphere had been loud and chaotic, it now was both of those, but turned to eleven. Gunshots pierced the air, in between them screams of panic. A few people running, for the front door, for one of the small boarded up doors, for a stall.

 

 All in all, where before it was a standoff, it was now a warzone. Everybody firing their guns into the air, a few bullets ricocheting. Here a pirate holding financial folders in her arms didn’t stand out nearly as much. Or, she still did, but hardly anybody would notice or care. The coast was … somewhat clear. The gunshots outside were still real, but with all the chaos inside the room getting out there had become a lot easier.

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Take a look at that, me hearties!

 

The dangling, gurgling horror, churning away at the rafters, was clearly eye catching, and doing its job as a menacing distraction. She hoped that none of the thugs and goons would notice that their bullets were not affecting it. But then, a tentacled moss-fish from realms most terrible would most likely be immune to mundane gunfire anyway. She just hoped that any perceptive thug not overcome by fear would come to the same conclusion. 

 

Panic was in the air, and so much the better. 

 

Clutching her pistol, she ran screaming to the exit. 

 

"run away! run away!" she yelled, putting on her best petrified face and waving her firearm wildly. Hopefully, the men and women were too overcome with terror to notice small things like important incriminating evidence fluttering inside her blouse. And if they did, well she did have a gun in her hand...

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Everything going on in the beaten down warehouse certainly made for a sight to behold. A black market session, interrupted by gunshots, some unspeakable horror, and a pirate running around frantically wielding a modern pistol. And that was without mentioning other people, doing their best to hide, run or shoot. It was like a bar brawl in a cheesy western. Chaos and destruction. Unfortunately, no pianists. The gunshots did create some music, but it was hardly of any quality, more of a round of loud noises.

 

Flintlock, like many people was running. A stream of people running. The crowd made some space for her, clearly her outfit suggested to get out of her way. That, and the gun visible in her hand and being handled with far too little care. A few people bumped into her, but she got out without any confrontation, and was now standing in front of the warehouse. Together with a crowd of people, and with gunfire ringing through the air in the background. Both from inside the building, but more worryingly, from outside.

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"Out of my way! Make way! Part!" shouted Flintlock at the top of her voice. She fired a few shots in the air to emphasise the point. 

 

"Man overboard! Iceberg, dead ahead! Scuttle the ship!" she added, with a flourish, giving a mean glare to anyone in her wake. 

 

She crossed her fingers the phantasm was still doings it job of looking an unearthly and horrible. She rather suspected it might be, as it was indeed unearthly and horrible. She just hoped the unearthly would not become earthly. 

 

Not for the first time that day, she wished she had taken some of the Skeleton Crew with her. She had a sensation of crawling madness around her, with bullets flying. Fists and teeth and kneecaps too, she imagined. On reflection, her unruly crew would not be a rather incendiary mix to an already flammable situation. 

 

Instead, she ran on, taking the path of least resistance. 

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And then, just as she had left the crowd, she noticed it. Her leather pouch, tied to her belt. Gone. And with it, all the money she had stored inside. And she only noticed just now. But when had it been taken? Just a minute ago, in the middle of all this chaos? Or was it before that? Maybe even before she had arrived at the warehouse?

 

People were streaming out into all directions. Due to the architecture of the area, actually figuring out where the shots were coming from was difficult. More so for some than for others, some had enough experiences to have some idea. Others just ran into one direction, then,m as the shots got louder, ran the other way, and so on. Was it north? Was it south? Nobody was able to properly tell, but a crowd was moving back to where they had originally been coming from earlier the evening, in small groups. Maybe they expected to be save there?

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"Bah!" and other expletives exploded from Captain Flintlocks lipped. 

 

"I had at least six doubloons in there! If I get me hands on the cut-purse who stole them, Ill $£!& those coins down his $£"* with a great big &%$£, a purple &%$! and a rasher of bacon!" she swore by all the Gods she knew, and several she did not. 

 

The situation was, surely, getting more chaotic by the second, but that was the seas she rode best, and with most pleasure. 

 

She collared a running man, and yelled in his ears. 

 

"By all the storms and thunder of the world, what the fiery blazes is going on? Whence come the gunshots? Are we under attack?" she said, almost screaming. Hopefully by pure force of words, by sheer volume of lungs, the man would, already shocked, be shocked to reflexive answer. 

 

Plus, she was waving her gun around in a most haphazard way. 

 

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The man had already been quite panicked. A fairly average looking man, probably in his mid 40s. He didn’t look like he belonged here. Too … uninteresting. Nothing that stood out at all, which was rare at a black market. He looked like a customer more than a seller, and like a more recent customer at that. Nobody that had been here often, somebody that probably got dragged into this more than he went here by his own accord.

 

All of this had been a lot for him. He hadn’t wanted to be here, and now there was at least one firefight going on. This was dangerous, really dangerous. He had been fortunate, he had been close to the exit when …. Whatever it was had appeared on the ceiling. All of this was too much, he just wanted to go home. There was a crowd standing outside the warehouse, all of them seemingly scared too. Maybe they’d know what to do now. And then, he got grabbed. By a pirate of some sort? She certainly didn’t fit into all of this. It just was too much. All the panic, the sudden grasp. And so, he simply fainted.

