Trog's Tavern CLV

[Ironsmith]

"What an odd question." Braon replies, making no further effort to hide her hand. "You aren't by any chance referring to this, are you?" She holds her hand out and repeats the last sequnce of signals, smiling coyly as she does. "It's nothing. Just a little mnemonic device."

That part was actually more-or-less true. A more powerful enchantress would be able to hex someone just by staring at them, but Braon didn't have that level of discipline and focus, and therefore needed the assistance of a little magic-enhancing ritual to help her cast while distracted; one she'd nearly completed at this point.

"Now, back to that pretty face of yours..."

[Morty]

"So you agree it's pretty? I'm glad to hear it." Fayyaad reaches out and, in a surprisingly forward gesture, tries to take and hold the hand performing gestures. He's not buying her explanation and it's a way to interrupt the gestures that turns her forward behavior on itself. "I don't often meet someone quite so forward."

[Ironsmith]

When Fayyaad takes her hand, he'll feel a certain tension shoot through it as Braon instinctually recoils, then relaxes her hand, not wanting to give away the entire ruse just yet. At the same time, he'll see a flash of anger in her eyes as she tries (and fails) to mask her frustration at this development. With the ritual so interrupted, she'd have to start her hex all over again, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to before opportunity packed up and moved on.

She recovers quickly enough, however, and gives a flattered little laugh. "Nor I." She smirks. "My, my, my... with those looks and charms, you must be quite the little heartbreaker, aren't you?" She gives him a playful *boop* on the nose; a little misdirection, so he would not think twice about her hands being near him (and any untended valuables on his person). If she couldn't hex him first, she'd just have to resort to older-fashioned methods.

[Morty]

Fayyaad's nose is booped. He didn't see that coming and couldn't stop it. The most visible valuable thing on his person seems to be a silver ring with a semi-precious stone on his right middle finger. It doesn't look luxurious but it's clearly not cheap, either. He does lean back slightly.

"I wouldn't call myself a heartbreaker. I'm honest and upfront with people about what I want. I do my best not to mislead anyone," he says, playing along.

[Meowmai]

Atreyu has taken all of about five puffs when he catches sight of Kestrel. Ah. Oh dear. That's quite a lot of breadsticks.

He lets out a sigh and puts the cigarette out, standing up and waving to the waiter who just took his order. "Hang on a sec. I'm changin' tables. Follow me over in like ten seconds."

Atreyu snags his menu and walks quietly over to Kestrel's table, sliding softly into the seat opposite her without so much as word. And after a few seconds, cue waiter! "Oh yes. We'll both have the rabbit-" He pauses long enough to smile across at Kestrel. "And what would you like to drink, Missy?"

In the process of tucking away the breadsticks into her bag, Kestrel did not notice Atreyu until he sat down at her table. She looked up in surprise, and opened her mouth to ask who he is, but then hesitated. Kestrel had never seen Atreyu in his human form before, and thus did not recognise him at first, but something about his eyes seemed familiar to her. She leaned in closer, almost squinting, before she was interrupted by the waiter's arrival. Huh? Hang on, she knew that voice! And the last time she had had rabbit was... oh. "Atreyu?" she asked, golden eyes widening in recognition- and her cheeks tingeing just the faintest red at the memories that came of that night.

For a moment she stuttered, taken aback, but she managed to regain enough composure to answer the waiter. "O-oh, um, just lemonade, thanks! If uh, you're offering to pay that is." She directed that last part towards Atreyu. "I uh, don't really have the coin to pay for it, sorry..." She looked down for a bit, slightly ashamed, but soon returned her gaze to him. "Well... fancy seeing you here I guess?" The birdwoman felt a little awkward as she realised he had probably seen her hoarding away all those breadsticks.

[Ironsmith]

Fayyaad's nose is booped. He didn't see that coming and couldn't stop it. The most visible valuable thing on his person seems to be a silver ring with a semi-precious stone on his right middle finger. It doesn't look luxurious but it's clearly not cheap, either. He does lean back slightly.

