Firebrand Tavern

The door of the tavern was cracked open and the girl looked over the rim of her shades into the dim interior. Her clothes were covered in a light coating of dust, and her died magenta curls were looking a little worse for wear these days. A beaten looking backpack over one shoulder and a handful of bare looking resumes in her free hand it was rather obvious why she was here....although she would be very lucky if they believed her when she said she was old enough to work in a tavern, Sam was getting tired of nice people nicely telling her that they didn't need any help, and the handful of change in her pocket was a real motivator to make her keep asking.

Slipping her shades up on top of her head to reveal bright violet eyes, a color that almost seemed to glow in the dark, she took a deep breath and tried to look a little more confident as she stepped into the tavern and looked around for someone who worked here.

The place looked rather empty at the moment, and so she simply headed for the bar, smiling shyly at the dark young man already sitting there as she slipped up onto a stool next to him.

Sam tried really hard not to jump... that always had the second worst reaction from people when they were obviously just trying to be polite.. it was still a little hard to figure out what to do when people were talking to her

"Um, Hi... I'm..."Wait a second here.. this was one of those moments where you were supposed to just lie, she really hated doing that, but she had learned that answering that question with the truth never worked out well for her.

"I'm fine thanks..." Brushing a few stray curls back over her shoulder with another shy smile she managed to force the answer out, wishing she didn't look so rough right now so as to fool people into believing she was really alright... She thought she remebered the next step in this strange dance and held out her hand to shake, silver finger nails flashing even in the dim light. "How are you?"

She almost couldn't believe it... another person who actually spoke their mind! Sam ended up bent over in a fit of giggles, a sure sign that she was younger than she looked. It had been a rough few weeks trying to figure out all the unspoken laws that ran the human world, and honestly she was at her wits end trying to keep them all straight.

Sam brushed her hair back again, a sure sign of a nervous habit, and grinned. "I'm Sam... Pleased to meet you."

"They haven't kicked me out yet Cro, so honestly curcumstances aside this has been the nicest few minutes that I can remember in the last week at least..." Sam liked Cro... he was being really forward.. and that was something she deffinatly admired.

"I hope they need some help in here... towns in this area are way too far and few between." She sighed showing a bit of her frustration as she leaned a elbow on the counter and cuped her chin in her hand.

"Hi, um.. nice to meet you sir." Sam tried to remember if this was an appropriate time to shake hands or not.. she settled on simply slipping off the bar stool to smile at Rage. "I'm Sam..and I was wondering if you were in need of some temporary help..."

The young woman held out one of the sheets of paper to Rage, a resume... a short list of odd jobs, none of them lasting more than a few weeks at the most, but the addresses of the places she had listed could be used as a clear map to trace her steps back the last three months. "I'm willing to do almost anything..." There was definite emphases on the almost... someone had taught her the lesson of thinking literally in the last little while...

"Someone wants to work for us?" Owle poked her head out of the kitchen, having just finished putting a loaf of bread in the oven. Nothing like warm bread...

"Now there's something you don't see every day..."

She walked out into the common room, revealing that, beyond the oddity of the blue hair that crowned her head, she had armor-like scales covering her shoulders and her feet, both of which were otherwise bare at the moment. They weren't even proper lizard scales; no, they were much too big for that, about an inch in diameter. They clinked on the floor as she walked, betraying just how hard they probably were.

"I'm Owle, and it's a good to see a new face around here." She turned to regard the feline man, noticing him for the first time. "Two new faces!" she exclaimed happily. Since Rage seemed to be taking care of Sam, she bounded over to Cro...though unlike Rage, she kept what she thought a respectable distance and didn't sit down next to him. "Can I get you anything?" she asked, the energy and friendliness in her voice genuine.

A small, almost unseen bead of sweat rolled down the side of Rage's head. There was a short moment of silence before Rage got back to talking. "Well, almost anything works for me. We could always use another set of hands around here. Watts and his dwarfs do well and all, but sometimes you need somebody whose height doesn't top out at your waistline...."

There was a gruff "harumph" from a pair of horns behind the bar, followed by dwarfen cursing, if anyone could even understand what Watts said in the first place. A closer inspection would reveal that the horns were actually attached to a helmet, which was attached to a round-looking dwarf cleaning glasses. "As far as I'm concerned as long as you're not out to kill anyone... on my staff, anyways... it won't be a problem. Only catch is we can't pay you too much, outside of room and board. And food, of course. You get to keep your own tips though, if that's any consolation." He wasn't good at this whole interviewing thing he had heard about, particularly since he had never had a proper job in his life. He desperately hoped he wasn't scaring the girl off, and thus took an immediate interest in the resumè he had been given a moment ago.

It was about this time that he heard Owle. He had long since mastered the art of telepathically speaking with her (although he was not a telepath himself), so it wasn't a problem to respond with "I know. I'm as surprised as you are."

ragingtofu Wrote:

It was about this time that he heard Owle. He had long since mastered the art of telepathically speaking with her (although he was not a telepath himself), so it wasn't a problem to respond with "I know. I'm as surprised as you are."

"Well, it'll be nice to have someone new around, at least...no offense, I love hanging with you, but when you're gone I've just got Watts and the dwarves around to keep me company..."

A shudder ran through those words. Apparently she couldn't understand what Watts was saying, either.

The boy dropped down onto the awning with a thump, then clambered down the newly built structure till he was standing on the sand of the beach. He looked back only once, to mutter "weird bird" as the eagle decided to perch by one of the many bottom floor windows. The bird could certainly fit on the windowsill, particularly if the window was opened. And a few of them were, it being a relatively nice day on the beach.

