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Leading Man
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Alias: Strife/Goldfish
Joined: 26-February 14
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Last Seen: Feb 3 2017, 11:20 PM
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Jul 11 2014, 11:52 AM

Balthier had been on Beaumonde for a week now. The planet was lively and easily held his interest but he required distraction while awaiting a replacement part to manifest itself from the black market. Dotting the local establishments with posters, he'd been pleased to see that his bounty had grown an entire million after his latest caper. Such values were important to smugglers, pirates and the like. It was like a sort of credit, showing how much your capital was worth. And more than that, like a stock market, where your worth might crash if you took a bad job. He'd worked himself up a good pile of paper money that was the currency in this side of the universe but what he needed was a very large distraction, not only so the ship coming in with the parts for the Strahl could get by the checkpoints with even more ease than usual but because he was becoming restless. A restless pirate was a risky, foolish one and he needed to occupy his time.

He decided to check on the Maidenhead to see if anyone had posted for his services. He'd frequented the place several times as a patron, the dark, cave-like interior where backroom deals were done right up front provided just the sort of place he might find some work. As he sauntered down the stairs, eyes adjusting to the dim, he found the place fairly full, people clustered together in two-seater tables and nursing their drinks. There was a continual sound of money being shuffled about and the low murmur of overlapping conversations. Screens in the corners blasted advertisements and shows, giving the place more of a sense of privacy than it truly earned - and the security cameras tucked away in the corners stole that air right back away. A pair of fan-dancers swanned between the tables, their bodies lithely slipping through the empty spaces in tune with the ambient music. Balthier was sure that he saw money disappear completely from some of the tables as they brushed past.

Balthier's eyes scanned from the bar, across the seated patrons and to the far wall as he walked into the main room. There was a figure silhouetted against the wall that displayed wanted posters, adverts and paper ephemera. As he drew closer, he saw that it was a young woman with brown hair, absorbed in staring at his Jobs poster...or perhaps it was the advertisements for Earth-That-Was bourbon. Smirking to himself, he adopted an air of casual arrogance.

"See something that you like?" he said loud enough for her to hear as he approached her from off to one side, skirting the wall nearest the stairs.
Jul 6 2014, 11:27 PM
Paris, 1789
French Revolution - Period: Great Fear (Grande Peur)

Balthier slid into the tavern just as a troop of cavalry flushed all the peasantry down the lane at full trample to break up another barricade. There was rioting everywhere, the streets were burning. Gunshots rang from a distance and the open windows let in breezes that smelled of human waste, large city and musket gun smoke. He shut the door behind him, rubbing grime from his fingers. It was a bad time for work. Normally, a war meant profit but this was a revolution and he knew how expensive those could be. He nodded at those that he saw, hoping that he looked bedraggled enough not to be considered the gentry. He truly disliked having to dress down for anyone but even wearing jewelry had got him knives pulled in some places. Thankfully, this particular tavern, The Pannier, catered to revolutionaries that were interested in spies. It was very easy to pass himself off as one which allowed him to have a reason to dress in something other than bedragglements. He went to check his postings with a tilted head, curious that he'd actually gotten a reply.

"Hrm...." He read the message carefully and looked over the picture enclosed in the envelope.

Dear Balthier,

The job I have for you is to find the Apples of Eden they are in timeline that would cause illusions and control people. I need to find the Apples before they go into the wrong hands. Would you help me finding them? Inside the envelope is the picture of what they look like I need you and your airship for this job.

Altair Ibn-La'Ahad

Turning to address the room, Balthier asked, "Does anyone know an M. Altair? I need to talk with him about some apples..."
Jun 16 2014, 07:42 PM
Balthier cut the Strahl loose from the Regina and flew her in to Vega Station, relishing the chance to work the ship through space. It was a joy to have his ship working. Even though he and his Quartermaster Sedna

It was listed through his space-piracy contact network as a freeport, supposedly open and neutral to all and was keen to investigate it. Run by a species called Battrulians, it was in a neutral zone between Battrul and Canvine, a planet full of doglike people. A war had broken out and ended some years ago, but the station was privately owned by one third party, a Mr Stabilo who just happen to be Battrulian and was their chief executive. The man was blindingly rich. Their past was extremely shady. It made a lovely place to host backroom deals and had a healthy black market. All in all, just the sort of place that Balthier wanted to put his spacelegs down for a stretch. Earn some money through the games and get some new leads and put out his name some more.

After docking, he put in his papers for a room and ensured that his ship was not going to get stolen thanks to the activation of a few security measures. Anyone trying it would get a good shock, perhaps the last of their lifetime. He took his time getting to know the station so that he was fully able to appreciate it. On the surface, it was the perfect front. There were casinos and gambling, there were places to buy any manner of goods from across the universe without a duty stamp, places to eat, drink and amuse oneself. It was also rife with spies, thieves and pirates. Like himself.

He made his way in a leisurely progression towards the Diamond Bar and Lounge, a good place to put one's face in and check the current status of his fellows and their bounties. There were usually jobs posted up there as well. Since he planned on being at the port over the next few days, it would at least make a good excuse to put up his services. It was always amusing when a bounty hunter thought they could take him unawares. More than one time he'd turned the bounty hunter over to a fellow and gotten himself a good turn in turn. He swaggered into the Lounge and over to the side of the bar. There was an entire wall devoted to wanted posters, job offerings and things for sale or rent. He was pleased to see there was already a poster of him pinned up. He removed it to examine it and then pinned it back up more towards the centre.

"I don't think they've gotten my best side. 50,000 creds? Surely I'm worth more than that," he tsksed.

From a bag he produced a piece of parchment. He unrolled it. Using a side table and a tip-pen he wrote up a second poster and tacked it up next to his wanted poster. "There, much better." With a smirk, he went to sit at the bar, ordering a drink from the bartender.

May 28 2014, 08:06 PM
I should be able to pop online now and again, but see you when I get back = )

~Fitz Kreiner
Mar 22 2014, 09:16 PM
Republic of Florence, Italy (Repubblica Fiorentina, Italia)
Renassaince - Cosimo de'Medici's defacto rulership circa 1450AD

Balthier was more at home in Renaissance Italy on Earth than he had been in other time periods or other worlds. There was naturally the lack of obvious magick and airships but there was something distinctly Archadean about Florence. Perhaps it was the stink or the classism. the rampant corruption, it's chequred history and political games of war and diplomacy. It made him both wary and homesick. He'd never admit it to anyone, that he was homesick for the Archadean Capitol, not one living person.

He'd gathered up his history lessons and maps and picked out likely targets of acquisition. Florence ran on a gold standard, lovely 8 ounce coins called florins. Needing some liquid cash, he'd set himself to gathering a bit of coin to offset other expenses. Gold was still thankfully a common denominator as was information and knowledge. Armed with his sharp tongue and a small translator devise, the Strahl anchored and made itself invisible outside the city-state. He would mayhap meet up with Sedna after his games were done and reunite with her and the Regina.

He meant to bring Sedna a present - something that had caught his eye in a velveted case in a shop in the high district. He'd long left off simple burglary but the ornate necklace called to him like a siren anyway. Sometimes the treasure chose him. He stood admiring it and knew if he stood overlong he'd be marked out by any of the guards or storekeepers. He would come back and remove it...the asking price was ridiculous even if it were made of solid gold. Which it was. He could tell.
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