Chapter 2

Better Than Exploding Snap, Actually

He could not remember the last time he'd awakened to a quiet room. Or to a different room, for that matter. It was always the easy-to-ignore noise of the locomotive going who-knows-where in the background of the loudest set of teeth ever attached to gums.

It was a remarkably refreshing experience, Harry figured, to wake up on top of some crates – without a headache, at least.

He sat up and looked around. Light came from what appeared to be a couple of gas lamps placed on a table in the middle. The room looked to be a warehouse of some sort. Lots of wooden crates piled in the corners and barrels surrounding the same piles. Nets – for fishing, maybe? – were used to further hold up more crates of variable sizes as out-of-the-way as possible. Ropes, oh there were ropes. Everywhere, on top of at least half the containers, lengths of rope of different size. It was a very quaint, in a medieval way, storeroom, he allowed himself to think.

It was also very, very dusty.

He stood up on firm legs, further proving he was not, in fact, drugged, hung-over or otherwise bewitched.

"At least not anymore."

He leant against the crate he'd been lying on top of and decided to take stock of his current situation.

His wand was not in his pocket – he reached for it the second he saw the unfamiliar ceiling. His clothes weren't damaged and he didn't feel any pain, burning or stinging anywhere in his body, so he probably hadn't been in a fight.

His shoes were missing. Either hiding or Killed-In-Action.

"What did I do yesterday?"

He remembered waking up to a boring day in his loud-but-boring room in the magical-but-boring Leaky Cauldron. He ate his usual bowl of Cauldron O's, patent coming as soon as someone other than him didn't throw up when chewing on it, and-

"Hermione."

They had a talk. Just her grown-up business in her post-war world.

"I'm thinking in a lot of hyphens," Came the straight thought, "I used to hate those."

It wasn't a boring talk, really. Hermione was many things, overbearing, addicted to books, eager-to-follow among other things, but boring was not one of them.

"… Oh, well, shit."

He had promised to meet with her that very night at the cauldron after her day was over. In fact, he distinctly remembered planning his day around being back in time for that. He'd gone out for a walk, confused north with west and ended up in a-

"That guy."

That man in the dark outfit with the even darker voice. Just remembering it made him tense up.

"Did he kidnap me?"

No, the guy left after delivering cryptic- "Cryptic what, warnings?" and then Harry apparated back to the Cauldron, where he took a shower.

He remembered taking that shower, scolding his shoes and then-

"Bloody hell."

He had a dream. The strangest dream of them all. It was all blues and greens and whites and crystal. And the voice. He'd been hearing that soft voice throughout the day. Asking him to- asking him to hear, to feel. He had no idea what it referred to, but now that he remembered the sound of the voice, his memory of the dream came back.

"I… agreed to help it- her, didn't I?"

He had. And whatever that apparently non-dream had actually been, it likely resulted in his current situation.

He took a deep breath, then two.

"I'm calmer than I should be."

He took in the room around him once more, this time walking up to several crates and barrels. Some of them had what appeared to be a coat of arms with a longship in it. What looked like a dragon's head adorned the stempost, and six great oars were placed through the length of it.

Some of the crates had variations of the same coat with four or five oars, some of them had what looked to be a lighthouse coming from on top of the ship. But the most interesting part was the inscription that ran along the length of the boat.

"'Till Sea Swallows All. Maelstrom Command."

It wasn't the words themselves that caught his attention, but the characters being used to form them.

"How the hell am I reading this?"

He shook his head in amazement, not realizing he was laughing softly at the same time.

"Now I've really done it-"

"Aye, Jacke's brought 'imself one missin' 'is rudder!"

Harry turned abruptly at the voice, right hand reaching for his pocket, but there was no wand to be found there. There was no person to be found, either.

"… Who said-?"

"An' a blind one to boot!"

This time, he looked down. There, standing before him, stood what appeared to be a child. On second look, he realized it was really just a very, very small person. Rotund, but not fat-looking, short arms, short legs, all these were characteristics he would normally associate with children. But it was the eyes and the ears that betrayed the fact that this was not, in fact, a human being. The eyes were round and large, of a light shade of yellow he couldn't quite name, with silver hair covered by a green bandanna. The ears were also larger than a human's, pointed to the sides and moving ever so slightly with apparent mirth. The eyes and the ears of this person – it was probably rude to call it otherwise – were likely very expressive, if what he'd seen so far was any indication.

