PM to join [East Street] No rest for the wicked

(Noven) Fallon is on the hunt for some hunters.

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

[East Street] No rest for the wicked

Postby Fallon on July 9th, 2015, 3:19 pm

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36th Summer 515 AV
Sundown, 21st Bell

The days had begun to stretch out, Fallon mused as she took to the cooler shades. Heat still clung to the air, thick and heavy as she waded through it, the gentle clink of steel and metal following her form - armed to the teeth came to mind. The coat clung to her, the worn fabric giving her lacking shape as she took those determined steps. Today was one of hunting, the tracking down and teasing of information from. It was the case of turning from prey to predator, and so the persona of Fallon pushed aside for that of the Red Wolf. This was no idle matter and no room for doubt, it was a situation and problem that had to be stamped out as soon as possible - less it take root and bloom into something much worse. And so, to ensure the job was done, she called in for additional assistance in the shape of Noven - she imagined such an opportunity would appeal to him.

Arms folded, she took the lean against the corner of the street and waited, melding into the scene and gradually blending in with the people. To exist, not to be picked out as a stranger, to be accepted as a norm within the streets. Quiet, silent, she could hear the cheer of the Kelp Bar in the distance - the building up into what could be described as a drunken chorus. The other few bodies that continued to pass on through, sailors and fishermen finishing for the day, the gear loaded across their back and shoulders as they retreated to their homes. With such there would be less witnesses - she reasoned -, more flexibility and capability of doing what was needed. She pinched her brow, gathered her thoughts and focused on what she did know.

Someone was trying to hunt down the ex-scars. For what reason she did not exactly know, but it left only a bitter taste upon her tongue. It was a danger, namely with the fragile existence they had and could maintain in Zeltiva. But why were they here? Why were they trying to hunt down the ex-Scars members? She remembered their dangerous escape from Sunberth, the amount of death they caused and made on their time there. Was someone looking for revenge? It would make sense, she reasoned with a frown, more so with the drunken individual who burst into her office the previous season. Revenge for the dead, a want to destroy and rid them from the world - it was something that would appear in those blinded by it, and if they had come to the city to do so then it would only be a matter of time. If word got back to Sunberth, how many more people would they then have to contend with?

She exhaled and pushed herself off towards the direction of the Kelp Bar, the gauntlet covered hand pushing the door open and clunking across the inside. The raucous noise of song hit her as she made her way across to the tender and took a lean against the bar. She put down a silver, finger sliding it across to the tender and the deeper, rougher tones of Bitzer rippled forth, "Gut rot, double it up."
There was a nod, the popping of a cork and slamming down of a wood tumbler. The lingering acidic smell hovered in the air, the glug of this dark off green liquid being poured - she imagined there was some kind of kelp orientated drink judging by the lingering scent. The bartender gave her a look up and down, "Got some steel on you there. You a mercenary?"
"Maybe."
"Looking for a fight then?"
"No. Less someone picks one with me,"
she swirled the cup around in her gauntlet, "Then I'll just finish it."
FALLON
Fallon | Coffee Codes | Skill Images

Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fallon
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[East Street] No rest for the wicked

Postby Noven on July 17th, 2015, 8:15 pm

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Ye gods. How he dreaded the sight of this place.

Noven stared at the Kelp Bar from some ways down the street, a rush of memories swarming in his head, the consequences of which then formed a nasty knot in his stomach. He'd been here only a handful of times before trouble caught up with him. And by trouble, he meant a certain, pain-addicted blond.

The last time the Sunberthian had set foot in this establishment, he'd been involved in nearly tearing the place down. He and blondie had barely escaped with their lives. Only to fall into a twisted arrangement that left a splinter of guilt and revulsion wedged deep inside of his awareness. Nov didn't like having to use some lass half his size as a personal, Vexing victim, but what choice did he have? She wouldn't leave him alone and he didn't have the luxury of turning her away. After all of that ruckus they had caused, he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to Vex another person within this city anonymously again.

With gloved hands, the former Scar rubbed once at his weary face before pushing through the doors. He had his hood up and head bowed, blending in with the Kelp Bar's lower class patrons as best he could. Not that it required a behemoth amount of effort. Nov looked as ragged and grimy as the next poor sod wasting his coin on that green fish piss known as beer.