Just as the bird had lost interest in the boy, Rand had lost interest in the bird. He ran off down the beach, intent on finding some driftwood and pretending he was surfing. Which, for Rand, involved actually attempting to surf.

The rather lazy-looking black cat immediately raised it's head when the eagle landed on the window sill, but other than perking it's ears in the bird's direction, really didn't seem to take too much notice. It circled around and went back to sleep, but it's head was now facing the open window, it's ears still picking up any sounds that may pass by.

Meanwhile, Rage continued his conversation with Owle. "Yeah... I understand...." He sent along with this the mental equivalent of a sweat drop. "Still, looks like opportunity is knocking."

It paid no mind to the cat, though it saw the feline move out of the corner of its eye. Sure, if it moved, the bird would move, but for now- wait...

Ah, there she was. She had turned her head just in the right direction. The image of the girl in its head matched with the one that it saw here.

Quote:** Wrote:

She managed to smile a bit more brightly. "I worked at a dinner in Barton for a few days... so I can serve no problem..." She was looking more like a kid again, and still trying to pull off the older look. "When can I start?"

Exactly what it needed to hear. Satisfied, it immediately flew off towards the direction of Durem...

((Position marked. Scouting birds will be sent here every so often in order to keep tabs on the place, as well as Samantha. Don't worry- they're only scouts and won't do any harm.))

Cro let all the conversations roll over him as he ordered a short, no offence meant, glass of whiskey. He'd rather Samantha got herself sorted out first, from the initial look of her, even in the dim lighting, she needed something like this, and it wouldn't do any good calling untoward attention to himself and letting her sink into the background.

When the deal had been struck he looked calmly at Rage.

"I can cook, believe it or not...and...erm...whatever you were cooking before? Is there...anyone watching it?" As he spoke the nice even smell of something cooking quickly became a rather angry, smokey scent of something fast on it's way to becoming charcoal.

There was an upset-looking dwarf standing next to the grill, simply leaning up against the base of it since he couldn't reach. As Owle walked in he nonchalantly said "food's burning" and walked out.

Rage rubbed the back of his head, an embarrassed look on his face. "Um... I guess not..." he said in response to Cro, right after Owle went running off. "I better go take care of that...." He hopped out of his seat, walking to the kitchen at a brisk pace and taking a look at the grill. "I think next time I cook I'll stay in the kitchen... I have to wonder if that guy - the one with the tail - out there's looking for a job. He said he can cook - between you, Watts, and myself, it's pretty hard for us to take care of everything around here."

Without a second thought he took a piece of chicken off the grill right after he turned the thing off. Despite the fact that flames had been licking at it seconds earlier, he didn't seem to notice that, at this point, it should have been burning his hand. He held it with two fingers, seeming to take a closer look at it. "Oh yeah. This is NOT salvageable. Ryu might want to eat it...." Sighing, he pulled out a plate and began heaping the scorched meat onto it.

Rage followed suit after Owle, bringing the burned meat out to the black cat, who immediately took interest. After Rage set it down to talk to Cro and Owle, the cat (Ryu, apparently) perked up and began to paw and bite at the meat. For something so small it sure had a healthy appetite.

((I'm going to put Rage on autopilot. Owle, you can control him if necessary so that my absence doesn't slow things down.))

Just outside the newly finished building, a short melody seemed to lilt from an invisible acoustic guitar...then with no regard for the laws of physics a man with a dingy acoustic guitar in his hands and an ornate guitar case on his back is suddenly standing in front of the Firebrand, looking at the sign proclaiming its name with interest. The stranger is clad in a red longcoat, underneath which an elegant white shirt and dressy black pants can be seen. As he replaces the guitar in its case, he takes a deep breath through his nose. Besides the fresh, clean smell of the surf (one thing the stranger loves), there is the odor of slightly carbonized bread in the air.

???: "Hmm...I've been looking for a pub to become a patron of."

The stranger ambles towards the entrance, his steps slightly forced, as though he was getting used to walking on land again. Before he enters, he taps the soles of his black leather boots against one of the poles supporting the awning, causing small showers of sand to cascade down from them. With little ceremony he opens the door and waltzes in, finding a seat at the bar and plopping into it. His overexaggerated movements almost cause him to fall right off the barstool, but somehow he manages to keep his balance.

???: "This is a nice place you have here."

He says this to no one in particular while he examines the interior of the Firebrand, as he knows the owner is somewhere within earshot. If they're busy with something else, ah well. He's got time to waste. He drums his fingers on the countertop, enjoying the atmosphere...

The stranger nods.

???: "One strong ale in a mug, please. Room-temperature, if possible."

He notes her...non-human features, and does not seem overly perturbed by them. In fact, he seems to relax slightly.

???: "And you needn't call me sir, miss. My name is Paul Ethere. And might I be so bold as to inquire your name?"

Sam had accepted the offer of bread, a bit tentatively seeing as how it was slightly charre looking... then again it couldn't be any worse than Ravens' last attempt at backing cookies... now that had been a real disaster

Samantha sat down looking at the cat with a slight squint to her eyes, wondering if it was normaly such a voratious eater, or if it just had a thing for crispy critters . The girl smiled happily at Cro as she droke off a small chunk of the bread, thinking it was just like eating big croutons .. not the first time she had eaten those as a snack.

She looked at the customer wondering for a moment if this was where she should start earning her keep ...

Paul accepts the drink gratefully with both hands, then slides one hand under the mug's handle to hold it while the other drops to his side.

Paul: "Well, it's not anywhere near here, Owle, I can tell you that."

He wouldn't normally call someone he just met by their first name. However, this place seemed to radiate friendliness and goodwill, and enough so that Paul willingly lowered his usual defenses against strangers. He mulls over this as he raises the mug to his lips and takes a slow pull, savoring the ale as it slides across his tongue to his throat, leaving a pleasant taste behind. He lets out a sigh of appreciation once his mouth is clear of ale.

