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Post by LancerZero on Mar 19, 2007 12:35:52 GMT
What the hell kinda person calls their tavern 'The Faltering Chocobo', anyway? Friggin' weirdos. And yet, there it stood, right in front of her. A run-down little building, the cracks in its aged masonry betraying what its bright new street sign did not.
The demihuman wolf sighed and shook her head. I dunno if they hunt and kill Abominations to put in that soup, or if they're just trying to warn you about its taste . . . oh well, at least it's probably drier inside than it is out here. She pulled the door open, and stepped inside.
The first thing she noticed was that there was no place to put her spear, or any of her other weapons. Which meant that other patrons in the tavern were probably armed as well. And to think, Burmecia calls itself a civilized place. The second thing she noticed was that there wasn't a place to put her rain-soaked green cloak.
And the third thing her totally ordinary (for a demihuman wolf) yellow eyes noticed was that her time outside had made her jet-black hair somewhat wetter than she'd expected it to, and it was dripping rather annoyingly. She pulled a small elastic band from one of her pockets, and secured it back in a ponytail. It still dripped, but at least it wasn't soaking her shoulders. That's better.
Having spent more time than she normally would standing by the doorway, she was quick to find a vacated seat at the bar and take it. Though not terribly hungry or thirsty, she did at least want to stay out of the rain for a little while.
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Post by Wilson on Mar 26, 2007 7:21:00 GMT
Home!
The tavern, of course, wasn't really home. For the moment, home for this human wanderer was the inn in a better district of the nezumi capital city, in which was double-locked pretty much everything of worth the man owned--the bulk of which was the scattered remnants of a parcel of leather goods of all qualities.
The gentle firelight of this frequented tavern, though, was welcoming enough, the promise of a dry and warm spot alluring enough, and the prospect of a very strong drink before him enticing enough; the little hole-in-the-wall looked at that moment very homelike to the merchant. With a contented whistling, he yanked the door open and leapt up the step inside.
Once across the threshold, the man whipped off his hooded leather cloak, snapped it once in the direction of the door to shake off the water (probably getting a drunk or two a little wet in the process), and then, walking to the bar, tossed it under an open seat. Knocking with a gloved hand on the counter as he sat, the man gave a careful sideways glance at the persons next to whom he'd chosen to sit.
Can't be too careful these days. Maybe someday I'll learn to look before I sit. At least I've taken care of my creditors! I'd celebrate, but the barkeep is not exactly cooperating with me on things here. Uh oh--have I a tab here I've forgotten?
Sweat starting at his forehead, the man decided to risk it--he had the money (for now), and he was apt to spend it or have it stolen in any event.
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Post by LancerZero on Mar 30, 2007 2:34:01 GMT
The wolf snickered as the human shook off his coat with a great deal of mess-making, and kept an eye on him as he approached the bar and took a seat. He looks nervous . . . wonder if it's 'cuz he thinks he got somebody wet & mad? Or is he on the run? Either way, could be of interest to me.
She shifted her spear to her left hand as she sidled over to him, and flashed what she hoped was a disarming smile as she held out her right hand in greeting. "Hi there! People call me 'Shiva', and I'm not from around here. Doesn't look like you are, either. Mind indulging my curiosity by tellin' me what brings you to this dreary place?"
If he IS nervous, though, a smile and a handshake might not be enough. Eh, I've got a little extra money from my last job . . . why the hell not? "Drink's on me," she added, "One out-of-towner to another."
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Post by Wilson on Mar 31, 2007 8:49:18 GMT
'Shiva,' eh? And I'm the Lindblum baby. That's an assumed name if I ever heard one. Still, he smiled just a bit tensely and stretched forth his gloved left hand, just a little terrified but not wanting to appear obviously unnerved--and, of course, it simply wouldn't be polite to not. A wolf with a big spear and a fake name--oh, but if she wanted money she'd accost me outside, not inside. Hm! Nothing irreplaceable on me but my life, so let's see where this takes me.
"Pleasure, Shiva. Now, you can call me however it pleases you, but my name is Simon." Without a moment's pause, he reversed his palm and gently shook the woman's hand in an inverse grip--not only was Simon left-handed, but he enjoyed the little edge of surprise that the unusual gesture often afforded him. Right now it helped the skittish merchant ease into a more familiar mode: releasing Shiva's hand, he began to size up the cut of her clothes, the polish of her spear--anything that could clue him in to how deep was her purse.