"I wouldn't call myself a heartbreaker. I'm honest and upfront with people about what I want. I do my best not to mislead anyone," he says, playing along.

"I bet you say that to all the girls." Braon quips, in a tone that implies she doesn't believe him. Like, at all.

Looking at him, there's nothing of obvious value she could take. He's wearing an expensive-looking ring, yes, but unfortunately he's wearing it and she doesn't think she's light-fingered enough to slip it off his hand without him noticing.

Oh, wait. There was something.

Braon smiles and abruptly kisses him full on the lips, hoping that would get his attention while she groped around for his rod.

...No, not that one. The red one he came in with. Had to be worth something, right?

[Morty]

The kiss takes Fayyaad off-guard, but he flinches away very quickly after Braon makes contact. It would be unwelcome even if she wasn't obviously up to something. She will be able to grab the "rod", but even though Fayyaad isn't quick enough to prevent her from doing so, she'll find that the item is becoming very hot very quickly. Unpleasant, then painful, soon enough it might become dangerous.

[Ironsmith]

Braon pulls away, stepping away from the table entirely, the rod clutched in her hand. Once she's out of reach, she gives a taunting smirk and laughs, holding up the rod for him to see; she wanted him to know she'd taken it. "Ta." She grins, breaking into a sprint for the door.

It's not until she gets there (if Fayyaad doesn't catch her) that she notices how hot the rod's gotten and drops it with a startled yelp, nursing her burnt hand.

[Gnrlshrimp]

"Some incident that happened a while back, turned a whole bunch of people into shifters." Ithuriel answers, waving her hand (and a wing) haphazardly. "I wasn't around for it when it happened, but it wasn't like the normal way of- uh, not that the normal way is good." She pauses and backpedals awkwardly. The less talking about the "normal" way of making more were-people, the better.

"But it means they've got a bunch of weird ticks. All sorts of weird things bring on transformations for them. Things you'd never expect. Not anything predictable like a full moon or whatever.

*****

"Well now, wouldn't be the gentlemanly thing to do otherwise, would it?" Atreyu answers Kestrel with a smile. "Can't go around placin' an order if I ain't also offerin' to pay." He waits for a moment until the waiter's done taking their order and steps away, then leans forward. "Figured if yer goin' around stuffing two weeks' worth of breadsticks into yer bag, ya might be in need of something a little more substantial."

[Morty]

Braon pulls away, stepping away from the table entirely, the rod clutched in her hand. Once she's out of reach, she gives a taunting smirk and laughs, holding up the rod for him to see; she wanted him to know she'd taken it. "Ta." She grins, breaking into a sprint for the door.

It's not until she gets there (if Fayyaad doesn't catch her) that she notices how hot the rod's gotten and drops it with a startled yelp, nursing her burnt hand.

Fayyaad chases after Braon, but he wouldn't be quite fast enough to catch her if she hadn't dropped the rod. He seems far more interested in it than in her, scooping it off the floor immediately. As he holds it, it extends into a long staff made of black wood, with red veins running up and down its length.

"I'll have to thank my good friend Cassandra. Her security measure worked like a charm," he says. "Good effort, I must say. You would have run off with it, had it not been for this safeguard."

"Some incident that happened a while back, turned a whole bunch of people into shifters." Ithuriel answers, waving her hand (and a wing) haphazardly. "I wasn't around for it when it happened, but it wasn't like the normal way of- uh, not that the normal way is good." She pauses and backpedals awkwardly. The less talking about the "normal" way of making more were-people, the better.

"But it means they've got a bunch of weird ticks. All sorts of weird things bring on transformations for them. Things you'd never expect. Not anything predictable like a full moon or whatever.