And purposefully so, once Bitz--Fallon had made her plans known to him. A few days without a bath, coupled with the fact that he had enough troubles on his mind to make his fists itch to break a few jaws, fit him right in with this merry lot.

It didn't take long for Nov to spot Wolf Girl amongst the crowd. He took his time, careful not to rush as he made his way toward the bar. There were a few seedy looking types guffawing with laughter and pounding the tables at something their mates just said, but it was with palpable relief that he confirmed no machete wielding, crazy-eyed murderers were mucking about.

By the time he reached the bar, Fallon had just finished ordering a drink and answering the barkeep's much warranted questions. Ever since a fortnight ago when Noven had very brashly, very purposefully started a full fledged free-for-all brawl in the Kelp Bar, the owner had grown keener than ever in preventing such a thing from happening again. And the fugitive was certain there had to be at least one or two brutes out for revenge in the crowd, looking for a face just like his.

Just as the barkeep gave Fallon a narrow look and turned his back to stow away the silver coin, Nov slid onto the stool next to her, hood still raised.

"Shouldn't mention anything about fighting," he mumbled, withdrawing a silver of his own to place on the bar. He did so casually, and only at the same time another man ordered his drink, so that the barkeep was too busy to do much more than grunt, take the coin, and slap down a mug of Kelp Beer before moving on. "Rumors have it that some foreigner and his blond whore started one hell of a fight here not long ago. A couple people died, and folks aren't happy about it. Also makes the barkeep a mite twitchier than usual these days."

Nov took a swig of his beer, not even bothering to hide his disgust. He had it on good authority that you could get used to this stuff. But who was to say he'd even live long enough to prove this theory right or wrong.

"So, Boss. Wutcha got, other than someone else is looking to put our heads on a platter? Cause those are a silver a dozen these days."


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[East Street] No rest for the wicked

Postby Fallon on July 22nd, 2015, 9:23 am

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"I didn't. I merely answered the question presented, Little Red. Oh so polite aren't I?" She swirled the cup around once more, peering into its depths as she heard Noven make his presence known. There was no turn of the head to him, but he was noted with a small nod and a brief nudge of the elbow as he took up the seat. Her lips broke into a slither of white, "Rumour has it this foreigner is good looking and easy on the eye." There was a slow, deliberate look up and down of him then, "Can't possibly be you then."

The spirit was knocked back, the burning taste racing past her tongue and down her throat in one swift movement. There was a small gasp as it pulled away, the sensation leaving the sticky residue before she lowered the tumbler back to the bar. She took the brief opportunity to count the heads in the tavern, eyes flicking to the somewhat more aggressive body language of other patrons - seedy, grimy, who was looking back? Who was reading her back - none at the moment. Her gauntlet finger tip ran around the top of the tumbler.

"Crops die, Cattle die, People die. It happens. Sometimes it's just age, sometimes deliberate, sometimes bad luck..." Her voice turned slightly cool then, the facade of Fallon being replaced by the sharper edge of Bitzer. The green-blue orbs swivelled to focus on him for a moment, sharpening as they rested upon his eyes, "It was only bad luck. So I would not worry about it too much." Withdrawing, she gave a smile to the barkeep before answering in more persuasive tone, "But don't worry. We'll both catch that pest who is going about. Think he can go around and hurt any child of Zeltiva? Not on my watch, no sir-iee!" Her hand clapped upon Noven's shoulder then, "Isn't that right Dillain." She watched the bartender look at both of them then, a pausing blink as he seemed to gather his thoughts before he slid away with a grunt, "You kids, don't get yourselves killed."

Fallon held the smile there, hand continuing to clap against Noven's shoulder as the barkeep peeled out of earshot. It was once he was that she let the face fall down once more into neutrality. She could already feel the sensation of the alcohol start to press against her, the state of being a light weight once more consuming and installing a mild sense of false confidence. The question, she had to answer the question and push them forwards on their hunt, "What I got is that they're not local - should help 'em stick out like a sore thumb. Built big on personal vendetta stuff. And of course we and the rest of our family are the targets." The hand moved, circling around the tumbler with thought, "Already had a go at the office with a bottle of alcohol and fire, screaming some nonsense about revenge. Gut says they're blood lusting 'Berthers," she shrugged, "And we know where 'Berther's thrive in best."