 

But, it was not all bad news. When the man fainted in Flintlock’s hands, her trained eyes noticed something. Something sticking out of somebody’s pocket. A suspiciously familiar leather pouch. A young woman, early twenties probably. Using the panic created to run away, down an alley. To onlookers it would probably seem like she was running away too, but Flintlock could tell, this was a thief at work.

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"Ye craven fool!" sighed Flintlock, letting the man fall out of her grasp. He seemed to know less than nothing, which was perhaps the average level of comprehension in the chaos. 

 

"Oh foolish men, how little ye know!" she cried to the world. 

 

But what's this! A young scoundrel, carrying a purse of suspicious familiarity. Surely no modern woman would be caught dead with such an antiquated accessory. Aha! They all carried "fashionable" purses these days, oh fickle youth!

 

"Cut-purse! Thief! Pick Pocket!" she cried, more as punctuation to the madness around her than in any hope of garnering gallant aid. Or aid of any sort. This was a coven of thieves, not nightwatchmen. 

 

She fired her gun. Loosely aimed at the fleeing woman, but in reality into the sky. She wanted to impose herself, not kill the woman. Bullets were all well and good in a pinch, but they did have the habit of killing people, something she was not much fond of, especially when there was talking to be done. 

 

And so, boots flying across ground, she gave chase!

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There were times when getting away with a crime were easy. Times like this. Chaos, everybody running and bumping into each other, everybody panicking. Some people didn’t pay much attention to their pockets, their wallets, their phones. Or, like today, their really old looking leather pouch. It could’ve been a really easy haul. A few wallets, a phone or two (probably knock-offs, but who knew), and whatever the pirate looking lady had been carrying. It would be something exotic for sure. Something hopefully worth quite a bit. But then, some days, these things just didn’t work. Some days, people noticed their things missing, and sometimes, they even noticed somebody running away with them. Usually those people weren’t .. pirates, or blindly firing around a pistol. And those were the days where being athletic came in useful.

 

The gunshots now heading out from right where the crowd was certainly caused the panic to increase even further. If that was even possible anymore. Most people just threw themselves on the ground, or tried to run. Fortunately, Flintlock had enough training to not accidentally hit anybody. Immediately, the woman carrying Flintlock’s goods began a sprint, down the alley, and out of sight. She couldn’t get far, but she had a lead, both due to distance, but also all the people now lying on the floor and cowering, with only a few already getting up again.

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"Gazooks! she is fast!" swore Flintlock, throwing the empty pistol to one side. 

 

And Flintlock had not been in Singapore for decades. Even if her rusted memory served her, the streets, nooks and crannies were surely changed by the unstoppable tide of progress, of steel and glass and concrete that spread through the city like a virus. 

 

She could only hope that her quarry was no more versed in the streets than she was. 

 

But now, to take chase! She was fleet of foot, and a sailors life had left her fit, but there were certainly faster, and certainly fitter. And a thief tended to be fast. Still, not to worry about that now. Now was the time for boots to crunch road and lungs to spade air in and out of her chest. 

 

"Stop!" she commanded, without any hope that a thief would do any such thing. No more air on words!

 

With every effort, with every haste, she sped to catch the thief. 

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And so here she was. Running down an alley, a pirate of some sort chasing her. This day kept getting more and more interesting, but not in purely positive ways. And while yes, this pirate was stumbling around a bit, she was quite fast. She could probably catch up. Not good. No, there had some kind of obstacle, something to hide behind. She hadn’t been here before, she didn’t know these paths well. But they led away from the gunfire, so these were the ones she had taken. Around the only corner this alley had led down, a few more meters of space, and then, a chainlink fence. A crate, not too high, stacked against it. It was chainlink, she’d climbed these before. No big deal, take a run up, one or two grips, and she’d be over. And with the pirate close behind her, she’d have to be quick.

 

So she ran. A small leap, a quick grip, and she’d be over. But something was wrong. Two of her fingers had hit the fence itself, and that was bad. She’d need them to pull herself over, and the pain wasn’t helpful either. A quick stop, barely a moment, and she pulled herself upwards, before falling down on the other side. Her pursuer had already caught up, was within close distance. But, on the other side of a fence. These few seconds could be vital, and so, the thief continued running onwards.

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Flintlock careered forward, her speed sacrificing her agility. She bumped into the walls around her. 

 

Damn I wish I had stayed off the Rum! she cursed. In a cooler moment, a sober moment, she would reflect that she was rather glad indeed she was drunk when she pulled up the dread mists of Leng from that ghastly forlorn place, for it would not do well to be sober when doing so. There was only so much she could take before going mad, if she was not already. 

 

"I have you, thief!" she declared, considering a quick vault over the crates, With a flurry of hands and feet, she propelled forward. 