"I think I knew a berk once who was a were... badger? I think it was badger. Animals were never my strong suit. Not many o' those, growing up in the Hive." Michalson takes a drink. "He dealt with it calmly enough, I reckon. I think he wished he'd been turned into something cooler, though I forget what triggered his transformation. I don't think I've had much to do with any of ours who are shifters. Not that I talk to people much when I don't need to."

[Ironsmith]

Braon frowns, leering at him as she leans against the doorway, blowing on her hand and trying to somehow retain her dignity all the while. "Bah. Close only counts with horseshoes and fireballs." She mutters, annoyed. "I suppose you're going to try to turn me in to Intersec now."

Not even a question. There's just a look in her eyes that implies she would regard that as a bad move on his part.

[Morty]

"I don't believe I will. Their jurisdiction over Trog's is unclear and I'd rather not have to answer questions for an hour." Fayyaad seems fairly upbeat about the incident. No doubt he would feel differently if his staff had been successfully stolen. "Were you trying to enchant me when I grabbed your hand and interrupted it?"

[Ironsmith]

Braon gives him a slow, sarcastic clap. "Figure that one out all by yourself, did you? Yes, I was trying to enchant you. A simple little spell to make it harder for you to chase me." Not that it mattered, apparently. Even if she had gotten it off properly, the staff would have forced her to drop it anyway and she would have been caught. Still, if she'd been less obvious about it, maybe she could have taken measures to protect herself or something... ugh. She hated having to rely on that stupid ritual.

[Morty]

Someone's a sore loser. Well, Fayyaad tried.

"I would say better luck next time, I but I really shouldn't." He folds the staff into a short rod again. "Now I do have a drink to go back to."

[Ironsmith]

Braon really should just consider herself lucky he wasn't pressing charges, or taking revenge of any form, for that matter. He wouldn't exactly be in the wrong for trying to bring an admitted thief to justice. But even so, some part of her was curious about why he had such an item, and why he'd gone to such lengths to protect it. So she follows him back to the table and sits down again, this time at a more respectful distance.

No tricks this time. She just wanted to know what his deal was.

[Morty]

"Would you like to have a drink together now without trying to trick me?" Fayyaad asks as he sits down. He seems oddly comfortable with the prospect. That's what living in the Nexus will do to you, one supposes.

[Ironsmith]

"Well, the alternative is that I spend the afternoon wondering why you have a stick that turns into a bigger stick and makes people's hands catch fire." Braon replies, staring intently at her own wine glass. "I can play nice for a little while, if you'll tell me what that's all about."

[Meowmai]

"Well, thanks then! I uh, really owe you one, what with this being the second time you've helped me out." Kestrel ran her hand through her mess of hair awkwardly. She supposed she likely looked very foolish to the werewolf, seeing as both times they've met it's always been with her in a bad situation. "Haven't found much in the way of adventuring work these past weeks, so I'm kinda just scraping by."

Well, okay, there was a fair bit of adventuring work around. Just not much adventuring work that she had the right skills for. Nobody seemed particularly interested in hiring a novice archer who still didn't know much about the world of the Nexus.

[Morty]

"Well, the alternative is that I spend the afternoon wondering why you have a stick that turns into a bigger stick and makes people's hands catch fire." Braon replies, staring intently at her own wine glass. "I can play nice for a little while, if you'll tell me what that's all about."

"There's not that much of a story behind the staff. I can tell you, but first you tell me something." Fayyaad seems to be approaching it in good humor. "What exactly would have happened if you'd cast your spell on me?"

[Ironsmith]

"Oh, geez, that's a toughie." Braon replies, rubbing her finger against her chin in thought. "At a guess, I'd say probably a rash of bad luck. You know, spontaneous tripping, finding mysterious holes in your coin purse, taking a wrong turn into a bad part of town, that kind of thing." She looks him over as she talks. "Probably about a month of that, give or take, depending on how healthy you are."

