Sometimes, the problem with trying to meet up with your employer is that you have no idea what they look like, not even a photo to help identify who this employer is. It doesn’t help with the fact that the location where they were supposed to meet up is very wide open, like an open field, or rather in this case, the crowded shores. Not even mention of a landmark or anything, which proved to be making his life difficult as a guildless mage. All he knows is that the client was referred to as 'Crazy Itza'. This could go two ways - Crazy Itza could be a very powerful mage who wreaks havoc in battle, hence the nickname. He could see it as the case, but it may just be a nickname he got because he is, in fact, literally crazy. This proved to be the case as he sought out the locals to help identify the man. “Excuse me, ma’am, but do you know where a man named ‘Crazy Itza’ is?” The locals who he questioned gave him a worrying look, but nevertheless, told him where he could be found. Usually. He stumble upon one of the other locals and had a much different response, “This is because of the job, isn’t it.” One of the locals responded in question to his question, and he replied with another question, “Is that a problem?”
The man sighs. Perhaps it’d be best to just tell him outright why some of the locals were wary of him. “I’d advise you not to believe everything he says, but you do you. I heard from some of the locals that he has dementia.” The man says, and sighs once more, before continuing, “I’m not sure what his problem is, but if it’s dealt with sooner, everyone around here would find a semblance of peace. That is, if he goes on another tirade of mythical creatures of make believe.” He points out to one of the storehouses near the docks, the one that’s not where you board the bigger ships that sail back to Fiore. “He usually hangs around that spot in the morning to fish, but that’s not the only thing he’s good at. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” The man says as he picks up the boxes laid on the ground, hoisting it up and moving on to do his job. He uttered a muffled ‘thanks’ but he’s sure the man would not have heard him.
Walking over to the docks the man pointed out earlier, he inspected his surroundings and found the man he was looking for, fitting the description the other locals told him about. Aside from his obvious hobby, or profession, of fishing, he looks like your typical alcoholic. Not only did he bring his bait and a container to put the fish in, but he also brought a pack of beer or two. As for the man’s physical appearance, he looks like your typical deadbeat sailor. His short stature was compensated with his rather bulky build, his biceps being bigger than his, and his stomach is big which may have been caused by drinking a lot; a beer belly in short. He had white hair that reached the base of his neck, and it’s all messy and curly. Patches of white hair cover most of his face; a scruffy beard that looks like it’s been poorly maintained. He is not that short, no. He is merely a few inches shorter than him, but not too short. If he was a race from one of those fantasy tabletop roleplaying games, he’d fit the description of a dwarf, except he’s a fisher, not a miner. He wore a white wife beater that makes his stomach really stand out, and the sleeves of his blue jacket were worn and wrapped around his waist. He sports a similarly blue pair of pants as well as a pair of yellow waterproof boots. A khaki bucket hat is worn to protect his head from the sun’s light.
He was hesitant at first, thinking of paying heed to the locals’ words of warning and worried looks. But if accepting and finishing this job would give them a semblance of peace from this person’s prattle, then what is he to refuse such request? He doesn’t even know what the man wanted to look for, the locals not able to disclose information to him. They might have forgotten, most likely. Or they refuse to disclose that information. Regardless, he has to approach him. The man heard the sound of footsteps coming his way and muttered a long ‘ohhhh’ under his breath. “You must be Crazy Itza? I’m here for the job posti-” The man interrupted, “Finally! Someone to help me on my search! Are ye from Fairy Tail? Silver Wolf? Sabertooth?” The man said, clearly under the influence of alcohol. His voice was deep and it echoed around him. “No, I’m guildle-” “And what magic do you have? Does it help me search for beauty I’ve been trying to get to?” With each question, Michael was taken aback. Great, he’s that kind of crazy. He already had the feeling their meeting would not go so well, but he didn't think the man would care. He just arrived and he’s already being bombarded with questions, though this is the first time he’s dealt with a client like him.
“First of all, I am a guildless mage just trying to earn a living. Second of all, I will not disclose what magic I use, but yes, it will help. I think. What did you need for a mage like me?” He spoke out with a hint of irritation in his tone. The last thing he needed was a random stranger up on his face. The man behaved himself and apologized heartily, “A’ight! I’m sorry!”, and proceeded to reel in the fishing line. “So. There’s this purrty lady-” Michael wanted to groan so bad just hearing these few words escape the old man's mouth. This is gonna be one of those missions, isn’t it? He thought to himself. He decided to listen to this man’s prattle. “Wait, wait, it’s not just any *hic* purrty lady. She’s a thing of beauty, she is, not unlike any *hic* other babes I’ve seen walk around this part of the city.” He says while eyeing on what can only be described as two women with a juicy pair of posteriors just casually walking towards where they needed to go. A smirk grows on his face, clearly thinking of something perverted. “Focus.” Michael warned, clearly irritated at this point. He just wanted to get this over with.
“Oh, oh. Where was I? Oh yeah! *hic* this purrty lady ain’t like the rest of them hoes. Her voice was *hic* absolutely divine.” The man says, and Michael knows where this is going - the man is going to go to extreme length to detail his mystery encounter a year past. “Her skin was white and glowed under the *hic* moon, and she had uh… beautiful red hair. Her tits were *hic* covered by shells, sadly. I wanted to see them off. And she had those green eyes that’s just *hic* mesmerizing.” He took a swig off of one of his bottles of beer before continuing, “She’s just very purrty. I want her to be my wife. I’d knock her up real good hehe…” He took a sip.
“Oh, and she’s a mermaid with a pink purrty tail.” He added.
Great, he thought. He was going to look for this mystery mermaid for the man. As much as he doesn’t want to, considering Crazy Itza is more or less a perverted old man, he had to. What are the odds that the mystery woman was somehow fake? Or doesn’t exist even. He took this into consideration and reluctantly agreed, “Alright, fine. I’ll help you out. Do you know where to look?” The man nodded his head with a smug grin on his face, “I know *hic* where the landmarks are. I wouldn’t dare forget it. We can take my ship to get there.” He says as he packed up his stuff, leaving behind his unconsumed cans of beer. He went to his yacht, and it looked pretty well maintained. It was painted with a pristine white and the deck has a rich wooden color. He followed him inside and that’s when he realized.
The two of them are going out into the open sea.