 

Alas, for her hands and feet were willing, her plan perfect, but the alcohol had other plans. She tripped, fell, sprawled, the crates crumbling under her, knocked over, her foot through one. She ended up flat on the pavement lucky to have the same number of teeth. 

 

One of her boots landed just by her head. 

 

"I have you, you hear!" she whimpered, defiant despite all evidence to the contrary. 

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Huh. Chainlink fences, they actually were good for something! They didn’t keep people out, but apparently they did confuse drunks. Good, this was what she’d needed. Now it was easy to get away. Down an alley, through a big crack into an abandoned warehouse, and then disappear into the night. A good haul, hopefully. This would help her cause. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d gotten close now, she needed whatever she could get.

 

And so, the thief escaped. By the time Flintlock was back on her feet, she had already lost sight of the young woman. Where did she go? No way to find out now. It was quite dark, and there still were gunshots ringing through the air. But what was that? Something, on the ground where the thief had climbed the fence. A piece of paper of some sort, perhaps? It was hard to tell from this light, but it looked like one of those modern “business cards”. A pub, located in one of the poorer areas of Singapore.

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There was always a silver lining! and in this case, it was a pub. 

 

She could wash away her sorrows with gin and rum and all manner of local exotic alcohol. 

 

For one bleary moment, putting her boot back on, this was her sole consideration. Then it dawned on her. The pub may just know of the thief. She wished she had one of those new-fangled camera things. Perhaps she could have taken a picture of the woman. 

 

Still, she was determined to catch the thief. Avast! She was the one who would be doing the theivin' and stealin', if anyone. 

 

Grumbling, she caught up with one eyed Pete lurking at the docks, cheating some men out of their money in a game of cards. This time, she would take back up. Her unruly skeleton crew were helpful, yes, but unruly. She did not want more than one of them coming with her. Too much trouble. 

 

"Five aces, Pete? And that's not including the one up your sleeve..." she laughed at him. As the other players mood turned sour, she grabbed him by the ear. "Come with me, ya craven scallywag! I need your eyes!" she ordered, pulling him to the pub. 

 

"Keep an eye out here. If ya hear trouble, come in. If you see someone running out, particularly if it is a young woman, then give chase. Ill be hot on her heels..."

 

And with that, she entered, determined this time to not drink. Too much. 

 

"Shot o' Gin!" she ordered thirty seconds later. 

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This time, it was not a seedy, small pub that looked like it had stood here for years. Instead, it was quite modern, a building primarily made of glass, hardly deserving of the “pub” moniker. It was more of an English restaurant and bar. But, it was well visited. Even on a weekday like this, quite a few people were sitting inside. Some off to the side playing poker. A group of people sitting in front of one of those fancy “televisions”, watching a game of rugby being played. And quite a few people drinking at the bar.  Middle aged men mostly, but a few younger ones in there too.  University Students probably, judging by their looks. Like in many places, most were focused on the Sorceress and her costume, standing out completely in this fairly modern place. Most did their best to avoid showing it, but as soon as Flintlock had ordered her drink, a man turned to her. His hair was mostly grey, with a bit of black still showing, and he clearly wasn’t quite sober anymore. This happened every once in a while.

 

“Hey. You one of those … co…cosplayers? What are you doin’ … here? You don’t look like you … belong in … here. What’s … your deal?”

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"coCosplayers! Aye, thats me!" replied Flintlock, confidently, without knowing what the hell the man was talking about it. "Off all the cocosplayers that ever walked into yer bar, ye can bet I am the most coco of them!" she smiled, showing a little cleavage and giving plenty of wink. 

 

"I've come for a drink. Or two. And maybe some more" she said, her previous conviction to not drink thrown out the window. Her skin still felt wet with a dampness that was not water. Something of Leng clung to her. She would rather numb that. 

 

"I'm just adding a bit of colour to the bar, eh? GIve the patrons something to wag tongue about" she explained. "Is this here a regular bar, or something with a flavour?" she asked, casting her eyes across what she thought were a rather dull set of patrons. 

 

"I mean, an English bar, in Singapore. A bit exotic, yer might say. See many young ladies here?" she asked, rambling and acting a little drunk. Which, to be fair, was not much of a stretch as she still felt intoxicated. 

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“Nah. This is just …  a pub. Nothing special to see here. We all just come here to enjoy our drinks. Relax, and maybe watch some rugby, or darts. Maybe play some too. It’s nice, it’s small, and the tourists are only here during peak season.”

 

The bartender had by now finished mixing up the drink, and quickly set it down on the counter before turning to another customer, not inserting himself into the conversation for now. He had an opinion, but he was a busy man, and he had work to do.

 

“We don’t get a lot of ladies here, no. Pubs aren’t really a lady’s place, are they? There’s … Cik, I guess. Her and a few friends show up here occasionally, but other than that … ya don’t find many local women here unfortunately. So, whaddya here for? It’s more than drinks, … but what is it? You won’t find many young women here. I know that much...”

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