Unbidden, though, a wild thought shot through Simon's mind: let her wonder, rather than spill the beans right away about his drab life as a traveling merchant. "And I'll take you up on that drink," Simon went on, having made his decision to deceive in the span of about two seconds, "on the condition that you pick it, and that it's nothing with 'local color.'" With a measured laugh, he quipped, "I may be feeling adventurous tonight, but I've been around enough to know better than to brave the specials around these parts. Fair enough?"
Hah! If I wore a sword, she'd take me for an adventurer for sure. Let's let her wonder--just for a while--at what brings me here, see how long before she guesses. It's not like she's going to buy some gloves or anything. But... her hair's all wet! She could certainly use a waxed cloak or--oh, now stop that! For the next hour you're a cavalier, not some worthless peddler.
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Post by LancerZero on Apr 1, 2007 5:23:57 GMT
Simon's examination, however, revealed little of apparent value on Shiva. Her spear was a weapon of good quality, but only the blade's edges were polished, indicating more care for function rather than fashion; the shaft had small red notches cut in it, as if she used them to mark kills; and the shaft had strips of cloth wrapped around it in two places for better grip. It wasn't pretty, but it had obviously been used more than a few times before.
There was little to be said for the rest of her clothes, except that they served the purpose of keeping her body covered. From her tattered green jacket and cloak to her faded brown tunic and pants (the latter two were secured about her waist by a sturdy leather belt), and the roughly-repaired seams that criss-crossed them, there was little about her to indicate potential wealth.
Then again, there were those that saved every bit of gil they earned rather than spending it on fineries. Regardless, Shiva didn't know about his inspection, so she didn't think to further conceal or reveal her financial state. Instead, she nodded her head and replied, "Fair 'nuff, Simon. I'll order us an old favorite of mine: starts out sour & tart, but ends up sweet as you please."
To the barkeep, she called out, "Two Treno Tricksters with a twist!" While she waited for the drinks, she reached over to her own left side and dug around for what she thought would be the required amount of gil. And she also worked on her own sizing-up of Simon, too.
A human in Burmecia - that's unusual enough. This guy has - wait. Simon? Isn't he the guy with those two brothers, what's-their-names . . . Al . . . Albert, no . . . Alvin and Theo? Something like that. Naw, he's not young enough.
So, Simon, who and what are you? Got a score that needs settling? A debt that needs collecting? Or are you only here for a drink and a dry place to consume it? Time will tell. "Ah, there we go." Closing her pouch, she idly twiddled the coins between her fingers while she waited for Simon to continue.
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Post by Wilson on Apr 8, 2007 4:37:51 GMT
There was a quiet moment--Simon was hoping Shiva would go on to talk about herself, but it was quickly apparent that this wasn't about to happen.
Oh, balls. Now what? There wasn't much about Simon to indicate that he was much of an adventurer. Under his cloak--a meager thing, little more than an oilskin to keep off the rain--he wore an old-looking reefer jacket (he couldn't stand sailors or sailing, but he liked the look) and a pair of dark trousers of a material that looked pliable but was otherwise not distinctive. Whatever was under the jacket wasn't immediately obvious. His gloves and boots appeared fairly new and well-kept--naturally, they were spotted with the rain and mud, but--perhaps surprisingly--didn't appear to suffer too badly from it.
Still, he didn't wear any obvious weapons or even armor. Was it even plausible that he was anything more than a merchant?
Well, you only live once. "Actually," Simon finally said with a little cough, turning to lean one arm on the bar, "that sounds just about perfect. But you asked what I was doing here? Well, to be honest, I've only been in town a little while. Er... business matter. You know. I'm at my liberty now, though. Not really sure what I'm up to doing with myself."
I should send word to Grant, tell him to just head home. If this gets interesting, I wouldn't want to have to cart around all that rubbish.
"So, what about you, Shiva? Come to Burmecia to take lessons from the Dragoons?"
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Post by LancerZero on Apr 9, 2007 20:01:39 GMT
"Hawhaw!" Shiva guffawed. "Like they'd actually teach me anything if I asked!" Settling down a bit, she crossed her legs and rested one of her arms on the bar. "'Sides, their fighting style's quite a bit different from mine. Much more formal. Naw, I guess you might say I'm here on a bit of 'business', myself. What 'bout you? If you don't mind my asking, what's your business?" Quite a bit different than mine, I'd imagine. But maybe we can work together . . .