[Morty]

"Truly? I was expecting it to confound my senses somehow. Maybe it's because of the magic-users I tend to meet." Fayyaad seems legitimately curious. "But you said probably. Could it have done something else?"

[Ironsmith]

"Absolutely." Braon shrugs. "I don't know what the mages you deal with call magic, but the stuff I'm used to can be a little... tempermental." She massages her temple with a couple of her fingers, trying to figure out how to explain it. "How much experience do you have with magic?"

[Morty]

"I'm good friends with a sorceress and work with several other magic users. Enough to know the dazzling variety of shapes it can take." Fayyaad drums his fingers on his staff. "But its being temperamental seems common."

[Ironsmith]

"A sorceress? Really?" Braon frowns. "That's no comparison. A sorceress and an enchantress are as different as night and day. We operate under completely different rules." She lifts her wine glass. "Say, for instance, a sorceress was sitting in front of you right now. And she really wanted to get grape juice, but was handed a glass of wine instead. She'd probably just cast herself a spell to purge the alcohol from it. Magic in, do something specific, magic out."

She sets the glass down. "But I'm no sorceress. I don't cast 'spells', per se. What I do is leave a mark." She stirs her finger in the wine. "That mark is the entirety of my essence. What I want, what I feel, what I know, and the whys and hows of all of them. If I leave it at that, the mark is, for all intents and purposes, me. And here, that's not necessarily what I want." She smiles a little. "So I have to hold back. Put in just the parts that help in this situation. I have to ask why I'm so dead-set on getting grape juice. Do I like the taste? Do I dislike the alcohol? Why? Why not?" She runs a finger over the rim of the glass as the wine inside bubbles and froths, giving off a strong, acrid scent. "When I'm done, there's a whole other person in there. One I've shaped for the task. I might be right about what they do. I might be wrong."

"On the other hand, the magic I put into it, stays in it. And if something unexpected happens..." Braon sloshes the wine in the glass, spilling some onto the table. "...the intent remains. And the magic responds." She smiles as the wine glass magically refills itself. "So, you see, it's really nothing like sorcery at all."

[Gnrlshrimp]

"Badger, huh? I imagine we've got one of those too. There's a long list of types of shifter covered within the department now. I am, thankfully, still the only rhino. It uh- it wouldn't have been fun trying to help someone else to get used to being a were-rhino. Wouldn't recommend it. You ever seen rhinos in the wild? They get real grumpy." As Ithuriel has done on more than one occasion. "But hey, at least badgers look pretty neat! There's still a lot of worse things they could've been shifting into."


*****

"By my reckoning, you don't owe me anythin', Missy. Least, y'won't in a little while anyways." Atreyu waves away her concern with a shrug of his shoulders. "The hunting grounds was gettin' a little lonesome. Yer company was most welcome. And as long as yer happy with me sharin' yer table fer dinner, yer company will more than make up fer the food. So we're all square, arright?" Seems like a generous way of interpreting things for it to be all square, but it's hard to argue with that winning smile, right?

"Sides, might be that I could give ya something to help yer position be a lil' better'n just scraping by."

[Morty]

"A sorceress? Really?" Braon frowns. "That's no comparison. A sorceress and an enchantress are as different as night and day. We operate under completely different rules." She lifts her wine glass. "Say, for instance, a sorceress was sitting in front of you right now. And she really wanted to get grape juice, but was handed a glass of wine instead. She'd probably just cast herself a spell to purge the alcohol from it. Magic in, do something specific, magic out."

She sets the glass down. "But I'm no sorceress. I don't cast 'spells', per se. What I do is leave a mark." She stirs her finger in the wine. "That mark is the entirety of my essence. What I want, what I feel, what I know, and the whys and hows of all of them. If I leave it at that, the mark is, for all intents and purposes, me. And here, that's not necessarily what I want." She smiles a little. "So I have to hold back. Put in just the parts that help in this situation. I have to ask why I'm so dead-set on getting grape juice. Do I like the taste? Do I dislike the alcohol? Why? Why not?" She runs a finger over the rim of the glass as the wine inside bubbles and froths, giving off a strong, acrid scent. "When I'm done, there's a whole other person in there. One I've shaped for the task. I might be right about what they do. I might be wrong."