It was dressed in all green and white. Green were the pants, the shoes and the bandanna; white was what appeared to be a crop top –with only one shoulder. The part that the top didn't cover revealed a tattoo that cover, and ran from, the front, along the side, all the way to the back.

"Not ugly, really, so not a gnome. Not terrifying enough to be a goblin, not hairy enough to be a dwarf, and definitely not crazy enough to be a house elf."

"Ye listenin' to a whid am sayin'?!" The little person waved his – likely male, he figured – little arms up and down, his whole body almost following in their movement.

Harry would probably find it adorable, sailor's tongue and all, if he wasn't so confused.

"I- er," He cleared his throat "Yes, I hear you just fine."

"Ha!" The small bloke bellowed, eyes mirroring the winning grin on his face, "Told Bochard as you didn't appear Lominsan! Ye earned me ten Gil, lad."

"… What?" Harry's head was rapidly approaching 'spinning' status.

The short fellow – Harry made a note to ask for a name, he was running out of synonyms – shook his head, "Ye got yerself a nasty bump to the 'ead, I wager. Captain brought ye in over 'is shoulders like a sack o' greens – and droppin' ye the same can't 'ave 'helped it much!" His voice had a humorous tone the entire time.

Harry didn't exactly feel like he'd taken any hit to the head, however - and that was a pain with which he was, unfortunately, very familiar. The confusion was all the same, though.

Harry gave a polite smile, "It was probably that, yeah."

"Captain ain't known for bein' nice to lads. All about the fancy molls, he is." His mirth had settled, and he looked Harry up and down, "Yer not a lass, are ya? Ye seem as flat as me stabbers but then I've seen some Miqo'te-"

"Flat's what yer noggin's gonna be if ye don't shut yer trap!"

Harry and the tiny dude – "I'm all out" – both flinched, the former with surprise, and the latter a mixture of the same plus dread.

They both turned towards the door, which had been opened and nearly-closed again without Harry's notice.

"How do they keep doing-?"

His brain stopped.

Tail.

Ears.

Tail.

Ears.

He blinked once, twice, three times and a fourth for good measure. The person – woman, yes, female, obviously, "Maybe? Hopefully?" – Standing before him was by no means something anyone should ever dread gazing upon. And that wasn't just his bias towards women with at least somewhat-unusual hair colors speaking for him.

She stood a few inches shorter than he did, with tan skin and purple eyes with a vertical slit to them. Feline eyes, he added. Her hair was a red, perhaps close to chestnut, color that he really, really wished more women would have.

Harry vowed to learn more color names – his vocabulary had something like three dozen colors and even then he couldn't tell them apart very well.

Later on, when he dared to look long enough to try to get her proportions, he'd realized that while they weren't exactly generous, they fit her frame better than any other amount of mass ever would. All in all, it made her look better, he thought.

He noted she was wearing the same garments, except in different size, as the wee being – "Really?" – Which probably meant that they either shopped at the same store or that it was some sort of uniform. Seeing that they had the same tattoo, however, more than solidified the second idea.

"Ye were told to tell when he woke up, Underfoot." The woman said with a raised eyebrow.

The newly-christened Underfoot, no longer frightened – if he ever was, gave her a shrug, "Didn't 'ave the time to go fetch anyone," He turned to Harry, "Cove ain't sayin' much as is worth hearin' anyroad.

He didn't bother to try and feel insulted with that, no matter how much Harry prided himself on saying 'things worth hearing' for at least the past year – he didn't fool himself about how utterly dull he could be during his Hogwarts years – today, at least as far as today had gone since he woke up on a crate, he had apparently left his wit in one of his shoes.

"Don't suppose either of you have seen my shoes?"

They both looked at him, the girl at her feet and Underfoot at his face, heads tilted in curiosity.

"Can't say as I 'ave, lad. Ye were brought 'ere with only yer socks and yer queer clothes." Answered Underfoot.

Harry rather liked that name, now that he knew about it. He didn't think any race as short as whatever this guy was would take a name like that without stabbing someone; and at that height, well, you don't make fun of someone positioned so perfectly to ruin a man's day.

"I should have asked about my wand first." He scolded himself.

"So," Harry started, "I'm- that is, my name's Harry." He could do without a last name for now. In the off-chance that anyone could recognize his name wherever he was; he sure as hell wasn't going to take any risks.

