Continued from here
Mr. Bengal had a crease down the middle of his nose.
"Your face looks like an arse," pointed out a balding man, little bigger than a school girl.
"And you look like your mother was raped by a dwarf," said the arse-nosed man.
The little man stood up from his chair. "My mother was a dwarf!" he cried. Several men in the room boomed with laughter, and little titters came from smaller women who sat in a corner on cheap cushions accented by loud orange drapery. The dwarf-man was standing slack-jawed and all frowns and anger as people laughed at his heritage. His brows were thick and furrowed, bunching up as if they were about to spring his whole body forward to punch somebody. His fists were the size of his head, disproportionate and ugly. He had a thick start to a ruddy beard, which had been braided to accent how big it was supposed to be. The bulbous features of his face made it impossible to tell whether her was young or old or merely an ageless dwarf. He had soft, young eyes glinting with lack of hardship and yet crows' feet branched from them on his pale skin.
He was nameless and for the majority of the individuals at the bar tables, he was faceless. They would most likely not remember his presence tomorrow. There were not many tonight, but enough to cause a soundful ruckus whenever a good joke was cracked. Mr. Bengal scratched his unfortunate nose and ignored the cry of the dwarf-thing, other than a subtle victorious brow-raise. The laughter had died down and the dwarf, all red-cheeked and glossy-eyed, sat back in his chair and sipped reservedly at his beer. He picked lightly with his dirtied fingernails at the neglected brick-work lining the walls. Pieces of stone escaped the building as he did so.
The door of the dilapidated inn opened then with a creak and a few smacks for footsteps. A man, soaked from head to naked toes, had stepped inside without stopping. He did not pause as he walked to the man standing behind the bar and spoke in a hush tone to him. His feet were wet and sticky on the floor. The man wore no shirt and had only a suggestion of pants around his thighs. His skin was pale and sickly, damp with rain and with a tinge as blue as the pasty moon. He was called Morry, and everyone who frequented the bar had seen him here for the past several evenings, always walking in with that strange gait and hardly a scrap of clothing on him but carrying a strange brown pack with an odd shape to it.
The place was damn eerily silent for the ten seconds he was standing beside the bar, before he climbed the stairs once more to sleep for too many hours for a man to ever sleep.
_____________
Time was lost to him during this strange recovery period. On this night, he was a man once more, no longer trapped by the impermeable mask of his secrecy. The moon waned with the last quarter slice left, a signal which Morry felt in every part of him down to his heartbeat. This was not a wolf night. His body ached, but not with the familiar call of the forest. His head and his eyes burned with a vengeance but only with fatigue and not with longing. There was no lust in him for the wood, for the hunt, for violence. For the moment at least, he was safe from the change, and tonight he would at last sleep.
For the past few evenings he had been here, asleep throughout the day and only leaving when the sun began to set. The weather had been cruel to those without shelter, the rain never stopping, never ceasing its Autumn onslaught. His body was cold and had pneumonia threatened to set. He shivered next to the lice-ridden bedside, pulling the feeble covers from it over him on the floor so that he became but a pile of linen.
The voice in his head came to him then and he wished that it would not.
"A hot beverage may yet do you good, Wolf," said the cool, philosophical voice in his head. Morry reached for the bag he had carried with him all night and day from beneath his linen fort, grasping the strings of it with his fingers. He pulled out the drum that had caused him this misery and pulled its finely designed surface under with him.
"This is your fault," said Morry.
"I am sorry that the Stigma was so strong, but I must differ on who is to blame for that."
"Your fault." His words were childish and final while he held his lame arm in his good hand. There was pain there, like a bruise that would never leave. It had made him very ill the first night; he could almost still taste the bile swimming over his tongue. He was exhausted from being wolf. He was exhausted from the magical burn, and could still remember when he had the full use of both arms. The werewolf longed for it to be so again.
The drum was silent in his head. He still was not sure if it was only his imagination producing the voice of the thing, but then he was almost positive that if he was imagining it, it wouldn't sound like a pompous dick. So far, the drum couldn't read his mind despite it being telepathic.
"She knew all along." There was blind hatred there, bent wire in his voice.
"The girl? I don't see why she would have," said Zou.
"She did! She must have..." People walked outside of his room. The walls were paper thin but he took no notice that several of them fully believed he was crazy and talking to himself.
"Well since you won't quiet about her and because I have no point of reference other than your version of her, I would guess that you're wrong."
"What? Why?!"
"Why, because you're always wrong, Wolf."
His eyes were drifting. He needed rest.