The orbs flickered around the room again, the gauntlet fingers tapping upon the bar surface with thought. Who was looking at them? Who was weighing them up? Who looked as if they were itching for something, "So, we're gonna put out some bait and skulk about. Cheap bastards that we all are they'd probably come lurking about this water hole to piss it all away. In theory at least. Pick out the accent from the 'tivan." Her ears twitched, the door swinging open as a new set of patrons came in, "Other problem is, we need to make sure they don't squeal back to the rest of them. Else we might have a bit more than just one person to tangle with. So, eyes sharp for the moment, just don't get too itchy yourself."
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[East Street] No rest for the wicked

Postby Noven on August 3rd, 2015, 7:28 pm

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Nov snorted at her backhanded compliment. Or was it full fledged insult? Or neither? He could never really tell with her quick witted, teasing quips. The Sunberthian just let it be, following Fallon's lead as he threw back his kelp beer.

While his reaction to the taste wasn't nearly as audible, his face spoke enough of his general opinion. The stuff was foul, as always, and neither time nor persistence had lessened its potency. All the same, he wasn't one to complain. The man swallowed down his mouthful of Zeltiva's finest piss water and listened, pretending to brood over his mug while the lass beside him scanned the room for anything out of place.

He looked up again at the sound of Fallon's voice. Their eyes met then, and Noven was unsurprised to see that familiar visage of what he could only name as Bitzer staring back. It was a strange thing, being told Wolf Girl's true name and leaving all of their Scarhood behind, yet seeing these flickers of his former leader returning from time to time.

But odder still was that he not only failed to mind, he also found himself looking forward to such glimpses of mischief. It lent him a sense of purpose, wallowing as he was in this foreign city, and sated some of his homesickness. For there was nothing that reminded him of the Berth quite as much as the razor edge of a dangerous plan. The kind that could cut both ways if you gambled wrong, but at the same time proved undoubtedly necessary.

He almost choked on his beer when Fallon slapped him on the shoulder. Krysus, why that name of all names. First Little Red, and now an alias so soft he might as well have been one of those wealthy, aristocratic brats amusing himself on a rebellious outing. He played along as well as he could, nodding sheepishly and doing his best to appear every inch the harmless, impressionable compatriot, no matter how much his insides roiled. Though, Nov had to admit it got the job done. The bartender paid them no more mind than he would any other big headed youths, imparting a few wards of callous wisdom before moving on to serve the other customers. They maintained their little charade just long enough for him to be out of earshot. And then it was all back to business once more.

Noven absorbed Fallon's words as if they were water and he a dry sponge. Berthers out for revenge with a thirst for blood. Their blood. Wrong as it may have been, the feeling such information evoked was not fear. Nor was it anger. Not...it was almost as if...

...as if he wanted to dare them to try.

He slid a glance as the doors swung open, allowing a pair of rather mean looking patrons stalk through. "Good thing you've got an expert, eh? Takes one to know one, that sort of shyke."

Huddling over his mug once more, Nov hunched forward and let the hood fall lower across his face. "Only problem is the kind of bait you were planning on using. Cause as much as I'd love to leave a bit of my blood lying around, I think my...er, reputation might attract the wrong sort of folk. And by that, I mean far too petching many. I stick my neck out there and they'll be coming at me like a gam of sharks."

He took another draught of kelp beer, noting the sounds of the two new patrons settling in. There was a rough scraping of chairs, the telltale creaking of wood beneath formidable weight, and the crass calls for two mugs of beer.

"That," Nov added, a ghost of a grin beneath the safety of his hood, "and you know I'm not good with the itch. But you have my word I'll try."

Scratching under his hood in almost intentional jest, the Sunberthian turned inward for a moment, focusing his senses. It wouldn't take much--a frustrated grumble, a cocky declaration, a slip of slang no Zeltivan had any business knowing--to give their hunters away. Hopefully tongues would find themselves loosened tonight, aided by mug after mug of kelp beer.

