ON: Funky City, Nepleslia
"Agreed. Well upon that note, I believe that the most sensible and strategicaly sound course of action would be to split up, both in order to maximise the effect of our numbers, and in order to not intimidate those who would otherwise give us the information we seek. Jiro, given your apparent knowladge of the weaponary they were carying, perhaps you will take the central role in that line of inquiry. I will integrate myself into the social life of the bars of this forsaken city and ask around for clues on the where-a-bouts of our companions." Ahearn paused to breathe, "Does anyone have any more contributions, complaints, or simple wishes of good luck and of a happy future?"
Jiro gave a quick nod. "...I'll check into pawn shops and munitions dealers in the area, see if there has been any report of one of Janus' guns... especially the GP." He did not await further orders, simply gave one more looking-over to his weapons, and took to the streets.
Khalen raised a brow. "...I'll stay with the shuttle, and contact you if anything goes wrong here. We can't lose our mode of transit..." Which was a point to take note of, certainly. Masad was silent, but after a moment he followed after Jiro. It was more his line of expertise, for certain, than to be working in social environs - even uncouth social environs like Nepleslia offered in endless droves. He was no diplomatic operative, just a military man with a bit of a score to settle.
"That sounds like a most cordial arangement. Well I wish you the best my brothers in arms, as we ride in to the breach of social degradation and overwhelming tetosterone." Ahearn sniffed, turned sharply and strolled down the street swinging his cane light heartedly.
Ahearn would have no difficulty finding all manner of bars and public houses - the issue would rest more in choosing which cesspool to throw himself into. Dressed and outfitted like a Geshrin dandy as he was, he did draw a fair number of illicit glances, and some mockery from larger passersby. Nothing terribly violent, though. Picking fights may happen now and again on Nepleslia, but it was certainly less of a constant than some would like to think.
Ahearn lent on his cane and stared at one of the slightly cleaner bars. If nothing else this was a place to start and he sighed, "The levels to which duty forces me to descend to." He pushed the door open slowly with his cane and descended within.
As Ahearn entered the bar, apparently entitled 'The Vulger Neko Public House', (though a malfunction of the sign caused it, instead, to read Pub ic house...) he would note a rather crowded atmosphere, poorly lit, overheated and heavy with the stench of more sorts of hard liquor than one would easily be able to identify. A greasy man manned the bar, hair slicked back with a pungent pomade, and there were a number of people gambling in one corner over an unfamiliar game of cards. The volume of the place was also notable, with almost fifty voices competing over eachother constantly.
Wincing for a moment at the attack on his senses Ahearn quickly rallied himself and strode over to the bar before coughing loudly for attention, "My good man, could I have a shot of whisky and your ear for a minute."
At the coughing, the bartender looked up, and lumbered to his new customer. "Ach, so you wants whiskey anna ear? Kin give yah both, fer a few coins... single-malt awright?" He spoke almost as though his mouth were stuffed with cotton, barely enunciating enough to be understood. That, and his breath stank. Badly. It was comparable to anaerobic decomposition in a plugged drain...
Ahearn blinked several times in a reflex action to get over the smell, "That will do fine." He slipped his fingers in to a top finger and withdrew a few coins, "Now would you perchance have heard of two strangers, Yamataian in garb, build and accent, appearing around here in the last few weeks? One man and one woman."
Glancing over the coins, the barkeeper shook his head lightly. "...seen some waht was looking Yamataian, but naw a woman 'mongst them. Never two ahther." He set to writiing up a receipt for Ahearn. Which, with little inspection, would reveal an address and a name written just beneath the price. Everett T. Elsemund, the name read. Interesting thing... "...sorry tah wass yer time." He poured the shot of whiskey, and set to his other customers.
Ahearn inclined his head in a gesture that could be read very differently by different people depending on their position in the room, "It is of no importance, I thank you for the drink." Ahearn drank the glass he was provided slowly and giving the tiniest of bows to the bartender proceeded out of the bar.
