conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: theherocc: The weight of travel and the daze of the big city both fell away at the sight of House Rackert. Augustina Roevling allowed herself a long sigh. She had been on guard for two weeks, but now she could finally relax. She even permitted herself a smile as she pushed a strand of caramel hair back under her cap.
  
  Gus walked towards the red deer antlers emblazoned above the door at the end of the street. She dodged various people and beasts of burden on the crowded main thoroughfare of the merchant district. A quick estimation made her conclude there were more people currently on this street than lived in all of Cape Rock. It boggled her mind.
  
  A man wearing the red antlers on his tunic stood in front of the door. He had a sword by his side and a mail shirt under the white shirt. He watched Gussie for the last twenty yards of her walk. When she stopped in front of him, he simply looked her up and down. Her travel garb made her look even less presentable than she usually did in her master’s workshop.
  
  “What do you want?” he asked without seeming like he cared.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Another_Poet: Gus - er, Sterling, as she was now calling herself - looked the guard up and down in return. She didn't know how bad the Roevling name was anymore in the capital, but she didn't really want to throw it around. On the other hand, Uncle Francis might not see her if he didn't know whose daughter she was.
  
  She pulled her knit cap off her head and managed a little curtsy. Manners never hurt.
  
   "I'm here to see Sir Francis Rackert. If he's around." 
  
  If the guard presses for a name:
  
   "My name is Sterling, sir, but I'm here for my master. A locksmith in Cape Rock whom Sir Rackert will be happy to hear from." 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: theherocc: Originally Posted by Another_Poet 
   Gus - er, Sterling, as she was now calling herself - looked the guard up and down in return. She didn't know how bad the Roevling name was anymore in the capital, but she didn't really want to throw it around. On the other hand, Uncle Francis might not see her if he didn't know whose daughter she was.
  
  She pulled her knit cap off her head and managed a little curtsy. Manners never hurt.
  
   "I'm here to see Sir Francis Rackert. If he's around." 
   “Of course you are. And why would the master be interested in seeing you?” 
   "My name is Sterling, sir, but I'm here for my master. A locksmith in Cape Rock whom Sir Rackerty will be happy to hear from."  
   
  
  The guard shook his head.  “Is that all you’re going to give up? Master Rackert is a very busy man. You’re welcome to go inside and try to sell your locks, but you will need more than that for an audience.”  The guard motioned with his hand for Gus to enter through the arched doorway.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Another_Poet: An audience.  Hmm. Uncle Francis was doing better than Gus thought.
  
   "Er, thank you,"  she manages. She scuttles through before he can change his mind.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: theherocc: The thick iron-braced door opened up into a small room where two men were having an argument. One was standing behind a long counter that went from wall to wall. His beard was quivering and his cheeks were red. Behind him an enormous room was filled with boxes and bags and barrels - some stacked to the ceiling. The other man was holding an abacus, moving beads with his thin hands.
  
  "My dear man, you are clearly wrong. Look. Three casks of wine at two silvers each, in addition to a sack of salt at three silver, a barrel of serpent oil at five silver, and a vial of southern-blended spice at four silver comes out to eighteen silver."
  
  "Plus delivery!" said the bearded man in a much less calm manner.
  
  "Plus delivery at one silver. That still doesn't add up to one gold coin, my man."
  
  A woman with silvered black hair was waiting in a corner patiently.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  OOC: A gold coin equals 20 silver.
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Another_Poet: Sterling hesitates. She hadn't expected to find herself in a... storefront? She looks to either side for a doorway to continue on into the estate.
  
  If there is one (and it isn't blocked by the counter) she simply walks through it as if she belongs there and knows exactly where she's going.
  
  If not:
  
   
   Spoiler 
  
  She waits for a minute as the men at the counter haggle, then drifts over to the greying hair.
  
   "Are you in line?"  she asks. If the woman is, Sterling takes a seat beside her and waits. If not she approaches the counter to get the man's attention once the customer ahead of her is done.
  
  She'll start with the same tale:  "I'm here to see Sir Rackert."  And if needed"  "Tell him it's a certain locksmith from Cape Rock. He'll be happy to see me." 
  
  She grins when she says it.
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: theherocc: The storefront took up five percent of the building. This warehouse was the pride and joy of House Rackert. Doors at the back, barely visible, led to the courtyard and manor that was the envy of many merchants in the capitol.
  
  But Sterling wasn't going to learn about that until she made it past the front counter. This was no haggling. The men seemed genuinely confused about the mathematics involved in their argument. That is, each of them was sure the other man was confused. They felt supremely confident in their own calculations.
  
  "Are you in line?" she asked the slender woman.
  