"So, the skulking is going well and good," Nov muttered after a moment of silence, ignoring as best he could the briny taste of beer sliding about in his mouth. "What of the bait?"


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[East Street] No rest for the wicked

Postby Fallon on August 6th, 2015, 8:35 am

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Noven played along, for now it seemed, with both of their eyes near constantly looking at their surroundings. The bodies of the patrons were little different, partaking in their own little circles and enjoying each other's company. A mere hum of background noise filled with idle chatter. Her gaze shifted back down towards the tumbler, a slow nod in response - both were eager to get this over and done with. And probably both held the itch to let loose and deal their own justice. It was a factor she missed from Sunberth, the ability to do what she wanted and when she wanted; not to worry about government bodies who may hunt one down for her crimes. Exhaling she paused the finger drumming and collected her thoughts together, "Don't worry your little head. Not going to drop you in the shyke unless you do something to deserve it." Another nod of understanding, followed by a smirk, "Besides. Blood is a pain to get out of clothing. Why'd you think I choose to wear red?"

Out from behind the bar she caught the sight of the barkeep move across the room, placing down the two draughts of beer for the patron before dipping back again. Was there an exchange of coins? She did not know, but her ears pricked as another hiss of noise tickled her ears - the source being a different patron on this occasion.
"We have to drink this piss water? Petchin' disgusting."
"Oi, best thing we can get 'ere. Gotta shut up and put up."
"Waste of time coming 'ere."
The voices surrendered down into begrudging grunts of disgust and allowed her the opportunity to answer Noven's question.

"The bait?" Fallon looked at him then, sweeping her hand down her person in gesture, "That'll be me. The fearsome Red Wolf with the iconic clothing and bad temperament." She gave a smirk then, "Give them a snake head to take a swing at." Her hand gave a tap upon the tulwar hilts then, and then finally moved back towards the bar surface, "And then give them a reason to piss their pants." Leaning back on her stool, her hands being used to balance her, Fallon looked down the rightside of the bar, chin raised and eyes stealing glances to those who were there. The back corner had a collection of gambler with their dice, hunched around with eyes filled with greed. Along she could see another couple, sailors by the looks of the clothing - similar in shape and hold upon their person. The gaze continued to move, a pair of eyes staring back at her from one of the tables, shoulders hunched in as he peered over his tankard. She merely gave him a smile, before she rocked back forward at last.

"On your right. Sitting alone," she exhaled, picking up her tumbler and then waving it suggestively at the barkeep, "Nursing a drink carefully. Don't look directly. You see the bugger though right?" She heard the sigh of the barkeep came back over with the bottle of spirit in hand, "Watch his reaction for me will you?"
"You wanting another then?"
asked the Barkeep with a raised brow, "Just filling yourself with liquid courage before you do something stupid?"
"Stupid? Stupid!"
Fallon's voice picked up, the tones and rough edge of Bitzer pouring forth. The rolling lilt was pushed down her hand giving the man a definite point with her finger, "No stupid going on here! Told you, we'll do a dang good job and hunt down this pest!"
"You jumped up kids,"
the bartender snorted, "All cocky like. Thinking that you won't get yourselves into trouble . Just who do you think you are?"
"Me?"
Her teeth broke into a wolfish grin. She played upon the over confident and cocky, pushing the sound of egotistical self-confidence, "I'm the Red Wolf! And nothing like those folk can stop me!"
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fallon
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[East Street] No rest for the wicked

Postby Noven on August 17th, 2015, 12:02 am

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Krysus, she was serious. Not that it surprised the former cook. He could still remember that look on Fallon's face back at the Bay, the words that she had repeated over and over as they were scrambling to save their own skins. Family was the one she'd used most often...when she wasn't pacing about the ship, checking to make sure for the hundredth time that everyone was accounted for and insisting their needs be put before hers, from the Berth all the way to Zeltiva.

No, she would not have put his life on the line so casually. This was one of the few certainties Nov knew he could hold on to.