Underfoot offered a smile, "Nice to meet ya, lad. I'm Perimu Haurimu, but as it's too long, all me mates call me Underfoot."

The woman, with a hand on her hip, followed, "Name's V'kebbe. The Stray by handle, is what the lads and lasses 'round the Sisters call me."

Not a bad start at all, Harry figured, the day might not go as bad as he thought, "So was I kidnapped for a ransom, revenge or…?" His mouth disagreed, apparently.

"Oh goddammit."

The pair in green shared a look, and promptly burst out laughing.

"Lad," Perimu Haurimu began, "There's but three sorts o' cull what we'll let here into the Sisters – that's clients, recruits, and marks as we'll let tail us to see if they're dumb enough to come in." He finished with a grin that was more than a little blood-thirsty.

"An' as ye don't sound or look like a client," V'kebbe continued, smiling all the while, "An' ye woke up with nary a stabber in yer gut, so yer not a mark as we have to hide, I'll say."

"Like as not, Captain's seen somethin' he likes," Underfoot took over, "So he's gonna try an' make use of it."

Harry only had one thing to say to all of that.

"I have many, many questions."

"Aye, ye look as if ye haven't the foggiest where the bittacle is. Or the ship, for that matter." The accent and the slang was starting to grow on him, and Harry feared he'd pick it up and never be able to drop it afterwards.

"Let's sit down if we're gonna mump, then." Said the woman

They both turned towards the door, and gestured at Harry to follow.

Harry took a deep breath, "Right."

They sat around a round table, in a room not all too different from the storage in which he had woken up, except with more chairs and less containers.

An old man with a mask wearing a different-but-also-green uniform brought several tankards filled with rich-smelling ale to the table. He talked to Underfoot in hushed tones for a moment before handing him a few coins, grumbling all the while about how he was not a bar wench.

"Bochard ain't gonna take that one lying, ye know?" V'kebbe spoke after the man left.

"Let 'im try, I know where he spends 'is brass what he thinks no one knows about when not at the Wench." Underfoot answered.

He turned towards Harry, "Figure ye've 'ad enough o' not knowing yer heading by now, lad, 'ave a drink and ask away."

Harry decided that the ale could wait, "Where am I?"

"This is the convent o' the 'Dutiful Sisters of Edelweiss'" He answered, and now Harry had a lot more questions, "Ye don't seem to 'ave as much green in yer eyes as to not 'ave realized it ain't much of a convent." The red-headed woman didn't try to hide her snickers at that. Harry took a sip of ale to hide his own.

"Would've joined a convent by now if their ale was this good." And it was – none of the brews he'd tasted in Knockturn Alley were anywhere near this flavorful.

"Aye, only place in La Noscea yer like to find bad grog is on a ship lost at sea." The woman was already halfway through her tankard and loving every moment of it, apparently.

"Where'd ye hail from, lad?" Underfoot asked.

Harry thought about the answer to that question, and figured he might as well keep it as honest as possible if he wanted honest answers.

"Pretty far, I think," He began, "Never heard of La Noscea, for once."

His table-mates shared a look at that, a mixture of incredulity and suspicion.

"Figured as ye weren't from Limsa, aye." The shorter of the two stated.

"I'd pegged ye as either Gridanian or Ishgardian, meself. Too pale for anywhere in Thanalan, ye are." Said the Stray.

"Never heard of those, either." This ale was really, really good.

They shared another look, and Harry wondered if there were two conversations going on at this table. That was a bit rude.

"'ow'd Jacke find 'imself someone not from Eorzea?" V'kebbe asked.

"I don't know what that is." He didn't voice that one; there was only so much ignorance he was willing to admit to right away.

"Who's Jacke?" He asked instead.

V'kebbe answered that one, "Jacke's the guild leader, so to speak. We call 'im Captain Jacke, so as he won't forget 'is job."

Underfoot continue, "An' because he's the captain – he leads us rogues, he does."

"And he brought me here, then?"

"That he did, at that. He's gone an' done a runner to finish a job." Perimu Haurimu turned to V'kebbe, "An' I thought ye'd keep 'im long enough salt 'is ear 'oles."

"Would've, aye," She said, "'Cept he 'as a job to finish an' he's keen on doin' it in the lightmans."

Underfoot continued in a humorous tone, "Ah, like as not the client's a moll as caught 'is eye."