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Post by Wilson on Apr 14, 2007 4:49:56 GMT
"Oh, I rode up on a smallish caravan a while back. They had some goods to offload and were hard up for security. Since then--well, things have been a little slow."
A harmless little lie couldn't hurt, Simon figured. After all, should the worst happen, he wasn't planning on staying in Burmecia much longer anyhow. To a merchant, the prospect of the slightly funny deal was nothing new--but the danger was always more abstract for a dealer in legitimate goods, as opposed to a smuggler or other kind of adventurer. Although cognizant of the fact that he could be getting himself into trouble, the actual depth and breadth of the worst that could happen really didn't occur to Simon just then.
And it wasn't _entirely_ a lie, he mused: Simon's lackey Grant had been jumping out of his seat the entire trip, convinced as he had been that bandits and fiends were going to jump out of every swampy hole the pair had passed.
Well, might as well make this interesting. I have to say _something,_ and the worst will be that she finds out I'm a poor merchant pretending to be something I'm not. "I have a cousin, though--of the same name--who has an interesting occupation, I'd always thought. I think of taking after him when times get boring like this. He's a hunter, you know. Hunts were--foxes." The merchant decided halfway through the word "werewolf" that perhaps he'd made a poor choice of lycanthrope. I should've said 'vampires' or 'death incarnate' or something less touchy.
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Post by LancerZero on Apr 24, 2007 2:10:38 GMT
Shiva quirked an eyebrow at him, and looked down her snout. "Werefoxes, eh? That's a new one." With a chuckle, she clasped her hands in her lap and added, "So, Simon, please tell me: what're these 'werefoxes' like, hmm?" Of course, it wasn't the first time someone had hastily corrected themselves around her, and she still found it funny that people did it at all, especially since it almost invariably wound up being painfully obvious they were doing so. "Now, I've fought a werewolf or two myself, but never a werefox!" She turned back towards the bar, looking at him out of her other eye this time, with a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Still, sounds like a messy line of work. He ever catch one?"
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Post by Wilson on Apr 24, 2007 20:28:12 GMT
"Oh!" Simon effected relief. "Well, of course he started on werewolves. Awful brutes! WEREwolves, I mean." He laughed curtly, then went on in a congenial tone, "No, the werefox is a clever beast, rather than a fierce one. Political things, if you'd believe it! Cultured!"
Simon realized he'd gotten a little exercised. With a slight noise of throat-clearing, he said in a bit more moderate tone, "They are the kind of folk who like to get themselves into positions of power; they get foiled every time by their lycanthropy. Makes them... irrational and mischievous--and lazy! They never get anywhere, really--they become stuck as county deputies, small-time criminals, no-name merchants, and that sort of thing."
Flicking at an unidentifiable bit of food on the bartop, he went on, "Simon always thought they would be easier prey. A bit lazy himself, you know. Not dangerous at all, though, unless you give them a reason not to like you. The foxes, I mean--not Simon."
Where was I going with this again? Oh, right. Me. The merchant licked his lips, then continued, "Gets paid quite a bit, actually, Simon does. Local politics. Just being suspected of being a lycanthrope is bad enough, but when a hunter shows up asking questions about you? Well, now that ends a man's aspirations and quickly--and that's most of what he does. Assassinates careers. It's not pretty, no--nor is it for everyone! Once in a while you actually find a were, and then you're suddenly in a dangerous situation. History's infamous assassins have all been suspected of being weres, don't you know? Simon--well, he sent a letter the other day, complained that it's been too long since I'd seen him. Er. Since he'd seen me."
I'm running off at the mouth. I'm going to say something stupid and get myself into trouble. Oh! And I can't leave town until Syfa's ankle heals. Stupid!
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Post by LancerZero on May 18, 2007 3:37:56 GMT
Shiva nearly snorted her drink out on the counter a couple of times, and wound up guffawing at Simon's explanation, slapping a palm against the counter to support herself during the fit of laughter. "You - he -" she seemed about to recover, pointing at the man with some degree of lucidity in her eyes.
But as quickly as it'd come, it was gone, and she sputtered into laughter again. This time it was shorter-lived, though, and she settled into chuckles as she finally managed, "Oh man, that's the best yarn I've heard in at least a month! Ha! Do you spin tales like that at every bar, or am I one of the lucky few, eh?"
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