"Then I'm wrong."
And he fell asleep, cold, shivering, clutching the painted drum to his chest like a baby holds a bear.
Every Wolf Has its Day
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Lis Spencer
- Outsider
- Posts: 17
- Joined: Wed Mar 09, 2011 3:13 pm
- Name: Lis Spencer
- Race: Half-Elf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
The weather was turning chilly again; cold rains and biting winds coming more and more often. Oddly enough, this sort of thing happened every year at about this same time, and didn't stop until about seven months later. Actually, as far as seasons went, autumn wasn't so bad -- not too hot, not to cold, just a tad wetter than Lis Spencer liked. Can't have everything, I guess, Lis thought with a sigh. The rain poured down in silvery sheets around her as she huddled beneath an awning, trying to work up the courage to step out into the downpour to go back home -- or rather, what she called "home" these days.
A few dark shapes made their way through the grey rain, hunched over, hurrying to get to their destinations before the rain got through all their layers of clothes. To either side of Lis were children: that nobody wanted, nobody cared for; who cared for themselves and each other and nobody else in the world. They ignored Lis. Lis ignored them.
Gradually the rain trickled off to a slow drizzle, but did not stop entirely. Not that it made any difference -- just so long as it wasn't pouring water enough to replenish an ocean, Lis was just fine with walking in it. She got up and left the protection of the awning, tugging her coat around her as she stepped out onto the wet and glittering street. She had wanted to go home...but suddenly her eye caught a certain individual just heading into a tavern -- by the looks of him, a very rich individual.
Lis was a thief by profession. Even though she'd had an honest upbringing, you are what you make of yourself, and Lis couldn't throw off such a temptation as the man who'd entered that tavern. Once a thief, always a thief. She walked into the tavern.
A few dark shapes made their way through the grey rain, hunched over, hurrying to get to their destinations before the rain got through all their layers of clothes. To either side of Lis were children: that nobody wanted, nobody cared for; who cared for themselves and each other and nobody else in the world. They ignored Lis. Lis ignored them.
Gradually the rain trickled off to a slow drizzle, but did not stop entirely. Not that it made any difference -- just so long as it wasn't pouring water enough to replenish an ocean, Lis was just fine with walking in it. She got up and left the protection of the awning, tugging her coat around her as she stepped out onto the wet and glittering street. She had wanted to go home...but suddenly her eye caught a certain individual just heading into a tavern -- by the looks of him, a very rich individual.
Lis was a thief by profession. Even though she'd had an honest upbringing, you are what you make of yourself, and Lis couldn't throw off such a temptation as the man who'd entered that tavern. Once a thief, always a thief. She walked into the tavern.
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Dianelopa
- Citizen
- Posts: 200
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 8:50 am
- Name: Dianelopa
- Race: shifter human werewolf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
Never had it taken Dianelopa so long to make such a relatively short journey. When she finally reached Marn, it was already dark and she was completely exhausted. The pain in her swollen ankle seemed unbearable. It had been raining for a while and she was soaked, cold and on the verge of tears. She then did something that she normally never would have done, especially feeling as bad as she did.
She didn't go home. Somehow she felt Thad would not have been there, and even if he were, she was not sure she even wanted to see him at this point. So she went into a tavern, the first one she noticed. It wasn't a place that was familiar to her. But it was dry and warm and a drink of some brain-numbing concoction seemed to promise respite.
She must have looked quite bedraggled, wet, dirty and unappetizing to the males who in past times would have grabbed, pinched or latched on. None did. That was a relief. Dianelopa found an empty spot at a table of mostly older women and men. They stared at her, moved closer to each other to avoid her wetness, but said nothing. The waiter came and she ordered red mead. He wanted the money right away. Dianelopa knew that meant he didn't trust her. She paid without complaining.
By the time the drink was half gone, things seemed better. Dianelopa was getting dryer, she'd stopped freezing, and with her wet hair and clothes no longer clinging, she probably looked better as well, her cheeks turning red from the alcohol and her eyes less pained. The people at the table began including her in their rather absurd conversation. Dianelopa went along with them, made absurd comments and they laughed. One of them ordered a new round of ale for everyone, including Dianelopa.
In the meantime - Thad had indeed not gone home. He waited until dark to go into the city itself and then crept around the dark alleys looking for his old companions. Eventually he found a couple of them in a tavern, not the one Dianelopa was at, not anywhere near it. He went in and started to drink. What he had wanted to discuss with these companions, he forgot. The slow dissolution of all thinking in his brain as the alcohol took over was fine with him. Sorting things out could wait.