Paul: "Good stuff. And if I told you where I'm from, I'm pretty sure that none of you would believe me."

Paul walks over to a nearby window, drink in hand, gesturing for those who were interested to follow him. He squints out the window and makes a few calculating gestures, then shakes his head and moves to a window on the wall perpendicular to it. After a couple of seconds, Paul's arm shoots up as he points at the sky.

Paul: "If it were dark out, you'd be able to see a star right about there. That's home."

He meanders back to the bar and leaps onto the barstool he was previously occupying, somehow keeping his balance and the ale in his mug.

Paul: "Well, yeah. It'd be kinda difficult for me to point out the planets around it, so the star seems like a better thing to point out as home."

He takes another pull of his ale, then lets the mug rest on the bar. He grimaces and shakes his head when Owle asks him why he's here.

Paul: "It's a long story, and I don't want to bore you...that and I don't even know the entire thing meself."

"Oh, so your from a planet near that star...makes sense," Owle replied, finally. She smiled at her brother as he leapt forth from the kitchen. "And like Rage says, this is a place for the telling of tales...true or not. Part of the fun of running this place is hearing everybody's story, however boring they might think it is."

"More than," Owle answered, scurrying to serve the bedraggled man. She remembered the price for their ale; she rattled it off to the newcomer. It seemed to be considerably cheaper than what he had expected. He could probably afford a few more mugs if he so desired.

Soon enough he had a mug of ale sitting in front of him, and an oddly nonhuman woman looking at him in concern. Bright blue hair, armorlike scales on the shoulders, and were those tiny feathered wings on her back?

"Did it start pouring out there? It was sunny a moment ago."

Owle froze.

It was as if she'd suddenly become a still life painting, every muscle in her body rigid, her eyes gone wide.

Old memories bubbled to the surface, the man with the red eyes and the blue hair, the man she'd fallen in love with who wished all nonhumans dead...the man who had enslaved her, abused her, and...

And then it was over, and Owle started moving again. "That's horrible," she said, her whole body shuddering as if to emphasize her words. "That place...it wasn't called the NGC, was it?"

"So they chucked you overboard," Owle finished for him. "Well, I'm glad you made it here..." She deposited the coins she had taken for the ale back beside him. "Drink's on the house, seems like you need it."

For a moment it seemed like she wasn't going to answer his question. Then she took a deep breath, and let it back out again. "I'm fine. Just...brought back memories, is all. Man named Morgan Flare..." She shook her head. "But, you wouldn't know him. He's probably dead by now, and if he's not I hope to God he will be soon."

This was a highly unusual thing for Owle to say, not that anyone aside from Rage and Watts would know. She was a peaceful girl, one who thought even the worst of demons deserved life...for her to say that about someone...

"I don't intend to get revenge..." Owle answered, a little chastised that he'd think that of her. "It's not worth risking my life or happiness to make sure he doesn't have either. But if I see him, I will kill him before he kills me. That's the way it is."

This decision didn't rest easy on her, but she had to. It was her fault Morgan was still alive, her fault he was still a threat to every nonhuman out there...

...and if she didn't stop him, he would kill her on sight. She was sure of it. "You did the right thing. Being alive's better than being dead, after all, and if you don't have to kill something you ought not to kill it." She smiled slightly, trying to get away from the heavy conversation they'd somehow fallen into. "And you're welcome."

((I'm just going to give it a little while to let other people react to Owle saying she's going to kill someone. Don't want to let something like that slide by without giving the others a chance to respond.))

Paul sips his drink reflectively. This Owle didn't seem the violent type...and Rage was, well, raging most of the time, but that look...Paul had seen it before, and had given it himself on a few occasions.

Paul: Note to self: look up Morgan Flare in our database...if he's a pirate, there's gonna be consequences.

Paul clears his throat and taps his chest with his free hand, trying to keep from choking on what ale was left in his throat.

Paul: "I'll hold off a bit on lunch if anyone wants to hear my story...or at least, what I saw of the story I got involved in. If not, then I'll be joining you."

((It's Paul's train of thought. He's...well, you'll see...))

Paul: "The food can wait, it's been a while since I've told a story."

He sets down his ale on the bartop, then removes the ornate guitar case from his back and sets it on his lap. He flips all the latches and lifts the lid to reveal his beat-up and dingy guitar. He picks it up almost lovingly with his left hand while his right fishes a polished and finished wooden pick from a pocket within the case. Once he has these, he pushes the pick between the strings of his guitar and moves the case to the floor. Prying the pick from between the strings with a grin, he strums an open chord without bothering to tune. The sound that ripples forth is awe-inspiring in its perfection of pitch and tone.

Paul: "It all began when I joined the crew..."

He plays a simple set of notes, repeating them as his story unfolds.

Paul: "When I was younger, I didn't have much to do with my life. Spent it as most youngsters do...at least I think."

He grins and slides his finger down the string on one of his notes, making the guitar sound as though it was asking a question. He then resumes the note set.

Paul: "Not long after my birthday, pirates came to town...not on raiding business, mind you, but on post-raiding business. Spending loot and all that. It was then and there that I decided that I wanted to be a pirate."

He smiles, and the music seems to drift off with him on his reminiscence of his naivete...then he returns to his story.

Paul: "So I went to the most important looking pirate in the pub and asked him if I could be a pirate. He looked me up and down, and stared me right in the eyes. He said to me, 'Are you willing to leave everything you know behind?' I was a bit nervous, because all the other pirates were paying attention now...they were professionals at looking like they were doing something else, but I knew they were paying attention."

