A Night with a Captain

Hawker's Alley never slept. A shame, because it was loud and quite the eyesore. All the folks milling about, breathing on each other, buying useless trinkets and ugly, tacky garments, just because they were supposedly imported from who-cares-where... The whole section of Limsa Lominsa could fall into the Rhotano Sea, for all Kuiko cared. Well, for the most part. As long as it fell in such a way as not to absolutely crush her where she stood, directly beneath it, on some forgotten alcove. Musty bits of dropped refuse dotted the tiny landing, dropped from Hawker's Alley by the idiotic shoppers up there. It was a wonderful place to wait around and ruminate. Not.

Perhaps she was just grumpy from the awful meeting time. Mr. Rhotano must have some kind of sick sense of humor to call her out so early even the gods-damned sun hasn't bothered to wake yet. Gods. Kumiko rubbed her arms. Her thin shift was soft on her porcelain skin. Delicate, and pretty, just like her. And miserable for the chilly, salty air.

Finally.

An Elezen emerged from the rickety old staircase, the only way down to the useless alcove. He carried a sack by the strings, holding it out as if it contained something unpleasant, like a lump of dung. Which was really quite a comical thought, considering his elegant demeanor, despite his common clothes. Common, exccept for the tinted eye glasses that obscured his face.

"Mr. Rhotano sends his regards." The Elezen's voice was low and smooth, like rich cream. It was, like the sack, at odds with his commoner disguise. At least, Kumiko could only assume it was a disguise. Not that she ever once thought her contact was the Mr. Rhotano himself. No, she had long-since guessed her contact was one of - presumably - many employees of the shadowy figure. She knew she wasn't the only one with an active mission, and she knew that someone with such disposable funds would surely have plenty of fancy, creamy-voiced folk on retainer.

"Tonight," The man started. Kumiko scoffed. Tonight? It was barely even today. "Wear this." The sack was passed to her. She peeked inside. Something lacy and red. Great. And the unmistakable blue pouch that came every meeting. She didn't have to even touch the pouch to know it held a hefty sum of gil. Her payment. "You will meet with Holskbhir again tonight. Seduce him. When he is asleep, Mr. Rhotano would like you to procure the contents of Holskbhir's nightstand. Your drop location is the Museum. He expects your package by sunrise tomorrow." With that, the Elezen turned and left her without another word. Rude.

Left alone, Kumiko pulled out the garment. Red, lacy small clothes. For the past moon, she'd been flirting with a Sea Wolf captain, Holskbhir. Now it was clear why. Mr. Rhotano wanted something from Holskbhir, and he felt Kumiko's... unsavory past, would make her the perfect candidate to get cclose to the Roegadyn and take whatever it was. She assumed she'd just empty out whatever was in the nightstand, all of it, for Mr. Rhotano. It always paid to be thorough with the mysterious benefactor.

She pulled out her payment and drew the string to count her gil. Instead, however, there was a note. She ccouldn't help but groan. How many times did she have to tell her contact to tell Mr. Rhotano that she preferred cold, hard gil?! The note was written in thin, elegant script:

"Your payment is a night with a captain! I hear he's quite the gentleman. Please take good care of him. Also, I know this note will leave you in poor spirits. So to make up for it, you may select one of whatever you find in Mr. Holskbhir's nightstand to keep for yourself. Choose wisely! You've earned it.
M. R. Rhotano"

--
The setup was easy. She'd been prepping Holskbhir for a month, so it took very little to get back to his quarters. It also took very little to get him to drink very much. Kumiko spread herself alluringly across his bedspread as the big Roegadyn brandied about his quarters, dressed in nothing but his off-white knickers (gross) while waving about a stale loaf of bread he insisted was a fireplace poker. As if that were a finer weapon than the actual saber that hung from his rack on the opposite wall. The man's cheeks were flushed, his eyelids drooped and his speech impossibly slurred. She might not even need to have sex with him.

"Come here, Captain..." Kumiko's voice was soft, tempting. She slid from the bed to stand, only to drop her dress, revealing the red scraps-for-clothes she'd been instructed to wear. Hey, might as well get some use out of them.

"Oooooohhhhh, th' scurvy fires'll 'ave to wait for their whuppin'," Holskbhir mumbled. He took a bite of his stale breadstick and threw it, rather hard, across the room. "M'knickers are so tight," He groaned as he seemed to take a step towards her, towards the bed. Instead, he sort of tumbled in her direction. Kumiko pivoted so that the giant fell onto the bed face first instead of slumping on her. The bed huffed when he landed. And he stayed. Did not move for several long moments. Then, his huge back lifted, and then pushed out a long, loud, extremely unattractive snore.

"How is this so easy?" Kumiko grumbled as she pulled back on her dress. She stepped around the slumbering lump to his night stand. It was tiny, a simple wooden drawer table. What could possibly be of value inside?

Kumiko gingerly tested the single drawer, to see if it was locked. It was not. The drawer was tight, requiring a jiggle to slide out. Inside were several wrapped packages. They were tightly wound in fine silks. Kumiko gingerly lifted one out. It was light. She unwrapped it, unwrapping, unwrapping... By the time she finished, there was a small heap of silks on the bed. And inside, a perfect, tiny little glass Mandragora figurine.

Each of the packages (6 total) were tiny glass figurines of common creatures. Collectibles, no doubt. Probably priceless to a collector. And worthless to Kumiko as she begrudingly wrapped them again and stuffed them into a sack to take to the Museum. As she loaded up and slid out the quarters, she was already drafting up her tirade to her contact. Just pay me in fucking gil, gods damn it!