She didn't go home. Somehow she felt Thad would not have been there, and even if he were, she was not sure she even wanted to see him at this point. So she went into a tavern, the first one she noticed. It wasn't a place that was familiar to her. But it was dry and warm and a drink of some brain-numbing concoction seemed to promise respite.
She must have looked quite bedraggled, wet, dirty and unappetizing to the males who in past times would have grabbed, pinched or latched on. None did. That was a relief. Dianelopa found an empty spot at a table of mostly older women and men. They stared at her, moved closer to each other to avoid her wetness, but said nothing. The waiter came and she ordered red mead. He wanted the money right away. Dianelopa knew that meant he didn't trust her. She paid without complaining.
By the time the drink was half gone, things seemed better. Dianelopa was getting dryer, she'd stopped freezing, and with her wet hair and clothes no longer clinging, she probably looked better as well, her cheeks turning red from the alcohol and her eyes less pained. The people at the table began including her in their rather absurd conversation. Dianelopa went along with them, made absurd comments and they laughed. One of them ordered a new round of ale for everyone, including Dianelopa.
In the meantime - Thad had indeed not gone home. He waited until dark to go into the city itself and then crept around the dark alleys looking for his old companions. Eventually he found a couple of them in a tavern, not the one Dianelopa was at, not anywhere near it. He went in and started to drink. What he had wanted to discuss with these companions, he forgot. The slow dissolution of all thinking in his brain as the alcohol took over was fine with him. Sorting things out could wait.
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
Mogan was not from Marn. Mogan used a comb made of ivory to untangle his hair every morning, but he was normally too busy to do it himself so he always had Marle Scattazun do it for him. Marle had black skin and the whites of her eyes were too white. Mogan had raped Marle three times and had stopped because he didn't like the smell of her sweat afterwards. Mogan had Arctic eyes and tawny skin and felt that brown eyes were classless and dull. Mogan had never slept with a man but he had always been curious about it, although if you asked him he would tell you that homosexuals were the spawn of demons and Theogios had damned them all.
Mogan had come to Marn due to a meeting concerning the slave market in Semerkhet, which he had long been a part of. As a wealthy merchant, slaves provided approximately one quarter of his total income, with the remainder being taken by rare items and animals. He sold fine incense and exotic breeds of wild cat to members of the high class. Ministers, presidents, and members of the imperial family of Eyropa had bought such fancies from him, and thus, he was a fortunate individual.
He went into The Drunken Rat that night to drink, and nothing more. A twig girl of a servant was following him with a thin wooden parasol to shield him from the rain. She was so short that she had to raise her arms completely in order to keep Mogan covered. He ignored her expertly until they went into the tavern, when he waved his hand to shoo her off to the other room. There she would stand there and wait, uncomfortably, for how ever many hours it took him to become sick with drink.
Mogan sat at one of the small tables meant for two people and ordered mead. The chair was splintery and uncomfortable.
He had no idea that Jayna had followed him.
______________
Morry dreamed of painted satyrs and fawns dancing in the wilds of Zhaltev, a great pyre at their center while wind whipped and trees sang.
______________
Tiger Crossing was a terribly named inn, but Mr.Bengal had thought it was an apt name considering his surname. He had opened the inn twelve years ago, and it had done poorly. He lowered the prices. It still did poorly. So, he traded the nice oak wood furniture for flagrantly inexpensive pine and fired two of his workers. Now, it was a dilapidated heap because the business couldn't pay for its own repairs and Mr.Bengal was certainly not about to pay for them out of his own pocket.
At Thad's table in the tavern section of the inn, Gilligan had launched into a heated explanation about sodomy and its finer roots. Alcohol forced the discussion to transition elsewhere, a blurry mess of words.
Then he said, "They still 'aven't caugh' the monsta' tha' killed that Lord or other on the road to Shim. You hear abou' tha'?"
"Aye," said a young man with a crooked nose, "Think it was a werewolf, so they're sayin'."
"I wonder who the shit cleans up af'er things like tha' h'appen eh?"
"I don't know, is only been a few days, and they ain't leavin' corpses on the road to rot."
"Wha' you think Thad?" Gilligan was drunk, and his words were more degenerated than usual.
Mogan had come to Marn due to a meeting concerning the slave market in Semerkhet, which he had long been a part of. As a wealthy merchant, slaves provided approximately one quarter of his total income, with the remainder being taken by rare items and animals. He sold fine incense and exotic breeds of wild cat to members of the high class. Ministers, presidents, and members of the imperial family of Eyropa had bought such fancies from him, and thus, he was a fortunate individual.