She shrugged, "'eard it was a fishwife, so he shouldn't be long at the docks."

"The code doesn't say a thing about a woman what's spliced." His eyes took on a thoughtful look, "D'ye reckon it counts as if he's tryin' to steal from a Lominsan?"

The redhead got a feral look at that, "Been a while since he's been hung by the shins, is what I think."

Funny as the scene had been so far, Harry's tankard was almost drained and he still had an awful lot more questions to ask.

"So," He got their attention, "We don't have your kind where I'm from," He shook his head, "Sorry if it seems rude, but, what are you?"

"What are we as in what we do, or what we's like?" Asked the Stray.

"Don't say 'yes'."

"Both, actually."

"Yer pullin' me tail." She said.

"Not at all. Everyone, well…" He shrugged, "Everyone looked like me, I guess. Except for the goblins. And giants. We had a few others, but it was mostly people like me, and none like you both."

"Mostly Hyurs, then. Interesting." He shrugged, "Guess the goblins are everywhere, then." Underfoot smiled, "Anyroad, I'm a Lalafell, shorter than any o' the other races yer like to meet. An' the red covess 'ere's a Miqo'te.

"Call me a cat gal an' yer gonna spend a while finding yer teeth, aye?" There wasn't a real threat there, but Harry nodded nonetheless.

"Ye see a big burly guy walkin' 'round 'ere with gray-like skin an' an eyepatch, he's a Roegadyn, an' you should tell 'im to stop lazing about and get back to 'is post outside."

"I see," Harry nodded, "Anything else?" He was probably going to be asking these things again later – it was a lot to take in.

The Lalafell scratched his head, "Well, if ye see a tall an' lean fellow with ears much like mine, that's an Elezen."

"We come in a couple o' flavors, too. But for now, that oughta' be enough." Finished the Miqo'te.

Harry thought that through, "Miqo'te, cat-like. Lalafell, short. Elezen, tall with pointy ears. Roe… Roegadyn? Big and tough, with odd skin. I guess I'm a Hyur?"

"Think I've got it, thanks."

"Ain't nothin' to thank, lad. Ye might just be in a world o' trouble."

"Everyone's good at sneaking around here."

They all turned towards the new voice, and Harry was glad to see a human – a Hyur, by the name he heard, approaching with confident steps and a smile to match. He wore similar attire to his drinking partners, but the top was replaced by a long-sleeved jacket – which he wore open to show off a pair of arrow-shaped necklaces.

The closer the man got to the table, the more his eyes stood out. It wasn't their color – blue eyes were common enough in the places Harry had been to before. No, what caught his attention was how utterly sharp they were.

Harry knew dangerous people when he saw them, and he hadn't fooled himself by thinking the two people he had met so far were harmless. No, they were very capable of killing him – especially without his wand. But this man, unlike the other two, was probably incapable of hiding just how dangerous he could be, no matter how relaxed his expression was. Those eyes simply saw too much, far more than anyone would want them to.

He tried not to tense, and the man's smile widened by a fraction.

"Far too much."

"Oi, yer not meant to booze up prisoners." The new arrival said as he pulled up a chair and took the Lalafell's ale tankard.

"Hey!"

"Fetch us some more ale, Underfoot. Stray, find me deck, it's under my bunk." He ordered, and Harry surmised this was probably the one they called Captain Jacke.

The woman tilted her head, "… Prisoner?"

Underfoot seemed to be just as puzzled, "We don't take prisoners, do we?"

Jacke guzzled some ale for a moment before barking, "Running dry 'ere!"

The other two sighed and left, muttering about idiot captains and cards.

When they were gone, the man leaned back in his chair propped his feet up on the table, nursing his tankard while staring at Harry with a thoughtful look.

"… What?" Harry blurted.

The man smiled, "Name's Jacke," He started, "I'm the, well, the guild master, ye could say. Which means I'm the one as runs this band of raggedy sailors what could never really stop skulking about," He took a sip, "Some o' 'em call me Captain, haven't stopped 'em 'cause I like it."

Harry nodded, "Right, er, I'm Harry."

"Just Harry?"

Harry couldn't help the smile that came to his face, "Yes, just Harry."

Jacke seemed to consider his words for a moment longer, "Nice to meet ye, Harry," He let out a small sigh, "Or so I'd like to say, honestly. But things are a right mess up in the decks, and yer the most likely culprit."

