To The Fountains (C 2.2, E 2.2)

The trailer that is Receiving Room Two is both more and less than I expected it to be at the same time.

The name of the arcade game is faded, "Something-Man", and the incessant wakka-wakka sound is hard to ignore. Something is itching at the back of my mind - telling me that the flashing lights and loud sounds are meant to pull and hold my attention. Frankly, I don't trust anyone here save Canary. And it has been painful to hide my surprise at still seeing Dinero with her - both that he is still around, and also that he seems he is even a little useful. The name Kettle rings a bell, but her identity eludes me for the time being.

I crouch beside the small fridge and take a look inside, "Either of you care for a, drink - looks like water, Coke, or orange juice are the options?" I take a surreptitious glance at lids and bags to see if they are air-tight or for signs they've been tampered/resealed.

It seems odd not pouring it, but I successfully force myself to casually toss him one of the bottles. "Here you go... sorry, I'm bad with names. I'm Syd." I flick my pointer and middle finger from my forehead toward him in a simple salute, maybe I can get him talking about what might be happening in the Tower if I play my cards right.

"Canary, there another OJ in here if you want."

No coffee?

I hide my disappointment and ask for an orange juice, "yeah. OJ." I walk over to Syd and take the offered drink, and one for Dinero. There's a little tension in the air between them, not surprising considering where they're both from but I don't think they personally have beef.

I put the electronic noise distraction out of my mind and while I have a moment with Syd, "medical supplies? Someone need help?"

"Seems like someone always needs help." I walk around the waiting room, idly inspecting some decorations here and there. "Talons are taking care of someone who needs help. Soon." No need to share any more information than that yet. "They're a good group of folks, if a little intense."

I look back to Canary, "I don't think I mentioned it yet - but thank you for getting me here. I was rather surprised and pleased to see the Refuge."

Looking over to Dinero, "Hope she's not being too hard on you!"

Dinero's response surprises me. He wants to work hard? Not just coast by? I want Dinero to stay engaged, but keeping him out of direct fire of my questions may serve me better. I smile at Canary, "Where'd you find him!? I could use someone with that kind of work ethic!"

Syd has that right, someone does always need help.

"He's a good hand," I glance at Dinero with a nod, "you know, having a crew aboard ain't so bad... but I hear you there, Dinero. No blister, huh?" I chuckle with a gleam in my eye as I consider putting his resolve to the test.

"The Talons are good folks," I agree with Syd, "I'll do what I can."

We continue walking along the long path towards the Fountains proper, after a long pause, "and... Syd. I was glad to see you too."

I note the long glance at Dinero. Certainly Dinero's face isn't well know outside the Tower. Maybe Dile here visited the tower for some occasion?

"And you're as civilized as ever!" That seems to be their aim, "I know you can show my mates the hospitality I've been telling them about."

I cast my gaze towards Syd, making it clear that he's the one I want impressed.

An eyebrow raises, "is that so?"

Opportunities seem to about lately, "who am I to refuse good fortune, then! Tell me about it over drinks?"

Since it's "civilized", Dile leads the three of you out of the trailer, across the courtyard with a few other "receiving buildings", and through a guarded door into The Fountains proper. He chats amiably about the weather and asks if you heard about the plane crash this morning, all while walking past giant, noisesome machines that churn away at their jobs.


Eventually, you reach a well-appointed office with a working computer, a desk, some chairs, and a comfy couch. Dile serves you all some chilled water in clean glasses before he sits down at his desk.

A potential cure for lung rot! I almost stumble as Dile says it. If there is a medical term for lung rot, I haven't heard it before - it's just always been the boogeyman of ailments. Most people are hardy enough to scrap their way through most infections these days - a couple of days rest and someone to watch over you and your belongings, and you'll probably be fine. With lung rot the "best" solution we've come up with so far is just to sink the poor unfortunate soul before anyone else catches it. Some factions seem to have an easier time with that than others. I've always wondered if some deaths around the Isles that have been attributed to bravado or aggression, have actually been a cover-up for lung rot. I heard a while back that the Rafters actually lost quite a few of their clan to this a few months ago. Though I haven't met a pleasant Rafter yet - I wouldn't wish that end on anyone.

Still, the fountains having a cure for that doesn't exactly put me at ease. I wouldn't put weaponizing lung rot past them if they had the means to cure it.

"That would be most impressive." I cajole.

Two members of mom's crew succumbed to lung rot when I was eleven or twelve. Just seeing these strong adults I looked up to gradually waste away, coughing up death and losing themselves to the disease. A cure for that? Yes, I want the job but that... I can't think of a worse way to go.

"So a dive? Indoors? Dangerous... but I can't say it's not worth the risk," I speak up over the sound of the machines. It's a good thing that I do have a crew at the moment, a solo dive is even riskier. I glance at Syd for some reason, I feel like I should ask questions. Am I seeking his approval? "How reliable is this information? It won't be ruined by the sea?."

I hear Dinero, but don't react immediately. He should be reminding me of this in private, later, not before the job is even accepted... and does he think I don't remember?

I think for a few long moments, cross my arms to think, "if what you say is so, then I think we can get this done." I nod my head to myself a few subtle times, "what's our cut? This isn't an easy job."