He plays a pair of notes that sound almost mocking before he continues.

Paul: "I said 'Yes.' He grinned at me and said, 'Go tell your parents goodbye before you go. They'll miss you.' I ran off and told my parents I was going to be a pirate and I wanted to say goodbye. You can imagine their reaction..."

He pauses a moment, then moves on.

Paul: "...until they asked me where I got such a notion. I described the man who told me I could be a pirate, and suddenly their faces became all white. I got scared then. My mother told me that that man was Atomsk the Pirate Lord, commander of all pirates and buccaneers in space."

He switches into a minor key as he continues.

Paul: "They said that they didn't want me to go, but they didn't know how he'd react if I said no after saying yes. So it was with a tearful goodbye that I left my parents..."

The notes become almost mournful...and then he shifts back into a major key and begins the notes again, but this time with more vigor and speed.

Paul: "...and started my true life. I was signed on to the Pirate Lord's personal ship because, as he put it, 'I want to keep this young'un under my eye so if he puts a toe out of line, I can realign it myself.' I began as the cabin boy, learning all I could from the crew..."

The notes become less simple; now more are added with more complex interweavings, and the rhythm becomes more flowing.

Paul: "...until eventually I became a captain in the fleet...'til one day I had my command removed from me by His Lordship...er, Atomsk. I thought I was in trouble...until he appointed me his first mate on his personal ship, since the original first mate had decided to retire."

He stops the guitar there.

Paul: "Not long after my appointment to first mate, Atomsk disappeared. I assumed it was some sort of test, and I assumed command of operations. Weeks went by with no communication, no sign of the Pirate Lord...and I got worried."

He begins playing a new tune on his guitar as the words of the story continue to come. This tune is based more on chords than individual notes and has a shifting rhythm which seems to have some pattern despite its apparent randomness.

Paul: "Eventually we received a trace signal from His Lordship, and I dashed head-long after it...and it emanated from here. Well, actually from somewhere over there..."

Paul gestures to the west with a vague sweep of his arm which also serves to play an extended chord.

Paul: "...but on Earth nonetheless. I started searching for Captain Atomsk, and found that he had possessed a robot and a boy...and that others were seeking his power. As his first mate, I was obligated to help him in whatever way I could. Eventually he managed to escape Earth, and I've been stranded here...well, almost voluntarily stranded here. This place seems to have grown on me."

He grins as he stops playing with one final chord. He puts the guitar and pick back into their case, which he closes, latches, and slings onto his back.

Paul: "I'm hungry. Who's up for eating?"

((Why does that story remind me of FLCL?))

Damian upon hearing they end of the song starts clapping, "Bravo boy! So you come from space too. I guess me and you all in similar buckets, although I escaped from conscription during a failed invasion of this planet by the Mattonians. I guess I am damn lucky that building fell on me about two hundred years ago."

High Templar Doomshot Wrote:

((Why does that story remind me of FLCL?))

((Because it is. grin Paul was part of a FLCL RP I was in that died, and he was such an interesting character that I decided to give him a new home instead of letting him fade into obscurity.))

Paul reunites with his mug and takes a pull from it to wet his throat before responding.

Paul: "I'd say you were lucky you didn't die by crushing...but that's me. I'd also say we dig in before the food gets cold!"

With that, Paul moves over to the table with the food and, after removing his guitar case and leaning it against the wall, plops down into the chair nearest to the wall. Then he gestures to indicate the plate of food at the table's center.

Paul: "Not eating this would be an insult to our host's culinary skills."

Suddenly the heavy door was kicked inwards and in strided the lean figure of Zetsumei. His thoroughly soaked shirt hung on his thin shoulders, leaving his top half exposed to the warm air. He slowly made his way to the bar-suface and heavily sat himself upon one of the stools, despositing his sheathed blade, his soaked shirt, and a smallish bag made from rough canvas on the worn ground of the tavern. After situating himself comfortably on the stool, he mumbled, "Got any hard stuff? I'm beat."

Shocked at the sight of his old friend in here of all places, he grinned sarcastically and responded, "Well I suppose you could call it that, I'm just stopping by here for a little rest. I still have over half of Gaia to get across, and all my money was left at the League.." after a slight pause he continued, "What exactly might you be doing here? I would have never expected to see a fellow Mercenary way out in the middle of this joint."

After the explanation, he whistled softly and muttered, "Don't tell anyone, but it's sweat..I've been walking for days now and I'm pretty much exhausted." He than clumsily sat himself back down on his stool and laid his head on the bar-surface. "Man, I could fall asleep any minute now.."

Receiving the mug, he rose his head and laid several small coins on the table, "Thank you Miss, you have no idea how much I need this.." He then downed the mug in one gulp and rested it back on the surface. "If you would, could you tell me your name? And sorry about the door.."

His head still laid upon the counter, he laughed and uttered, "Yeah, yeah..Don't worry I'm not too hungry at the moment. This ale will do."

"Owle Isohos," Owle replied. "And it's alright...just...use the handle next time, for godssakes. It's there for a reason, you know?" She shrugged her shoulders as if to emphasize this point.

"Yeah, we have rooms here for rent, about five of them are free right now I think..." She looked back and forth at Zetsu and Damian. "You need a place to stay for the night?"

He looks at Zetsu. "Yeah, I guess so. He is about to drop dead from exhaustion it looks like. And I need to rest before swimming to my destination. Or I can accompany you Zetsu. Right?" he says inflecting some confusion into the last question. Damian did not know if Zetsu is here on Mercenary business or not. Then again Damian is about 10 ranks above him so he can attach himself as an evaluator.

Which is when a pasty white figure, head to foot a color of cloud like some specter, a cloud trailing behind in the deathly figure's wake.

