Calabria Adventures

After spending time with the rich, the powerful, the luxurious and and expensive, the west end of Triskellian is like being on a completely different planet. Children run in the streets, mothers beat clothing and hang them over balcony, and the streets are filled with the shouts of vendors pulling their carts over the rough cobblestone. To some, this place may seem a hovel of destitution and boorishness. To others, it may remind them of home.

The group keeps to themselves as they make their way down the main street - all suddenly and keenly aware of their own pockets. They eventually find a large tavern, with even at this hour, the sound of liveliness drifts through the boarded up windows. There is no signage, but there is a crude painting of a cat on the door in coughing up a slimey and hairy ball.

Pushing through the door, they find themselves in a tavern - an elderly cat stands behind the bar with patches of baldness scattered throughout his ginger fur. He raises a glassy eye at the newcomers before continuing his duties. There are several animals of all different species, already drunk, or perhaps permanently so, who keep to themselves on the bar counter or in a dark corner. A group of sailors are getting rowdy, and a group of large men complain loudly about their wives.

Flint stops at the door. Before entering, though, he stops. He pats himself, looks around, mutters to himself - and speaks out loud.

"A'ight, y'all. Followin' unca Flint to the seedy tavern's all fine and all, but now I'mma need you to wait here five minutes b'fore comin' in. Do whatever y'want, just dun' cause too much of a ruckus. Also, y'all dun' know me and I dunno you."

And with this, he enters the building. After ordering something strong and cheap at the counter and taking a moment to assess the place, he downs his drink and approaches the guys complaining about their wives. He stumbles a bit as he walks toward them.

"Sorry y'all, I din' mean to intru... inte... introod. But I heard's you talkin' about annoyin' ladies. Y'all see this shit?", he asks, pointing at his broken tusk. "The ol' goblin thought I was eyeballin' some coyote lady th' other day... punched it right off! M'snout's still sore."

There's some strong offense taken by the portrait, which catches her eye quicker than any of the other sights do. It doesn't coin in with her why anyone would want to designate this area with such a grotesque display, but questioning would have to wait. Perhaps the boar would understand. It wouldn't surprise her if he frequented it.

Making brief eye contact with the other cat--and self consciously thanking her own pelt for being luscious and still growing--Vix's attention would wane in favor of hearing out Flint's... orders, she supposed. Shady pig.

"Right," she mumbled, closing her eyes as folded arms rested along her chest. She could contend with being left to her own devices, Prim getting nothing but a few disparaging glances after disdain pries brown eyes away from the boar's back.

The group of men, consisting of two donkeys, an otter and a hyena first look Flint over with suspicion. They are all large men, probably tradesmen or hired muscle. But when Flint displays his broken tusk and gripes about his wife the group seems to soften to him. "Yer don't say," the one of the donkeys says with a drunken slur. "Look what mine did when she said she reckoned I was chattin with a wench" he stands, and shows his tail - the tuff of fur you'd expect on a donkey had been chopped right off. He moans and sits back down again.

"A coyote." The hyena laughs. "Maybe a coyote is worth the broken tusk?" He laughs loudly, almost everybody at the inn stares right at him.

"I aint seen you around before," the otter speaks up. "You from around here?"

Even with her distance--and eventual shuffling in once she assumes enough time has passed--the reverberation of cackling pups doesn't seem to miss sensitive ears. Already, she regrets the decision. This isn't her place, though it surely already reminded Flint of his home if the stench wafting through gaping jaws was any proof of it. Without any further mental commenting--for tentative feet threatened to turn tail--the cat moves to sit down near the sailors at whatever small vacant table she could find that didn't have them close enough to become a threat. After all, she wished to avoid the pissing cross-fire.

"Nah. Am here on work, some rich noble wanted a couple mercs on her payroll. I could be convinced t'stay, though, if all yer women are as pretty as the ones I've seen so far. Just gotta learn to peek more discreetly!" He cackles. "Y'all got a good eye, eh! Are all outsiders as obvious as me?"

But even at the distance, Vix is getting a lot of attention from the sailors. It's not often a woman steps into this tavern, especially one so clean and well groomed. She will notice the men glancing over at her. Some of them will drop their eyes when they meet with hers, but others keep staring and staring.

