IC - UtVoV - Killing Kiddaw

[tibbius]

Foulqueret: I see. Perhaps it would be prudent to sub-divide the femur before presenting it to them. Or would that diminish its attractiveness?

Sidneigh grins, revealing multiple rows of teeth and a trifurcated green tongue. "Cutting it into chunks with the marrow exposed? Yeah, they'll love that. Eight chunks should do it. Just try to make them equal sized." She deftly removes the brake shoes. "Thanks for your help. Hang around a moment ..." she pulls new-looking shoes out of a cardboard box on the ground. "Yeah, it would help if you could squeeze the pins back in when I have these lined up. You can use a drift and hammer, right?"

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret: Yes, I am familiar with these tools, and the intended operation. Speaking of which, do you have a saw I might borrow?

[Urson]

Chones
Good to know you, Grundy. They call me Chones.

I don't wanna say a lot- the guy what hired us is payin' for a closed mouth, yeah? But there's business to be done with 'em. I just wanna make sure I- we- ain't walkin' into a meat grinder wif our eyes shut. Anything you kin tell me is appreciated.

[tibbius]

"They r friendly nuff, if ya bring treats. Like that your friend got deyr," says Grundy. He jabs a group of his strangely numerous and flexible fingers toward the camel femur. "But I reckon they'd preciate if ya chops it up. Anyway, they're ok by me. They don't start trouble round here. Don't see nobody comin to cause dem trouble, neever." He grins again, thumps Chones lightly on the shoulder. "Tell em Grundy says hi, ya? But first ... " the big cacogen looks over Chones and Foulqueret. "Ah, yuh got nuvvin they'd worry about. Go on down road, there."

[Urson]

Chones
Chones pauses, curious. Huh? Do they have problems with some folks? True-kin, maybe?

[tibbius]

Chones
Chones pauses, curious. Huh? Do they have problems with some folks? True-kin, maybe?

Grundy looks aside, in the direction he had pointed out, then toward the dilapidated warehouse across the road from the Public Roads parking lot. "They've had some hassles in the past," he admits, "but like I said, nobody causin' em problems now."

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret, overhearing Grundy's comment as they hack the femur into neat divisions: "I will be pleased to assure them that we do not mean them any trouble, either. We are merely gathering information for an interested party."

[Urson]

Chones
Relax, Grundy. I kin see yer startin' to get nervish. I don't plan on stirring up the hornet's nest- and if I do, you just claim you din't know anything about it.
Once the bones are cut up, Chones will be ready to go.

[Pulpatoon]

Once the bones are chopped up, Foulqueret rewraps them in butcher's paper, and puts them in their backpack. "Thank you for the information, and for a pleasant interlude. We'll be on our way, now."

[tibbius]

Grundy grins and shakes your hands. Sidneigh waves to you cheerfully, then scolds Grundy "Come on, let's get the wheel back on! They need this truck tomorrow morning, and I want to get over to the Happy Banana before the end of happy hour!"

[tibbius]

You continue down Dumptruck Lane and soon arrive at a somewhat forbidding entrance-way that has two concrete pillars with bronze lions crouching atop them. The air is too dry for verdigris, but the dust raised by your feet drifts in the air and settles, thickening the bluish tint that dirties the bronze.

There is no gate between the pillars, just cracked navy blue asphalt leading up to a pair of open industrial garage bays. Several skiffs are up on lifts or stands in the two bays, and about a half dozen new lions are standing around one of the vehicles: a neon-green, spidery-looking contraption with massive thrusters. Two of the new lions are carefully handling something that they are holding down with an industrial harness. A sky-seeking stone? They maneuver it under an upside-down box that three of their crew mates strain to support.

What do you do?

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret emits a noticeable but non-jarring chime, and stands patiently in a visible spot. They hope to alert the pride to their presence, but not startle them while involved in a difficult maneuver.

[tibbius]

The combination of floaty thing and heavy box appears to be just slightly less than neutrally bouyant; one of the new-lions guides it to a back corner of the garage and begins to strap it down to a shelf.

Another, who has pale fur so white that it's almost iridescent, turns toward the two of you and steps out of the garage down the driveway. "Hey," he growls, "what ya lookin for?"

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret: We are here at the behest of the Philosophers' Guild No. 3. We brought a token of appreciation.

Foulqueret unwraps the divided femur.

May we take a moment of your time?

[Urson]

Chones
Chones has been watching the operation, ready to get involved if the sky-seeker starts to get away. He defers to F. for the moment, smiling inoffensively. URV the cyber-hawk shifts position on his horn.

[tibbius]

"Hey Joplin! Sibelius!" the iridescent new-lion calls over his shoulder. "Our visitors brought treats! - thanks, guys!" He reaches out and takes one of the bone chunks, sticks it in his maw and starts to talk around it as he sucks on it. "So - whatcha want?"

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret distributes the femur chunks. "We are running errands for the Philosopher's Guild. I believe you recently helped them contract with individuals outside the Guild's typical social registry—the, ahem, Friends of Jak. A dispute has arisen between the two parties, but due to the penchant for anonymity, the Guild isn't too sure who to get in contact with these individuals. We would be entirely obliged if you would get us in contact with them through the channels that led you to them in the first place, so that we might resolve the matter."

[tibbius]

"Uh-huh," says the iridescent guy with a skeptical look. "Yeah. So - who are you?"

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret: I am Foulqueret, precipitate of the Segarus seed. Not the Ascian Segarus seed, of course. The composite valley Segarus seed. And this is my associate, Chones. We are freelance operatives in the employ of the Philosopher's Guild, Number 3. May I ask your name?

[tibbius]

"Precipi ... y'ok. I'm Vulgus," says the iridescent new-lion. "Sibelius, Joplin," he adds with a cursory gesture toward his two buddies. Three more new-lions approach with hungry expressions; one literally licking her chops. They reach out for chunks of femur.

"Stanley knows about the Friends of Jak," Vulgus adds with a nod toward a new-lion whose fur is so dark blue that it looks black in the reddish light of the mid-afternoon sun. "Zat right, Stanley?"

"Yaar," nods Stanley. "Whatchu want wiv dem?"