Or, upon closer inspection, a young man coated thick in some sort of white powder, trailing its cloud of dust behind him.

Kalis passed through the main room of the Firebrand's bar/resteraunt area without any detour, trailing a small line of the white behind him as he headed, straight line, for the stairs.

"I'll clean it up in a bit."

He said, waving with one hand over his shoulder, while the other dragged along an unpowdered bag with a change of clothes.

If there were ever a time for a bubble from Rage's nose to pop, this would be it.

... unfortunately, nothing of the sort happened. Sleeping soundly through the guitar riff, he awoke a few moments later, yawning with arms stretched out over his head. The term "heavy sleeper" just didn't seem to fit this guy....

"... what's everyone's problem?" He said groggily, scratching the back of his head and taking note of everyone's expression after the screech of the guitar. "You all look like I do after hearing Watts sing."

Without waiting for an answer, he let loose another yawn, much like the cat still sitting on his head, which looked far more irritated... probably because it's sensitive ears had picked up far more than Rage's.

The door to the Firebrand would swing open, forced by the shoulder/sword pommel attached to a slightly familiar face.

Sure enough, it was Athan.

He wasn't all bandaged up this time, although he did look pretty haggard. He was obviously in need of a shave, probably a bath, and judging by the dufflebag thrown over his shoulder, a place to stay for...well, ever. He was weighed down by all the gear one could possibly ask for to go to war. Three swords, two of which were much larger than the third, and had to be carried on his back. The last of the trio was just attached to his waist.

The door probably ended up banging against the wall before falling shut behind Athan, who just looked around for a moment before clearing his throat.

"So uhh...any vacancies?"

"Hey, Owle."

He hadn't seen her at first, but Owle had a habit of being the first to pop up, acting friendly. At times Athan wasn't sure if that was the way she actually was or if she was just taught to act like that.

Either way, it was nice to see a friendly face for once. There was a slight smile, and he nodded his head towards her.

"Yeah, later then."

Athan trudged up the stairs, bag in tow. Once he found a vacant room (first or not, really didn't matter unless someone was changing in a room he checked), he threw his stuff onto the floor, grabbed a towel, a wrinkled pair of pants, and a razor from the bag, and headed towards the bathroom. A nice long shower, a shave, and then he'd go to bed. Probably for the next week or so. He definetly felt as if he could sleep that long.

Upon hearing Zetsu reply he lets out with a laugh, "Its always a long way to go! Nobody ever hires a mercenary for something nearby! At least not from our organization. I go everwhere! Thats why the people call me the Wanderer-General! I go anywhere and seek the world! Most would think that I wouldn't move around so much. Oh well, I guess its wanderlust." He looks around at the bar real quickly hoping he wasn't too loud.

Owle rattled a price for the room off the top of her head. It was a pretty average price, reasonable for a place like this.

"Man after my own heart..." she commented to Damian. "I can never sit still for too long before going out and looking for trouble. Course, most of the time trouble finds me before I have to do a damn thing." The smile said she was joking, or if she wasn't, she enjoyed that kind of life.

She glanced over at Paul, the look in her eyes saying I can't believe he slept through that...but she didn't say anything aloud to him.

"Oh, alright." He fished several more coins from his pocket and placed them on the table, tip included. He began to make his way towards the rooms, when he suddenly remembered something and turned back to face the group of people at the bar. "By the way, has anyone heard recent news of the HoH? I've been trying to keep myself informed as I travel, and I'm guessing this would be the best place to ask.."

Paul cocks an eyebrow and gives Zetsumei a look.

Paul: "'HoH'? Never heard of it."

He gives his empty glass a wan look before he catches the news report from some person who mysteriously appeared in the corner...

Paul: Zombies? What the heck is a zombie? ...whatever they are, they must not be good.

She looked over at Paul in concern as he coughed, then smiled when she saw he was alright. "Glad you like it."

Owle's reaction to the question, though was much the same as Paul's. "H...oh...H?" she asked, shaking her head. "Never heard of it. Name sounds kinda familiar, but..."

On careful observation, he might notice there were absolutely no TVs, radios, or other such bringers of news in the Firebrand...except, of course, for the portable device held by the stranger in the corner. Which caught Owle's attention next.

"Did they say Alpha through Epsilon?" she asked, leaning over the jackass's shoulder to better see the newscast. Of course it had changed by now, and a customer was needing her.

"Yeah, the rooms have bathrooms...sinks, a bathtub, and a shower. Or you could just wring it out outside in the sand," Owle answered Damian.

Paul: "I believe they did mention Alpha through Epsilon...though that holds absolutely no significance for me, except as letters from an archaic Earth alphabet."

He almost takes a sip from the empty mug, but remembers that it is in fact drained. With a resigned sigh, he leaves the mug on the bartop and contemplates the patterns in the grain of the wood...

Paul nods, then pulls his attention away from a particularly interesting whorl in the wood-grain to look Damien directly in the eye.

Paul: "You put an interesting stress on the word 'mercenary'. Is there a particular reason, or is it some accent I haven't heard before?"

The question is innocent enough, but underneath that veneer of innocence the cunning mind of the Pirate Lord's First Mate waits to pounce on the answer.

Paul: "Hmm...I thought the accent was a bit familiar. We have some crew from that area...wait, Mercenary League? A code of honor? What kind of code?"

Despite his apparent confusion, again the mind of the First Mate was swiftly attempting to divulge further information about this Mercenary League to see if a meeting held with them might result in benefits for the Space Pirates...

Paul nods in interest, and mentally does a celebratory dance.

Paul: This Mercenary League reminds me of His Lordship's organization! Well, excepting the hard-and-fast rules, of course. We're pirates, not mercs. It might be worth a try to see if an alliance can be forged...