"On the other hand, the magic I put into it, stays in it. And if something unexpected happens..." Braon sloshes the wine in the glass, spilling some onto the table. "...the intent remains. And the magic responds." She smiles as the wine glass magically refills itself. "So, you see, it's really nothing like sorcery at all."

Fayyaad isn't sure if he understands it. It sounds nothing like any magic he's ever heard of. But then, don't they say pyromancy comes from the soul too?

"You're right. It does seem different from anything I'm familiar with. So what you tried to do was to leave a mark containing the part of you that wanted to steal from me. And while it might have done what you intended, it might have dome something else altogether."

"Badger, huh? I imagine we've got one of those too. There's a long list of types of shifter covered within the department now. I am, thankfully, still the only rhino. It uh- it wouldn't have been fun trying to help someone else to get used to being a were-rhino. Wouldn't recommend it. You ever seen rhinos in the wild? They get real grumpy." As Ithuriel has done on more than one occasion. "But hey, at least badgers look pretty neat! There's still a lot of worse things they could've been shifting into."

"Rhinos... no, I can't say as I've ever seen any. I've stuck to more temperate climates of worlds I've visited. And the fauna of Sigil is... mostly not something you ever want to see." Michalson shrugs. And aye, a badger's not so bad. He could have become a were-rat instead. Lots of them in sewers under Sigil, I'm told. I wonder if it's just mammals who can be shifters. Are there were-lizards? Were-spiders?"

[Ironsmith]

"See, it's thinking like that which makes enchanting so difficult." Braon smiles. "If I leave a mark on you that just wants to steal from you, that's exactly what she'll do; try to steal from you. Since I also want to steal from you, we'd just end up in competition. Such an act would be counter-productive." She holds up a finger. "But! If I leave a mark that doesn't have conflicting goals, such as, say, one that hates you for being a tiefling and a man and wants bad things to happen to you, we can work together to make my theft easier on me. She gets to make you miserable, I get your stuff, you're more miserable because I have your stuff, everybody wins. Well, except you." She shrugs. "And once I'm gone, she kinda does her own thing. I can't predict what she'll learn about you or how she'll feel about it. If she finds out about your nightly cat-torturing sessions, those harmless spouts of bad luck might stop being so harmless. If she gets a look at you naked in the mirror, you might start finding sappy love poems under your pillow. I won't know, because I won't be there."

[Morty]

Fayyaad's eyes open wide in understanding.

"That does make a lot more sense. And I see why your art requires thinking outside the box." He taps the folded staff, now clipped to his belt. "Me, I'm a pyromancer. It's as straightforward as it gets, really. And this staff, since you've answered my question, is enchanted to focus and store my power. I commissioned it from a friend. Its enchantments include being able to make it heat up. As an anti-theft measure."

[Ironsmith]

"...Wait, seriously? That's it? That's all you've got?" Braon frowns. "'Yeah, I'm a big stupid fire-flinger, this is my catalyst, a-duurrrrr!!!'?" She leans back and crosses her legs. "That's what we call an imbalanced exchange, buddy. Come on. There's gotta be more going on with you than that! Why pyromancy? Why not something brainier, like sorcery?"

[Morty]

Fayyaad seems amused by Braon's surprise and disappointment. He doesn't laugh, but his smile does get just a little bit wider.

"Why not pyromancy? I didn't choose it, it chose me. It's a talent one is born with. Tieflings more often than non-tiefling humans. My parents were pleased... which isn't a very common occurrence, I should say. It's believed to be a blessing from our goddess. So I set to honing my abilities. Along with all the skills demanded of a noble scion. Not much time left for the pursuit of sorcery."