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Lyra finally picks her head up from the bar table. Her sweaty forehead has left a mark, and she swipes at it with her hand while she stares at the exit, willing herself to be there. This is what you get for trying to scrape up some cash. Now you better make some connections or you'll be broke.
"Hey," she swings her tired head around and looks at the red-haired girl. "The name's Lyra. Nice to meet you, and thanks for helping me back there." She angles her head toward the pile of broken chair pieces that nobody had bothered to clean up.

Dylan growls quietly under his breath. "What. Do. You. Mean? I understand what?" His tone is sour and frustrated.

Lyra takes a few seconds to realize that he is talking to her, and looks in his direction. "What? Oh, nothing. I was talking to myself," she says, her voice seeming much louder than before in the now quiet bar.

His face begins to contort in angry. "OK well I don't care. You were talking about me so I want to know." His voice is cheery now, but the twisted type of cheery.

"Oh, it's nothing," she mutters, and glances up at Dylan's stormy face with a look of a deer caught in the headlights that quickly morphs into forced indifference, as if what had happened didn't matter at all to her. "It's just that our pasts were," she searches for the right word, not wanting to trigger Dylan again. "similar." she says slowly.

What happened next happened way, way too fast. After the fox-tailed guy introduced himself as Dylan and then blabbered on about not calling him kid and not smirking during his temper tantrums, the two gals and he got into a conversation.
A conversation that suddenly turned into a nightmare. The wolfgirl mentioned one word. Needles.
And before anyone could even twitch an ear, the destroyer of worlds himself erupted from Dylan’s body. He threw things, including the wolf gal, across the room, and screamed on and on about not talking about ‘needles’ or he was gonna gut them like a fish.
Randle was about to intervene and let this tantrum-throwing kid cool off. As it had turned out before, he was abused by his parents and this was the aftermath of their cruel deeds. A wreck of a person.

Shortly after, the tavern came to life again.
”Y’saw that?! Vadr muttered under his breath. Randle nodded. The kid went through a lot of mess, and had become a monster in the progress.
He walked up to the three strangers again, and put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder.
”Listen pal, I’m damned sorry about your past, I really am, but ya gotta understand that those things are in the past. Everyone goes through their deal of shit once in a while,” he said calmly. He didn’t sound sarcastic or scoffy, there was only genuine concern in his voice. ”If ya wanna work together with these gals and me, you gotta swallow the edge or it ain’t gonna work.”

Dylan's face softens at the words of the female. "Oh alright." Turning to the cat man he scoffs loudly, obviously now upset again. "Easy for you to say probably. I only ever have know what this beautiful world looks like two years ago. I'm 22 dude. Yeah. Tortured for SEVENTEEN YEARS, everyday, multiple times. I've vomited, almost died, gotten infections, writhed in complete things, and gotten these damned ears and tail. With these, even when I was there I was bullied and harassed because of them. So it's not my deal of shit once. This deal of shit is my life!"

His ear flicks in anger and his voice is maddeningly calm, yet he stands tense. "So my quote on quote 'Edge' isn't my fault. I can't control that. My ONLY ever REAL requests are no children get involved or hurt, I saw and heard that way too much and it's the ONLY thing I will cry over, and don't say that one word. If you don't do those things I should be fine. But for me to survive I must have 'Edge.' Around the public at least."

A smirk forms on his face as he forms his last sentence. His tense muscles relax. He sits next to the wolf girl that he tossed like a rag doll, and smiles. He relaxes back in his seat. "Listen. If you past was anything like mine I'm sorry about that part. But if you say that word. I turn into that. Alright? It's an uncontrollable thing." He remembers so something and announces to her, the other girl, and the cat man. "Oh. If we are to work together, I must make a stop first. And warn you. I become uncontrollable when killing sometimes too. I like to laugh it's funny to me. And if you can't deal with it." He smirks sadistically. "Then for one you lost someone who can shoot an arrow from a building 250 feet away and still hit a guy in the head with an arrow. And two, I might be hired t. ..nevermind number two." Obviously not wanting to talk about his job, he skips that one but the air around him doesn't feel right when he doesn't and his calm demeanor hides more then meets the eye.

"It's getting quite dark... There are strange people coming in." I say as I look around the Tavern. A couple of men were in the back, watching us. "Creepy..." I shutter. "We best to sleep, unless you want to keep talking." I give the bar tender some gold, "A room please." I say politely as I put the beer bottle down, along with the other 4... "I am going to have a hell of a hangover..." I mumble as I walk into a room, shut the door and change back into my true form. I put on some ragged clothes and pass out on the bed.

He is still cool and collected, but has the voice of a maniac. "Alright. Night." He orders a drink and sips it slowly, barely even getting tipsy.

Tough break. Randle was the kind of man who respected people who had been through a mess, 'cause those people were often his clients. But for some reason, he couldn't say the same about Dylan. Or at least, not yet. Because having a messed up past didn't provide one with a free act-like-a-bastard-pass. But maybe Dylan proved him wrong one day. Who knew what qualities this kid was hiding from him.

While telling him about how he was tortured in his youth, and how that was an excuse, Randle tried to keep a stoic face, but deep inside he was still a little frustrated with the pal's behavior. His words were, for a change, actually trying to make things right, but instead of actually listening to him, Dylan tried to justify his actions. A common error in the criminal mind; the whole deal about offending, after all, was trying to get away with it without getting caught.
"Oh. If we are to work together, I must make a stop first. And warn you. I become uncontrollable when killing sometimes too. I like to laugh it's funny to me. And if you can't deal with it.." That damned smirk.. ".. then for one you lost someone who can shoot an arrow from a building 250 feet away and still hit a guy in the head with an arrow. And two, I might be hired t.. nevermind number two." 250 feet, with a bow and arrow? Now that was quite impressive. For an archer. Being quite the arbalist, Randle was kind of sure he could manage to break that record. But of course, this wasn't a dick-measuring-contest.