All these thoughts run through his head as he replies to Damian.

Paul: "That's an interesting set of rules you have. I can only assume they work."

He looks back down at his mug and realizes how badly he wants another.

Paul: "Ms. Isohos, could you be so kind as to...?"

He lifts the mug and tilts it side-to-side with a grin.

Paul: "How much my drinks will cost me."

He says this with a lopsided grin as he waits for Owle to respond to his request.

Paul almost drops his mug in surprise at how little the drinks cost, but his other hand swiftly interposes itself between the mug and the floor. He nods his thanks before taking a swift sip of the ale.

Paul: "The prices are so low...how can you afford to stay open?"

"My bets on illegal things but this lass seems too honest for that. I bet she just has customers that overpay all the time." he say in a jovial manner.

Damian looks straight at Owle. He starts to speak. "There are always laws. Where there is order there is law. It may only exist within arm reach of a person but they still exist. Then there are natural laws like the law of self defense. I'm sorry lass but you don't look like one who would do mercenary work. You seem too kind and a bit on the weak side. Unless you are a mercenary of love but I don't think many people are attracted to nonhumans. Who know though."

"Nothing better than getting drunk!" He pulls out a small flask the liquid inside red glow can be seen even outside of the steel flask. He drinks some of it. "Paul you got to try this stuff." A fly flies near the open container and immediantly falls out of the air to the ground dead.

Bruises he was used to by now. A few rashes or other odd marks of harm that were probably from his body reacting badly to the chaos were almost a norm by now. Though they made the hot water of the shower very uncomfortable. Ouch.

So now... where do I look next...?

The cell phone was a tempting answer; but he wasn't calling Sallemus for nothing. Or for anything, if he could help it.

Everything I feel is hurt now it seems.

It's sickeningly familiar. This is how it's always been, or so my mind wants to tell me.

I want to end it soon.

Just a day of rest... and I can fight the rest of my life.

Just like before. I'll give 'em hell.

A little trickle of red found its way down the drain.

It was a clean and less-white Kalis that came down the stairs, a big bundle of pale clothing in one hand while he tossed the gauntlets on an empty table with the other hand as he passed, going outside. Lacking the coat, he was showing a lot of muscular, if pale and alternatingly rashed, burned, or scraped arm, a little vest on over a somewhat tight fitting dark shirt. Some looser pants, undone at the bottom, breathed well, yet he ruined that by wearing heavy, armored boots as per usual.

Going outside, he'd look for the first thing resembling a clothesline.

Throw his pasty and powdered clothes over them.

And proceed to take the sheathed sword, beating them with it's flat to try and work all the plaster out, like some past time housewife beating an old rug of dust.

"Sorry didn't mean to insult you, Owle. I understand now. You are like a medic on the battlefield. You don't do the killing, but you do the healing." He also raises the flask and takes a drink. "god I love my homebrew."

"Really? Hopefully it aint weaker than this stuff. I don't have a liver like humans, my body has a different process that is far more efficient." He pours a small drop on the table and it burns through the table and starts burning a hole in the ground.

"Ahh...sorry, I guess. I be more careful where I place this. but I think I might want to introduce this to Rage he might like it." He pulls out a second flack of the same stuff and hands it to her after looking around for Rage and not seeing him.

Owle gingerly accepted the flask from Damian, as if it would burn her just by touching it, and hastened to put it away in a safe place. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it," she said with an uncertain smile.

"See you later," she said to Zetsu, waving at him as he headed up the stairs, to where the rooms were.

Apparently, Rage hadn't been in the room for the better part of the night. In fact, just now he was walking down the stairs, stretching out his scarred arms above his head with a towel around his neck. Judging by his lack of a shirt, he had just taken a shower - and judging by the fact that he was dripping water everywhere, he figured it was his bar and he'd do as he damn well pleased within it. Even the black cat from earlier scampered down the stairs, a small towel around it's neck and shaking off water now and then.

"Did I... miss something?" He said with a cautious look, ruffling his hair up with the towel. It seemed to flare out, almost spike, naturally as it dried.

"No offense or nothing, but Gramps is the one who came up with that drink. Legend has it that, when the Grim Reaper came for the old man's soul, he gave them one last drink to get them drunk enough to forget what they came for. In other words... it's a drink that can cause death or elude it." He paused for a moment, unsure of if he should laugh or not, now that he thought about the tale.

After a moment he pointed to several holes in the floor that seemed to have no bottom. "And those are from where it's eaten through the glass. But, I figure anythings worth a shot." Considering his tone he clearly didn't believe that last comment. His family ties were strong, even if it wasn't exactly the greatest family ever.

With his free hand, Paul slaps Damien on the back, apparently unfazed by the extensions protruding from it.

Paul: "Brilliant! 'Twould be an epic contest!"

He grins as he takes a quick drink of his ale.

Paul: "I would join, but I'm afraid you gentleman would leave me far behind...and I wish to keep my liver in one piece."

At the yelling, Athan was all too quick to walk down the stairs, wearing nothing but a pair of pants. His hair was in that all too familiar "I can't believe I just got out of bed" state. Still, he didn't look too tired.

"Alright, fine. You guys can have your contest, but I'm in."

Out of all the people assembled, Athan probably looked most like the kind of guy that was used to drinking himself into a stupor on a regular basis. So he pulled up a chair, slammed his hand down, and then looked around for a mug, because he definetly forgot to get one before he accepted the challenge.

Cro was having issues in the kitchen.

"I'm really sorry."

The dwarf stared at him.

"Really REALLY sorry?"

The stare became harder and Cro sighed. It'd been an honest mistake, he'd set the pan down on what he thought was a bowl which turned out to be a dwarf helm. Now the edges were burnt.

