"'ave ye a bi' 'o spare fer a form'r soldier?" A scratchy hoarse voice interrupted the bleary thoughts of Blort. He scowled, his beard rustling up in indignation over being interrupted while drinking his morning ale.
"Fuck off, beggar. I have no time, nor the coin to spare on the likes of you!" His hand raised to strike back the beggar, but it stilled as the floppy bedraggled hat raised just a bit giving him a view of the eyes and straw-colored head beneath.
"'Tis moos' unkoind 'o stroike the downtrodden." A ready smile lightened the muddy features of the bandit. This time her smile did not flash with brilliant golden teeth. She had them blackened, hiding one of her physical attributes that was mayhap the most recognizable.
"You are serious then? 'Tis a bad idea, I tell you. That guard of his? Mean. And driven. And unlike you? She don't drink like a dockworker." Blort snorted and downed his ale, his voice a mere whisper since he'd realized this was no beggar before him. "And you are workin' this job alone? Damn, even you have to admit this is all a massive risk." Blort's chubby digit reached out to poke her in her nonexistent chest, "Lost your partner, aye? He buggered off for greener pastures? More flowering fields?"
Ailova flinched at the mention of a dockworker and then former partner, but she shrugged with all the blase indifference she could muster. "Ain't scar'd." She snatched at the finger, bending it back painfully as she bent her head to whisper, "Ye mention 'im again? I'll break this and moore."
"Fuckin' shite! That hurts!" His voice raised an octave and she bent it just a tad more before releasing him.
"Noow, qui' feckin' aboou'. 'ell me wot ye said ye'd been able 'o gath'r froom gossip mongers." Ailova very badly wanted a drink, but while dressed in mismatched beggar garb, dirtied and reeking of manure - she'd never be served. And she couldn't take a drink within the Floating Dragon from her flask, lest it cast suspicion on her cover.
"He's as rich as they come. Owns a bunch of gem mines. Made his fortune from them and then his family is old and has loaded coffers." Blort rubbed his finger, casting a more wary eye on the highwaywoman, "He is here to live out his days in comfort and excitement. Heard Myrken Wood was the kingdom to see it all and enjoy such at will. His guard is mean and well-trained in military arms. She is at his side at all fucking times."
"Gems, ye say?" Ailova's face brightened a bit with the information that kept coming from Blort. "And where has he set-up residence? Is he renting rooms?"
"Nah, fuckin' nob went and bought himself a house on Beauregard St. Can't miss it. It's close to the Market square and he switched out the front door - it is now a rich and deep purple - with a stained glass window at the crown of the door."
"Feckin' garish. Alroight then, that'll be enoough fer noow." A hand pressed under the bartop and slid a few golden sovereigns into Blort's hand. The action was done under cover and away from any possible curious on-lookers.
"Where you goin' now?"
"I am aboou' 'o go beggin' on Beauregard St. See if the newest denizen is aboou' or leaves or gooes anywhere. No oone notices the poor - do they?"
With that, the brigand shuffled and stumbled out of the gaming hell. Some of the patrons, irritated by the beggar's smell and presence cuffed her shoulder or pushed her sharply in the back as she left - to hasten her progress to the door. Instead of being angry at the manhandling? Ailova was relieved! If blackguards like this believed her get-up? Then it was surely a good enough cover to begin the casing of Stane.