  "I am. But these idiots have been going back and forth for some time. I offered to help, but they didn't believe I knew any better than them." Her voice had the clipped word-endings and dancing lilt of a southern citizen. Someone from the Imperial homelands perhaps?
  
  She leaned against the wall, shaking her head.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Another_Poet: Sterling nodded gratefully. She looked back at the two men; they wouldn't reach an agreement anytime soon. And they surely wouldn't make time for a young girl until they did.
  
    You can do this, Gus.   
  
  Yes, she could. New city, new name, new approach to life. And anyway, she knew very well what kind of customer got quick attention back at Tuck's Lockworks.
  
  Shoulders relaxed, face looking bored, she simply took a seat on the counter, threw her legs over and dropped down on the other side. Not missing a beat, she walked nonchalantly toward the back of the warehouse and the door to the courtyard.
  
  If the man says anything to stop her:
  
   
   Spoiler 
  
  She turns, looking bothered.  " Two  of us here know how to count. Did you need some help?" 
  
  Unless he has a quick answer, she keeps walking.
  
  Roll if needed:
   
   Spoiler 
  
  Charm  (1d100)[ 61 ]  v. 37
  FP:  (1d100)[ 6 ] 
   
  
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: theherocc: The conversation between the two men stopped instantly as the young woman swung her legs over the counter.
  
  "Where do you think you're going?" said the employee.
  
  Sterling turned, looking bothered. "Two of us here know how to count. Did you need some help?"
  
  The two men looked at each other, then back to the girl, then back at each other. In unison they said, "See, I'm right!"
  
  From the corner against the wall, the woman called out, "Please can you put them out of their misery. And mine."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Another_Poet: Still behind the counter, Sterling walks over to Rackert's employee and puts her hand lightly on his shoulder. Then she looks the customer in the face with a smile and says:  "Okay, tell me everything you paid for, one item at a time, and go slow. It'll be the last time you have to repeat it." 
  
  She runs up the expenses in her head, reaching for the abacus if needed. When the man's list is recounted, she looks at the employee.  "Did he leave anything out?" 
  
  Then she gives him the total.
  
  If it favors Rackert:
   
   Spoiler 
  (To the customer:)  "Sorry, but he's right. I'm just another customer like you, I have no cause to fudge the numbers." 
   
  
  
  If it favors the customer:
   
   Spoiler 
  
  (To the employee:)  "Don't worry, Sir Rackert wouldn't want to fleece anyone, even by accident. Everyone makes mistakes." 
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: theherocc: The customer lists his items for the precocious girl. "Three casks of wine at two silvers each, in addition to a sack of salt at three silver, a barrel of serpent oil at five silver, and a vial of southern-blended spice at four silver."
  
  "Plus delivery!" yelled the bearded man. Cheeks as red as ever, he added, "That's another silver. So, one gold piece and he can take all his stuff."
  
  Sterling added the numbers in her head. "It's nineteen silver."
  
  The Rackert employee exploded. The customer with the abacus let out a sigh of relief. Sterling addressed the bearded blowhard, "Don't worry, Sir Rackert wouldn't want to fleece anyone, even by accident. Everyone makes mistakes."
  
  "Who are you anyway?" asked the man as he counted out the silver coins handed to him.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Another_Poet: "I'm a friend of your employer,"  she said.  "And I'm hoping to surprise him." 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: theherocc: "Well, if you really want to surprise him, you could run up to the dinner party they're having tonight and tell him you cost him a silver piece."
  
  And with that, the shopkeeper closed off communications with this interferer. He stroked his beard with both hands and then got to work retrieving the items his customer had ordered.
  
  "So, you know the old Rackert do you? What kind of visit would this be?" I am sure it's all above board, of course." His facial expression said otherwise in as cheesy and sickly a way possible.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Another_Poet: Sterling tilts her head at his suggestion.
  
   "I think I  will  tell him that,"  she says. She smiles.  "I like your style." 
  
  She follows him as he gathers things off the shelves.  "I get the feeling you don't believe me."  She sounds hurt.  "So let's make it interesting." 
  
  She holds out her hand. Silver twinkles in her palm.
  
   "Five silver. Enough to cover that loss, and still go out for drinks tonight. Consider it a  wager ." 
  
  She makes sure she has his attention.
  
   "I'll entrust it to you, and you watch me walk through that door. If Sir Rackert has me thrown out, you never saw me. You're just five silvers richer." 
  
  She pulls her hand back, and the money.  "But! When you see the two of us walk by together like old chums, you return the money plus five of your own, for being a nincompoop." 
  
  She tilts her head.  "So do we have a bet?" 
   
   Spoiler 
  
  Charm roll if needed:
   (1d100)[ 68 ]  vs 42
  FP:  (1d100)[ 63 ] 
   