The former Scar gave an incredulous little shake of his head. "Some things never change, eh?" Another swig of beer, then, "Might have to do more than get them to piss their pants, though, if they came all this way."

Nov wiped his mouth with the backside of a sleeve before tugging at his gloves. "A service that I would be happy to provide."

A sniff and turn of the head later, he was back to mulling over his drink, taking no particular interest in any one thing for too long. As one of the serving wenches sauntered past, Nov feigned momentary interest while his former leader scanned the room a second time for signs of their pursuers. It wasn't long before he found his attention diverted once more from his efforts to appear innocuous. She must have found something this time, a knowing little smile peeking through her features before her stool settled back on all fours.

Noven scratched at his right ear and took the opportunity to make the most passing of glances. "Yeah, I see him," he muttered back, tilting his near empty mug toward himself as the barkeep returned.

It didn't take much to figure out what Fallon was up to. One moment she was requesting he watch their target's reaction, the next she was back to being full Bitzer, raising her voice enough that it cut through some of the din. Her partner in crime kept his expression mostly apathetic, but this sudden, one woman show was enough to leave his nerves more than a little on edge. Tension began to draw in his shoulders. No, relax. You're supposed to be keeping watch.

He managed, though just barely, not to wince as Fallon announced herself to the whole bar that she was the Red Wolf. Granted, that name meant nothing to most common folk here in Zeltiva. But to the ones that it did mean something...

Nov saw it right then. A slight pause as the man Fallon had pointed out held his mug of Kelp Beer mid draught, dark gaze turning instantly pensive.

"Red with your own blood, you mean," the barkeep snorted, filling both of their mugs to the brim. "This one's on the house. Get done with your drinks and get the petch out. I don't want no more trouble in my establishment, you hear me? Or the Wave Guard will be here faster than you can shyke yourselves."

And with that the grumpy fellow was gone again, rushing along to serve another patron. Nov raised his full mug in a mocking salute before downing another odious mouthful.

"That's our man alright," he confirmed hoarsely to Fallon without looking up, throat burning as the foul liquid ran its course. "One problem. So is that bloke now holding the dice. And the one betting against him. And the lass who just served drinks at the table closest to the door."

The Sunberthian downed the rest of his beer in one long draught and set the cup down with an emphatic exhale. "Oh, and don't forget those two meat heads who just walked in complaining of piss water. Pretty sure they want us dead, too." He pushed the empty cup away and started to slide off his stool. It was easy enough doing as the barkeep had ordered them to. Besides, if the night showed any inclination toward ending up a bloody one, it would be in their best interest not to have the Wave Guard involved. Five potential threats were going to be a handful enough.

"Think we've overstayed our welcome, Boss," Noven shrugged, jerking his chin toward the door. "How about we take a walk? Look for those pests elsewhere."


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[East Street] No rest for the wicked

Postby Fallon on August 23rd, 2015, 2:02 pm

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Fallon offered the bar keep a stupid grin, her eyes bright with a feigned amusement and her hand swirling around the contents of her cup. The Bartender gave them little more than a sharp tone, tired no doubt of their attempted gusto and thus looked only to be rid of them. For the most part, they were harmless - being jumped up youths and little more. Easily gotten rid of with a few stern words. With a raise of her own drink, and the words of Noven being mumbled from beneath his hood, she gave only a nod in response. Quickly downing the contents, she placed it on the bar side with a clunk, her orbs flickering to the various displeased faces around the room. While the people had been rather hidden before, now the differences were revealed - who would react, who would not react. She watched one of the men tense in the corner of her eye, his companion firmly grabbing him by the wrist to pull him back into his seat. Spurned or just looking for an excuse to fight? She did not dally on it, instead focusing on what little she did now.

They had laid down the bait, had attracted the scent of potential prey, and now it was simply the case of luring them out into the open. Easily achievable for now, it seemed. The wolfish smile grew upon her lips, the wood of the stool groaning as she stood. Hands placed firmly on the surface, there was a pause as she felt the slosh of alcohol fill her mind and momentarily distraught her perception. Control, sober, focus - she could not afford to petch up right now. With an exhale she gave a nod and a mumble to Noven, "I'm gonna go for a walk. We'll catch up in a bit. You hear?"