Harry frowned, "A mess?"

"Aye, yer arrival was as subtle as a Morbol sneeze and nearly as devastatin'"

Harry put down his empty mug and held up his hands, "I told the other two earlier, I have no idea where I am, or how I got here."

Jacke raised an eyebrow, "Ye mean to say ye turned the Aetheryte into dust without meanin' to?"

"The what?" Harry was getting tired of not knowing anything.

"The Aetheryte," Jacke's other eyebrow joined the first in wonder, "Big crystal, glows some, spins more?"

"… Does it talk?"

"Not as I know, no."

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell."

Jacke sat up straight and focused his eyes on his face. Harry felt as if the man could count the hairs on the back of his head.

"Aye," Jacke sucked his teeth, "Yer not lyin', lad."

Harry didn't realize his shoulders had been so tense.

"Where'd ye hail from, then?"

"Not from Eorzea, I know that much."

"Ye don't look Doman. Garlemald?"

"I don't know what those are."

"Where in Hydaelyn did ye come from, then?"

Harry considered, and answered, "I know a Hydaelyn, I think."

"Aye, you oughta' know the world ye live in, no?"

"I don't know Hydaelyn as a world, however."

"… But I'm not from Hydaelyn."

Whatever Jacke wanted to say with his befuddled look was cut off by the arrival of the only other people he'd met so far.

"Brought ye yer ale an' cards, Captain."

Jacke nodded at them and watched as they sat down. Then he reached for a bundle of cloth that harry assumed contained a deck of playing cards.

"Seein' as yer not from 'round 'ere," Jacke unwrapped the cloth, and spread the cloth itself on the table, "Don't suppose ye know how to play Triple Triad?" It wasn't really a question.

Harry answered anyway, "Not a clue."

"Bene," Was that Italian? "It's not so hard as ye can't learn it on the go," he gestured at the cloth, and Harry noticed that it had a three-by-three grid on it, "There's yer board. This one's not as clean as yer like to find elsewhere, but it works."

He threw Harry a card from the deck, and it was only years of practice as a Seeker that let him snatch it out of the air in time.

"Cards 'ave four numbers, we call 'em ranks, an' they're mostly what tells ye if yer card can beat another. Place that one anywhere on the board."

Harry look at it before doing so, it looked kind of like a Dodo bird would, except perhaps puffier, and it had the numbers Four-Two-Three-Four, going clockwise, on the bottom, as well as a golden star on the top left corner.

He placed it in the middle of the grid, and the card's gray background turned blue.

"Magic?" He dared to hope.

"Bene, that makes ye the blue player," He picked up a card from the deck, "Now watch."

He placed another card to the right of it, one with what appeared to be a deep black bunny-like creature holding a rock. Clockwise, the 'ranks' on it were Two-Three-Four-Four, so one of the fours was left facing the Dodo's two.

The background of the card Jacke placed turned red, and then the blue background of the one Harry had placed turned red as well.

"Simple as that, eh? Goal's to turn as many cards on the board to yer color. Once yer out o' room, the game ends, whoever's turned the most cards wins, and earns some more gil to drink away before the next round."

Harry nodded; it seemed simple enough, however…

"Why are you teaching me this?"

Jacke shrugged, "Might as well play a few hands while we wag our tongues, no? Oh!" He took the cards and shuffled them, "This 'ere's a deck we keep 'round the Sisters to play whenever we're bored, but general rule's as everyone keeps their own cards to use, no two decks are the same."

"Wouldn't that be a bit unbalanced?" Harry could taste the irony of saying that after playing a sport where the Golden Snitch was a thing.

"Bloody love it, though."

"Ha! Yer already sayin' that an' ye 'aven't even played a single round. But aye, there's collectors with cards so strong yer better off fighting the critter what shows in it than tryin' to win a game against 'em. That said…" He gave Harry five cards. "This deck's filled with little critters, so it all balances out."

"How do you decide who goes first?" He asked.

"Boards what ye can get almost anywhere usually come with red an' blue cards. Ye shuffle those, draw three cards, an' whichever color ye got two of gets to go first," He pulled out a golden coin, "Drew that board meself a while back, so 'ere at the Sisters we just flip a coin," He did just that, caught it with his right hand and put it on the back of his left one, still covering, "So, ye keen?"

Harry looked at the hand he was dealt, "Eh, what the hell."

He wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere.