"I...promise to pay for the damages." There was a gleam.

"2k"

"2K?!! It's not worth that much, surely?!"

And explosion of pots, pans and half cooked food drove the cat boy out, twitching.

"Dear goddess, save me from dwarves..."

The scowl didn't suit him, but it was part of his nature.

"Just culture shock, I'm sure it'll wear off. Maybe." The aqua coloured sunglasses turned downwards to Owles pretty gold eyes. "How are you? Things seem to have gotten interesting of late."

This might have been an understatement, all considering, but Cro was pleased at the activity. He'd been asked in a vaugly polite threatening manner to watch it after all.

((I need to remember to check this thread more often. ))

Owle smiled up at him, for some reason feeling a tiny blush coming to her features. Just the vibe she got, like he thought she was pretty or something...and from people who had just met her and didn't look sketchy, she took that vibe as a compliment.

"I'm fine; don't worry about me. You don't live here as long as I have without getting used to stuff like this."

A pause, as if to let him sweep his eyes across the common room.

"So where do you come from? I don't think I even got to ask your name...I'm Owle."

Owle did, in fact, know exactly what Rage was thinking. But she wasn't about to mention that little fact.

"Deadly?"

Rage said it in a joking manner, as if to take a crack at answering Paul's question. "I wouldn't be incredibly surprised if there are similar drinks out there. But the Green Dragon is a family secret - anyone can mix this stuff together. Only we can do it right, though. It wouldn't be a shocker if there were imitations out there, or other such strong drinks. Everyone has their claim to fame, right?" There was a light sizzling sound coming from the mithril. Apparently, it was starting to eat through the thing. Maybe that's why the walls of the cup were several inches thick....

Damian finishes of the ale he is carrying. "This looks like its going to be a fun night night to night boys. Oh yeah, Owle I apologize beforehand for anything I may do while drunk. That includes setting this place on fire or accidently start eating a table."

Clapping his hands together he announces "Now that apologies are out of the way we must avoid those things. Do you want the rules to be the last person not passsed out or the last person who isn't to drunk?"

"Rules?"

Athan quirked an eyebrow. There were...rules to drinking?

"We drink until we can't drink anymore. Whether that be 'til the place runs out of liquor or we run out of breath."

He scooped up his own mug that Owle had given him, then held it high over the table or whatever everyone was standing around.

"To the headaches and failed sobreity tests to come!"

Cro kicked out a barstool and hopped onto it, much like before, watching the display.

"I come from...a good distance, and I'm known as Cro Dena. Pleasures mine, Owle." There was a serious about him that was infectious, and it was easy to realize that he never said anything without meaning it completely. His ear twitched along with his tail in vauge irritation at the kitchen, as if he were wondering whether it'd be safe to go back to work yet.

"Would it be alright if I had some coffee?"

Cro pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in surprise and no little discomfort.

"Well I...um..." He looked down into the coffee, staring at his reflection for a moment.

~~~

One week ago -

Cro sat at the edge of the hospital bed and stretched. Infirmary had given a clean bill of health despite the problems when he'd first arrived, much to the curiosity of the doctors.

"...I know you're there, you may as well ask what you need."

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows and scowled softly. Knights was in no mood for Cro's usual attitude.

"I need you to watch a place for me. They show up there from time to time, s'bound to attract trouble...or to start it..."

"I'm not some cog to be placed where YOU will, Knights, or is it Jean calling the shots on this one?" The glasses gleamed as Cro looked back over his shoulder. "Or are you're orders coming from someone, I actually find worth listening to? Hm?"

Knights crossed his arms and looked down and Cro held up his hands. Finally the larger man broke.

"It's come from them, yes, but not through me or Jean. He's here too, you know. There's something dodgy going on there, everytime I ask about it he just laughs and says Deity could use a differant perspective...I'm not sure what that means exactly..." Those solid green eyes caught the ones that were shielded. "It's unsettling."

"You find anything beyond that strategic mind of yours "unsettling." I don't know why you don't just own up to being obsessive over control." There was a growl. "Okay! Okay, there's no need to get angry. You know I follow orders. Especially when it suits my own troubles. You say he's starting to experiment too? Well THAT should be facinating. Especially with the comming events."

~~~

Present -

Finally Cro looked up from his mug and grinned, tilting his head slightly.

"I'm just travelling. Sometimes, though, even journeymen like me need to earn some money, y'know? Figured with all the hubbub of Leviathan's new tournament, it'd be a good chance to get a good job."

Not to be left out, Rage raised his mug, which was still sizzling and now giving off an unhealthy-looking smoke. "Well, I say let the contest begin!"

Momentarily, his eyes looked over to Owle and Cro when he heard that there was a tournament. He'd ask about it later....

Caramel was yummy. Coffee wasn't, but, mmm, caramel...

There weren't too many dark-skinned people around Gaia, oddly enough...Owle tended not to take note of these kind of things, though, and she was certain his grab wasn't any weirder than the stuff she'd seen in her lifetime on Gaia. So it was a strange feeling, that she couldn't quite put her finger on, that he was alien...but, hey! He was here now, why bother worrying about that?

"That looks delicious," she said, finally regaining her breath after staring into his eyes far too long, disoriented by his closeness, and smell.

"Well, I can tell you he doesn't belch fire..." she said, half-jokingly. "That I know of."

A pause.

"What have they been telling you?"

When he looks back from the stranger, he picks up his sizzling, smoking, and glowing glass and declares, "I shall win! Down the hatch!" He immediantly upends the glass and gulps it down. Swallowing he looks a bit disorientated for a second. "Woah that was stronger than I thought. I may come back here for more of these sometime. But anyways thats one down" he says while licking his lips just in case he missed some. "I have the feeling this will be a great evening. Let us get another one!"