She did not wait for an answer, firmly placing one foot before the other. There was a brief pause as she ensured her footing was stable, before she continued onwards a quick step through the doors of the bar. It was with a blast of air that Fallon found herself outside on East Street, the fresh breeze carrying the stench of the ocean with it. Her head gave a turn, a feigned stagger as she moved across to the far side of the street and begun to make her move deeper into east street and onwards towards the far outskirts of the city. Somewhere to dispose of them should the need be there, somewhere out of the immediate reach of those that could delay them. Minimise witnesses, minimise interference.

Her gaze caught the shadows of the mountains, dark and yet welcoming for the potential schemes that were going around in her mind - namely on the ideal of how to hide a body. Behind her she heard the groan of the kelp bar door open behind her, yet continued walking, hearing the rough voices attempting to be quiet. Steps were quicker now, her feet padding upon the floor as she looked to continue to lead them. The gauntlets rested upon the tulwar hilts, the gaze forward as she heard the voices hum there in the back of her mind. A right turn down one of the narrower streets within the city, the tilt of the head as she caught the slither of two burly looking men follow her. There was no subtlety, merely action now and she wondered how quickly it would be before Noven took up the rear after them.

And then, it would be little more than the equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel - and the chasers of Sunberth would know that the wolf pack of the Scars was still capable of its brutality.

"Let's get the show on the road."
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[East Street] No rest for the wicked

Postby Noven on September 12th, 2015, 1:36 pm

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When he'd suggested they take a walk, he'd said it with every intention that they leave together. But apparently Fallon had plans of her own.

Without so much as a half assed goodbye, the former leader was off of her stool and out the door. Nov waited with no small amount of restraint; he had to stop his fingers from tapping and knee from bouncing. At least a couple of their hunters needed to go after her before he could follow suit. If he left now, not only would they have no way of affirming that his guesses had been right, but they'd give themselves away as an obvious pair. Better to let the hunters think Bitzer was more or less alone, however small of an advantage that would provide.

Still drooped over his now empty mug, the Sunberthian feigned another swig and noted how the two meatheads who'd entered last were guzzling down their beer. They left not ten ticks after Fallon. Meanwhile, the first bloke gave Noven a cursory glance before leaning back into his chair. Clearly, he was smarter, taking the time to at least assess whether or not this Dillain fellow was going to see Mistress Red Wolf home.

Another serving wench passed by. Not wasting the opportunity, "Dillain" caught her gently by the hand to get her attention. It was probably one of the more polite ways she'd been stopped that evening. Perhaps overly polite, as expected from a non-local. Probably the son of some well to do merchant out to add some spice to his life by defying his parents' wishes.

"Forgive my rudeness, miss, but there's something I must ask. If it's not too much trouble, that is," the mask of Dillain said in way of greeting and explanation, an embarrassed, sheepish smile playing across his dark features. Beneath the mask, Noven was counting the chimes between now and the moment Fallon had stepped out, careful to keep the scar on his right cheek hidden from view. Though he knew he had no hope of imitating a Zeltivan accent, he'd been around the uppercrust during his excursions with Matthew and Kaie long enough to pick up on their basic mannerisms. They were polite to a fault, but only when they wanted something. Every word was shaped by an agenda or motive. Or maybe five of each, depending on how adept the elite was.

That, and he'd had every day since arriving as a fugitive to hide his Sunberthian origins as best he could. The man was not one for the delicacies of intrigue, but there had been little choice, and some effort was better than none. A trained ear would be able to pick him out in an instant. Fortunately for him, a mere serving girl at a bar known for Kelp beer was unlikely to smell the nuances even if they were rotting right beneath her nose.

The lass seemed peeved at first, but with that bold wolf woman's exit there seemed to be several less patrons demanding things, and the young man sounded ever so sincere. "What is it, mister? Best make it quick. I've got work to do."

"Of course, I don't mean to interrupt. Just...you look like someone I know. Someone I met along my travels.”