"Magic doesn't exist as far as most people are concerned in my world."

"Aye? How's that work?" Asked Jacke.

"Those of us that can do magic have been in hiding for centuries – it's against the laws to reveal ourselves in any manner."

"Why in the seven hells would ye do that?" Asked Underfoot.

Harry thought about that one, "I'm not really sure, actually," He shrugged, "Most likely fear. People are usually afraid of what they don't know or understand."

"Aye, I get that. Fear o' what's in the darkmans makes some culls uneasy. Ye won't find much as don't know about magic, though. Everyone in Eorzea can do it."

"Everyone?"

"Really?"

"Aye, 'cept for maybe a few what aren't born with either the aether or the taste for it, everyone learns a spell or two."

"Now that, is amazing." The prospect of being able to do whatever he wanted with magic anywhere he could filled him with excitement, something this world had been doing very often, he noted.

"Now if only I had my wand."

"Seems like a waste," said the Stray, "Ye'd be makin' some pretty good coin with what only magic can do."

"… I never thought of it that way."

Jacke snorted, "Leave it to one of me rogues to worry about the coin! Yer givin' the lad a bad impression o' us all."

V'kebbe just smiled, "An' what's wrong with that? Can't 'ave 'im thinkin' we're all good people 'ere."

And there was the in that Harry had been waiting for.

"Speaking of," He began, "What is it that you guys do, exactly?"

"Took ye long enough," Jacke played a card, turning one of Harry's, "We rogues, as we call ourselves, enforce a short but strict code in Limsa Lominsa.

"Limsa's a fine city founded an' populated mostly by old seadogs an' pirates former an' current. If yer wonderin' 'ow aught ever got done with that lot, the answer's nothin' at all. Nay, everyone soon realized we needed to lay down a few rules lest eyepatches became the norm, an' so we ended up with an unwritten an' mostly-unspoken Code of conduct, as it were."

Harry played another card, turning two of Jacke's over – Triple Triad was actually a pretty good game as far as anything off a broom went.

Jacke didn't seem to care, "There's three rules everyone what knows of the Code agrees to: One, ye don't bite the purses o' yer fellow Lominsans; two, ye don't rook a crew out o' their spoils; an' three, ye don't trade culls like they was chattel." Jacke picked up the cards and shuffled them again, this round was Harry's, "There're more murky details to it, but they're mostly extensions o' those three."

He dealt the cards again, "We at the Rogue's Guild move about in the darkmans, where culls can't find their way, and enforce the code, all for the sake o' Limsa Lominsa.

"We're not a secret guild in any sense – anyone as cares to squint at the shadows can find us; an' the Admiral, to whom we owe our capacity to work, knows she can count on us to keep the pirates an' other thieves in check."

Harry had never known anywhere that allowed vigilantism in such a scale, but he couldn't deny that the idea of it filled him with excitement for this new world.

"The Admiral?"

"Aye, Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn."

Harry blinked at the name, "Admiral, then."

Everyone at the table cracked up at his expression, "Ha! It's not even the biggest mouthful yer gonna get as far as names come, lad. There's some real lunkers out there, best get used to it 'fore you tick someone off." Said Underfoot.

"Many 'o us wouldn't 'ave a place without the Guild, an' the Guild wouldn't 'ave a place without the Admiral." V'kebbe stated with a smile.

"Aye, we steer clear of the Yellowjackets an' the Maelstrom Command, leave 'em to watch Limsa in the lightmans, an' we look after 'er in the darkmans. Admiral might 'ave outlawed piracy, but 'er grip's not as strong in the back alleys an' black markets."

"Speakin' o' which," They all turned towards the Stray, "Whid's the tussle ye got in earlier involved the Jackets."

Harry saw Jacke's face take on a grim tone, "Aye, nasty work, that one. I 'eard from the mornin' boats as a jomer 'ad 'er skin nicked from 'er not long after 'er husband took to sea." He played a card and took a sip from his ale before continuing, "Normally I don't condone workin' in the lightmans, but that cull was like to piss away the coin before the day was done. So I tracked 'im down to the Wench an' sure enough, he's halfway through the pissin' I predicted.

"Bitin' back the skin was easy, but the man 'ad his mates 'round 'im in case aught was amiss."

"An' I'm guessin' they were Yellowjackets." Said Underfoot, his face scrunched up in thought.