"Aw no it aint that" the half-tailed donkey says with laugh as he takes a drink from his flagon of dark ale. "It's just that you get to know folk round here. Sure, them sailor types come 'n go, but most everyone else, I've known 'em since I was a kid."

The hyena pipes up, "at least you don't stick out like that lot," he says, motioning a paw to Vix and Prim. "And if you're on noble payroll, I think you ought to shout us all a drink."

The cat's chin rests in the palm of her paw, sights resting dead ahead before slowly adjusting to sit on the lot eyeballing her. Though the thought had long bubbled to her mind's surface surface, others soon follow and swell up to fill her head with the constant reminder of her abnormal appearance.

By the time every inkling had popped, her eyes had glazed over into a mellow cool and her mouth had mused into a smile. Half-lidded and gentle, her face conveys an entirely different expression than her mind. It doesn't help that the slow finger wave in their direction resembled a charismatic invitation, rather than deterring dissuasion.

Flint glances over his shoulder. Of course he meant the bat and the cat. Flint could be wearing a jester outfit, and he'd still look like he fit in compared to those two. He hadn't been counting on this, but it's a welcome advantage.

"Eesh... what d'ya reckon they's doin' here? All stuffy and well-dressed and lookin' like they hate fun. This ain't the place for them types.", he comments, and turns to his new friends again. "Hah! Yer straightforward, I likes that. Next round's on me!"

Flint's new drinking buddies cheer at his words. This newcomer aint bad! "Sometimes we get rich folk round here wantin' to buy information. It feels dirty coughin up what they want to know, but their pockets are deep and if it aint your brother, it aint worth worryin' about if you ask me." The otter says in a hushed voice so the cat or bat could not possibly hear. "But I wish they'd ask their questions and geddout. I hate them sitin there, judgin us and thinkin' they're better just cause daddy's rich."

A young sailor - a racoon with rings in both ears - quickly downs the last of his drink and quickly rises. His comrades chuckle and whisper about him as he makes his way over to the well-dressed cat. He leans over her table, flashes her a whiskey grin and mutters, "Hey there sweetheart, you wanna head upstairs for a bit o' fun."

Immediate regret. Could she push this on Prim? No, that's... silly. Think logically. Before stupidity has her saying yes, a paw move to tug lightly at her own ears, eyes fishing along the ground as nervousness welled up in her voice. A little hiccup leaves her throat before she speaks. "My conscience would eat away at me... it already is." A deep sigh before both paws cover her face, the smile she wore trembling into a tiny grimace. "I'm so sorry." A sniffle.

nyoro~n ))

The boar frowns a bit. "What kind of information would theys possibly want, though? This city don't look like Intrigue Central t'me, and them fancy types would prolly do better gossipin' in dinner parties than askin' us regular joes. Then again, I've barely been 'round for a week, I might be missin' somthin'.."

The raccoon's smile quickly vanishes at the cat's words. He looks her over once more, before looking back at his snickering comrades. "Eh, what's wrong," he asks, and the instantly regrets his words. He really just wanted a bit of fun, not to hear some rich woman's sob-story.

"Just the other week, some guy came in here wantin' to buy poison. Another time - I didn't see this - but I've been told, we had an entire noble family in here lookin' for their daughter that ran away with some farmhand." The hyena let out another hoot of laughter. "It's hilarious the things the rich folk get up to. For all their hoity toity they're just as dirty as the rest of us."

"I'm sure you'll have a lot of stories soon enough, if you stay noble payroll." The second donkey - who up to this point had been silent finally spoke.

Another sigh. It wasn't so much that it worked that she's still completely uncomfortable, but at least it's playing in her favor. She would never return to a tavern again at this rate. Not unless she had a bit of Eau de Flint--and even that didn't secure her, considering the odor of everyone else. Her arms shuffle uncomfortably as her chest fights for more space than what they're allowing. Eyes glancing down, her ears press along her head. "A friend of mine--an amazing coyote musician- got imprisoned by a bunch of haughty nobles. I thought we could have a bit of fun here after they were done working, we were going to take a break..." She shakes her head. "Now I can't even find his wife. I'm worried sick for her; thought she would've come in just... to take a breather, honestly..."

"Damn.", says the boar, and pauses for a moment. Then he cheers up again. "Well, time for tha' round I promised. What're you gents havin? I ain't been paid yet, so I'm on a bit o' a budget, so dun' go wantin' them bubbly wines or anythin'."