"To new friends, who will hopefully live to see the light of another day," said Rage, throwing his drink back. He had no immediate reaction. In fact, he had almost no reaction at all except to simply grin at the others. He'd save his party tricks for later - for now he'd follow his grandpa's advice, the words ringing in his head.

"The wise hawk hides it's talons."

That old man was good for more than drinks, and smithing, he supposed.

Athan shrugged his shoulders, rose his glass, nodded his head, and threw the drink down. Hardly a difficult task for one such as he. The liquor definetly burned a little on the way down, but it was nothing that bothered him too much. To be honest, he was half-expecting to have his stomach explode once the liquor went down. Fortunately this didn't happen as he slammed the mug down on the table.

"Whew. Next round, I take it?"

He looked around at his competitors.

"Or does anybody have any tricks up their sleeves as far as making this a bit more interesting?"

He looks around at the other contestants. "What tricks would there be to play? We can't try to drug each other that be just plain cheating and where I come from cheaters generally get a bullet in their hearts." He says laying down an old cavalry pistol on the table before putting it back. "I wouldn't be afraid to use this if any of you cheats. Its a match up of your livers and my Grien to see who can drink up the most alcohol and still stand in the morning. With that said lets get it on!"

Paul grins woozily at Rage.

Paul: "Let's leave the ante where she is, huh?"

He laughs at his horrible joke as he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. He waves the mithril mug...or at least what's left of it in the air.

Paul: "Another round, barkeep!"

Paul looks indignant. He turns to look Damien in the eye.

Paul: "Nonsense. I was getting in the mood."

He flashes a smile as he stands on one foot, places his finger on his nose, and balances there statue-still for a few seconds.

Paul: "I was hoping for an excuse to sing some drinking songs. You know, the ones that are best sung when your vocal chords are numb with drink?"

He makes an expansive gesture with the mithril mug in his hand as he sits back down.

Damian raises his hands in the sign of men that means "my bad." "Didn't mean fur ya to take offense or nothing. Do ya know the song, "A Drinking Song" by The Divine Comedy? It seems rather relevant right about now. I remember hearing it in another country." he says before leaning back in his chair. "When are we getting our next drink?" he says before he starts to take a bite out what was left of his mithral cup.

He starts to sing the first verse in a deep bass voice. Hoping the others will join in.

Back at the house a bottle is found

And opened in honour

Of those who have drowned

While we who have not are stricken with guilt

And dutifully see

That not one drop is spilt

We're drinking to life we're drinking to death

We're drinking 'til none of our

Livers are left

We're wending our way down to the spirit store

We'll drink till we just

Can't drink anymore

Flinching from the drunken singing, Rage opted out of joining in on this one. Instead he worked on preparing another round of Green Dragons. However, there was something slightly different about them... they were on fire, almost like oil burning. Perhaps Rage had quick enough hands that he had lit each one with a well-placed match, but if one had quick enough eyes they would notice that no such match was present. Either way the drinks didn't look like they were going to go out anytime soon.

"Well, let's get to it. I insist that my fine guests go first."

You'd think the devil himself was smiling, the way Rage did just at that moment.

Paul looks incredulously at the flames as he puts away his guitar, and then attempts to blow them out once he's moved the guitar case a safe distance away. They remain, to his great puzzlement. He shrugs and, with an absurd flourish, tips the contents straight down his throat. He pauses for a moment, then belches a jet of flame, fortunately missing anything flammable. Paul clutches his throat in pain and starts gesturing wildly, then he coughs some black smoke.

Paul: "So that's why they call it a Green Dragon."

His voice is scratchy and deepened by both booze and burning.

Paul: "Would you mind if I got some water to rehydrate my poor throat? I'd rather not walk away with permanent damage."

Pausing for a moment, Rage watched the other two drink. He couldn't help but follow Paul's act with one of his own, breathing out a jet of flame that, before it disappeared, briefly took on the appearance of a snake-like dragon.

Right after this is when he downed his drink, chugging the entire thing slowly to prove his point.

"Pyrowhatnow? Isn't that someone who sets fires with their mind? I ain't got none of that... you could just say it's a natural gift." He still had that devilish smile.

Paul turns to face Damien, his head bobbing on his neck as he does so.

Paul: "Well, my nervous system is built a little different from years of hard drinking and...other things."

He grabs his ale and takes a swig, letting out a sigh as he finishes.

Paul: "That's better."

Paul's keen mind has already seized on the implications that Rage is making, but he decides not to think about them until later.

Paul: Not too long from now, my brain will be in no condition to do anything involving logic...

It didn't take long for Owle to follow Cro into the kitchen. She restrained herself for about fifteen seconds, which took almost all her willpower.

"Okay..."

She smiled weakly at Cro. "So Rage does breath fire. I didn't know he could do that...he doesn't show off around me much anymore."

Must...restrain self...from strangling him...for information...

Her fingers were already twitching, so she hid her hands behind her back.

"Sorry if I kinda...scared you off..."

Gah pleasejusttellmeIcan'tbearit!

"I'm more of a Tibetan Yeti Acid type of guy myself." He says sobering up a bit and dropping the pseudo-german accent. He stands up and stretches a bit and attempts to do a handstand. He forget about the scabbard still attached to him and it hits the floor unbalancing him making him do a faceplant into the floor.

"I feel nothing but a world of hurt." He says picking himself up. "That was stupid of me to forgot my own sword. Glad it didn't slide out and cut me for that stupidity." He stands up and temporarly you can see horrible burns on his face before it is replaced by a black mask with a single eye that mutates quickly into a normal looking face. "So I guess I shouldn't do that again." he says smiling.