"Aye, as they were. An' so was the cull – an' a handy one with an axe, too."

"What's a Yellowjacket buggerin' about in the docks for? They're as out of the way as it gets in Limsa." Asked the Stray.

"Aye, I couldn't see it before, rushed as I was, but now I'm sure they meant to lure out a rogue."

Underfoot nodded slowly, "That's what I think, too."

Harry figured he might as well add his two cents – "Or is it Gil?" – to the conversation, "Someone high enough to know about you that doesn't agree with the way you do things, then?"

Jacke thought about it, and shook his head, "Doesn't narrow it down much, no. Plenty o' culls what hate us around the decks, an' knowing about us ain't a matter of rank, either."

He looked at his fellow rogues, "For now, just spread the whid an' make sure no one turns their backs on the Jackets."

The other two nodded, and it suddenly struck Harry that he had no idea what he was going to do after they were done with their talk-slash-game.

"Don't suppose any of you know where I could find a pair of shoes?"

The serious looks on the rogues' faces slipped away into grins, and Jacke answered, "Lad, ye could be wearin' the best boots the market could offer an' ye'd still stand out like a 'ole in a sail. Best fetch ye a whole outfit," He leant back,, arms crossed with a thoughtful look, "Since I did drag ye into a rogue's den out o' curiosity, it'd be remiss o' me to kick ye out into the decks as ye are, no?"

"Actually, did you see if I had a wooden stick with me? That is- my wand, did I have a wand with me when you found me?"

Jacke shook his head, "No wand that I could see. Just you in the middle of the plaza." He turned towards V'kebbe, "We'll have to fetch lad some duds from the larder what no one's claimed, if ye find a stabber what's not all that dull, bring it too."

Harry had to stop himself from saying it was too much, but the notion of stepping out into what was described to him as a dock on his socks, 'queer' clothes and without a wand wasn't all that appealing to him.

"I'll be in your debt, truly, thanks."

Jacke waved him off, "Yer not the first cove to come into the Sisters with nothin' to 'is name. 'Course, those usually stay as recruits," He looked him over, "Ye got the eyes an' fingers for it, aye. But I won't ask ye to join, that's all up to the prospects."

That was an invitation, Harry could tell, even the way he worded it. Harry's first reaction was to say no outright, he had, after all, left everything including his girlfriend behind for a sliver of freedom, so joining some organization of people he'd just met felt a bit like betraying that purpose.

Logically, however, he knew nothing about this world, and he had been lucky enough to be found by someone who seemed willing to lend a hand. If he took up the offer, he'd have a place to stay, possible friends to count on, and most importantly, a chance to stand on his own two feet before whatever his purpose on this world was became clear.

He hadn't forgotten his promise, the deal that had landed him on Hydaelyn in the first place. He still didn't know why he was wanted here, or what he was meant to do about it.

"Is it a permanent kind of deal?"

Jacke smiled, the man did that a lot, he noted, they all did, in fact, "Not at all, lad. Yer free to go where the wind blows so long as ye stick to the Code an' don't forget about yer mates."

That sealed it then. Worst-case scenario, he'd pick up the accent and never be rid of it. Harry gave a nod, "Sounds good, sign me up."

Underfoot clapped, V'kebbe raised her mug, and Jacke's smile showed teeth at last, "Bene. Alright mates! Make that two stabbers an' a lot more ale! Call Lonny an' Bochard an' whoever doesn't need to throw a knife today.

"We're celebratin'!"

Harry couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm, the rogues so far seemed like a family, and for all they claimed their job was of the dirty kind, they still had light hearts and easy smiles.

And no matter what else the future – and the world – had prepared for him, Harry hoped he could be like that his entire life.

A/N: We're stopping there for now.

Rogue? Out of a wizard? Yes, I know. I came into this vowing that Harry wouldn't simply end up an arcanist or a thaumaturge, no matter how well his skill set would appear to translate to those classes, I simply couldn't handle the cliché, and writing the rogues has been a joy no matter how difficult their accents and slang are to even write.

So yes, the rogues are going to be recurrent characters, for which I will include a glossary of slang in the next chapter, which so far is shaping up to be even heavier slang-wise.

On another note, I'd failed to notice that there was not a single Harry Potter/FFXIV crossover on this site. Nary one to be seen. I'm actually surprised the first chapter got any reviews at all.

Thanks for reading, leave a review if you like.

See you next chapter.