This piqued the girl’s interest. Propping her serving tray against one hip and a hand on the other, she eyed him levelly. The posture accentuated her curves.“Was she pretty?” There was no naiveté in the way she asked. Only bluntness and a hint of amused curiosity. Noven took note of this, but Dillain remained blissfully oblivious. Almost two chimes in. I should go soon. He looked to one side as if struck by nostalgia, during which he quickly glance at the remaining players. The gambler was currently pulling in his wins and calling it a night, much to the dismay of his mates. The other serving wench in the bar had just slapped down two mugs of beer, but she was waving around her apron not two ticks after and the barkeep shooed her off. Which left only the first man, who remained in his seat, carefully staring at nothing.

Four down. One to go.

"Oh, more than pretty,” Dillain answered, returning to meet the girl’s gaze. He gave what he hoped was a wistful sigh. "She was beautiful in the way of painters and poets. Are you sure you don’t have a long lost twin somewhere out there in the world?

The serving girl smiled a genuine smile this time. “I bet you say that to all the ladies.”

The gambler was first to go. He joked around with his friends for a moment longer before pocketing his winnings and pushing himself out the door. Serving Wench #2 wasn’t far behind, bursting from the kitchens as any tired working girl would after a long shift. And still, the first man remained where he sat. Drinking nothing, doing nothing.

"Absolutely not, miss!” Dillain refuted as emphatically as he dared. Nov didn’t want to draw more attention to himself, but he needed to be convincing. "You are the first I’ve told. I…don’t have much luck with the ladies. Not a good talker like my brothers are.” The Sunberthian surprised himself with how easy these lies were coming to him. He’d never known any life other than the one given to him in the slums, and somehow here he was, fabricating details faster than he could stop them. He was an inexperienced liar at best, a horrendous one at worst. Nov had no idea if he was even doing a good job, and the consequences of his lies were beyond speculation at this point. He knew only that he needed to stall just a little longer.

The girl squinted at him in mock suspicion. Then she collected three empty mugs onto her tray without so much as looking down and set the whole thing on the bar. Next thing Nov knew she had hopped onto the stool to his left, chin resting on one hand and green eyes sparkling with mischief. He could see wisps of strawberry blond beneath the cloth that held back her hair. “So, Dillain. Tell me more about this great beauty I look so much like. What was she to you? Girlfriend? Wife? Mistress?”

"Uhh…” Shit. He hadn’t planned this far. Hadn’t planned anything to begin with. Time was running out, but it seemed like the girl had no intention of letting him off the hook quite so easy. He’d opened his big, fat mouth and now there was no way of taking back his lies. He needed to leave, now, so that he could follow the other two from a safe but visible distance.

"How about a trade. You tell me your name, and I answer your question.” Nov pulled that one straight out of Sahova’s book.

The serving girl smirked. “And here I thought you said you weren’t good at talking. Alright then, Dillain the Traveler, you have yourself a deal. My name is Mayline, but my friends just call me May.” She seemed like she was going to tease him a bit more, but something was off. Brow knitting, the playful smile on her lips died as she cocked her head to one side. “What’s wrong?”

Blinking, Dillain shook his head. They were old wounds, but the similarities hit him like an ice cold lance all the same. "Nothing, miss. Mae. No, wrong May...I have to go. My father…appointments…er, I just have to go.”

“Hey, what of your end of the bargain?” she demanded, one hand catching his sleeve.

Noven looked her dead in the eye. "She was a good woman, a kind one. I loved her. And she died for it.”

Mayline let go of his sleeve, sadness and a hint of fear clouding her face.

Then he was gone, disappearing through the doors and into the Zeltivan night. Not long after, the last hunter followed after him, a final link to their line of pursuit. Up at the very head would be Fallon, Nov knew. He just hoped that whatever she had planned went smoother than his debacle of an attempt. Even as he picked up on the last two pursuers and followed doggedly in their footsteps, he removed both his gloves and tucked them safely in one of his pockets.

Whatever awaited him ahead, he was ready. If not for his sake then for Fallon’s. For everyone who had once called themselves a Scar.


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Noven
Taste my fist
 
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Joined roleplay: December 16th, 2013, 11:11 pm
Location: Sunberth
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