Was he going to continue this argument? The Husk took another sip from his smelly mead and looked at Dylan, pondering for a little. Then, he stretched out his large clawed hand and said with a frothy yet amiable undertone: "The name's Randle Pentecost, and you, pal, got yourself a colleague."
He had to stay optimistic. A lot of folks had a thing against acting natural in public, some feared crowds like others feared the dark. Though he doubted that this was the case with the fox-tail, he still believed that the guy would open up sooner or later. He had dealt with larger buggers before who proved to be very loyal friends. Hell, one was actually standing behind the bar right now!
The sleuth was about to turn to the wolf girl, who had been extra quiet after harassed and thrown around by Dylan, when suddenly the redheaded girl got up and announced that she was going to hit the hay.
"G'night," he greeted her simultaneously with the fox-tailed guy. Oh. He took another sip from the spiced liquid and then finally turned to the lupine gal.
"And what's your story, kid?" Randle tried to keep his tone gentle, not wanting to scare her off. She looked quite spooked after being attacked out of nowhere, like anyone would.

"Yeah, okay." Lyra says softly. "I won't say it again." As the chatter quieted down, she took the chance to leave. And besides, she didn't want to see any more of the creepy hooded men that had just came in. She got herself a room, and slept soundly.

Dylan takes his hand and shakes it firmly. "Nice meeting ya'." He doesn't actually think it's nice meeting him, but he has to start to try to be nice if he is to work with these people.

He was too late: the girl had already gone upstairs to fetch herself a room. Too bad. Maybe she wasn't much for conversation either. Randle sighed and looked at the bottom of his wooden cup. Only one sip of beverage was left, and even though the alcohol didn't affect him, he needed some more to get through the night. Or, well, stay positive. There was still Vadr to talk to, who was always up for a little chat.
Yet.. something felt out of place since the gals had gone upstairs. Night had fallen upon the Kingdom of Wood, so normally the regulars and heavy drinkers came around at this hour. But the tavern was slowly drained of its charming coziness, as more and more people took their last gulps and headed towards the exit.
Out of place, no, even worse. Something wasn't right. The Husk hastily downed the rest of his mead and turned his muzzle towards the exit, his silver eyes glowing like moonlight now that most of the candles had gone out.
Hooded men, and a lot of them too. They formed a black mass of rags and pale, human faces. They didn't speak, or at least not until they approached the counter and their leader, a pale human male with a red symbol on his chest, sat down on one of the stools close to Randle; his scrawny hip touched his thigh, but the man didn't seem to care.
He then bend over to the bartender's assistant, a nervous young man, and then looked at Dylan and Randle with his shiny little eyes gleaming with disgust.
"Oi barkeep, ye servin' these buggas?" he sneered in a very strong Nordic accent. The beverage-boy, who had just begun cleaning up the counter with a greasy rag. The kid didn't answer at first, obviously intimidated by the hooded cult and their nasty-looking - and smelling - chief.
"I.. I beg your pardon, sir?" the boy muttered after a while. Geez, where was Vadr anyway? Was tucking in his guests part of his job? The pale man huffed and rudely pointed at the fox-tailed man and the Husk standing next to him. "Ye let these dirty lil' low-lives pollute yer inn? Get those monstrosities out 'a here! Oh, unintelligible and racist? Talking about charm!

Dylan smiles at the rude man and laughs. His laughs was more sickening then ever, but the way he sat said he was about to fight him. "Well sir. Last time I checked this wasn't your motherf**king tavern. So maybe you should hire some scrawny little girls to serve you your drinks." The smirk on his face became wider and he stood up, elbow still on the bar, cockily looking at him.

"Oh but wait. You probably don't need to hire any as you probably have plenty locked up to use for you pleasure. You seem like that kind of man. Now get along or deal. If not I'll deal with you myself for insulting me and my friend here." His voice his cool and collected.

"Sir, these are my patrons, don't call them-.." The bartender's little helper slowly cowered away when his sentence ended in anxious silence. Randle was about to send the cult leader back to the rathole he came from when Dylan suddenly confronted the guy, and quite spectacularly too.
"Well sir. Last time I checked this wasn't your tavern. So maybe you should hire some scrawny little girls to serve you your drinks." The fox-tail stood up from his chair, standing over the hooded man with his lips curled into that iconic, cruel smile. "Oh but wait. You probably don't need to hire any as you probably have plenty locked up to use for you pleasure. You seem like that kind of man. Now get along or deal. If not I'll deal with you myself for insulting me and my friend here." Oh good Goddess! How the guy stole the words from his mouth. Sure, the sleuth preferred to stay out of fights most of the time, but this fella had a really punch-able face indeed.

But it was far from over. The man got up, and despite him being a pathetically scrawny guy, he was actually a lot taller than Randle had expected him to be. He grinned, not as threatening as Dylan, but way uglier.
"Well boys, look, this little furball's got a mouth.." he snarled in his nasal, shrill voice. Now Randle got up as well, his humble 6'2" giving him the upper hand, literally. Though most of the men were not impressed. Not by his length or appearance nor by Dylan's mysterious and frightful radiance.
"Yeah, and he's got a brain too, unlike you folks," the Husk grunted back, already rubbing his knuckles for the fight that he was about to get himself into. "So why don't you and your masquerading pals scurry off before someone with common sense gets hurt?" He was talking about non-racists who weren't playing dress-up, of course, not about these-.. Pow! A soft human fist hit him across the face. Geez! Folks were so easily offended these days!