He went into The Drunken Rat that night to drink, and nothing more. A twig girl of a servant was following him with a thin wooden parasol to shield him from the rain. She was so short that she had to raise her arms completely in order to keep Mogan covered. He ignored her expertly until they went into the tavern, when he waved his hand to shoo her off to the other room. There she would stand there and wait, uncomfortably, for how ever many hours it took him to become sick with drink.
Mogan sat at one of the small tables meant for two people and ordered mead. The chair was splintery and uncomfortable.
He had no idea that Jayna had followed him.
______________
Morry dreamed of painted satyrs and fawns dancing in the wilds of Zhaltev, a great pyre at their center while wind whipped and trees sang.
______________
Tiger Crossing was a terribly named inn, but Mr.Bengal had thought it was an apt name considering his surname. He had opened the inn twelve years ago, and it had done poorly. He lowered the prices. It still did poorly. So, he traded the nice oak wood furniture for flagrantly inexpensive pine and fired two of his workers. Now, it was a dilapidated heap because the business couldn't pay for its own repairs and Mr.Bengal was certainly not about to pay for them out of his own pocket.
At Thad's table in the tavern section of the inn, Gilligan had launched into a heated explanation about sodomy and its finer roots. Alcohol forced the discussion to transition elsewhere, a blurry mess of words.
Then he said, "They still 'aven't caugh' the monsta' tha' killed that Lord or other on the road to Shim. You hear abou' tha'?"
"Aye," said a young man with a crooked nose, "Think it was a werewolf, so they're sayin'."
"I wonder who the shit cleans up af'er things like tha' h'appen eh?"
"I don't know, is only been a few days, and they ain't leavin' corpses on the road to rot."
"Wha' you think Thad?" Gilligan was drunk, and his words were more degenerated than usual.
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Lis Spencer
- Outsider
- Posts: 17
- Joined: Wed Mar 09, 2011 3:13 pm
- Name: Lis Spencer
- Race: Half-Elf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
Lis watched the rich man enter the tavern, watched him send away his servant girl -- actually, the child was probably a slave, which wasn't uncommon at all. The rich man was alone, unguarded. Also stupid. What kind of person went into an establishment like this one without an escort -- an armed one, that is? Well, maybe if you weren't quite so obviously bursting at the gills with wealth, unlike most of the dingy tavern's occupants. As far as Lis saw it, the man was practically inviting trouble. She was more than happy to give it to him.
She ordered a heavy mug of mead -- most likely weighted with lead at the bottom, but she didn't care. Mead wasn't her drink anyway. She took a deep, long swig of it and stumbled across the room, bumping into tables and sloshing the drink on the floor. At the far end of the room sat the rich man, at a tiny lonely table with one chair still empty. Lis knocked it with her knee and collapsed, huffing, into the hard wooden seat, taking another drink out of her filthy mug.
Then she seemed to notice the rich man for the first time, and burst into giggling. "You...your...this is your table," she declared as if it were the funniest thing in the world. "I'm sorry! Do you want me to...er...to leave?" She made as if to get up, but her legs gave out and she fell back into the chair with another bout of giggling. "Oopsie! I guess I have to stay here with you!" She slammed her mostly-full mug on the rough table in front of him. "Buy a lady a drink?"
If she judged him correctly -- most rich men were much the same -- he'd be happy to take advantage of an unprotected, vulnerable, and to all appearances drunk, girl like her. This ploy had worked well for her in the past, and if she could catch him off guard, she'd rob him blind, laughing all the while.
She ordered a heavy mug of mead -- most likely weighted with lead at the bottom, but she didn't care. Mead wasn't her drink anyway. She took a deep, long swig of it and stumbled across the room, bumping into tables and sloshing the drink on the floor. At the far end of the room sat the rich man, at a tiny lonely table with one chair still empty. Lis knocked it with her knee and collapsed, huffing, into the hard wooden seat, taking another drink out of her filthy mug.
Then she seemed to notice the rich man for the first time, and burst into giggling. "You...your...this is your table," she declared as if it were the funniest thing in the world. "I'm sorry! Do you want me to...er...to leave?" She made as if to get up, but her legs gave out and she fell back into the chair with another bout of giggling. "Oopsie! I guess I have to stay here with you!" She slammed her mostly-full mug on the rough table in front of him. "Buy a lady a drink?"
If she judged him correctly -- most rich men were much the same -- he'd be happy to take advantage of an unprotected, vulnerable, and to all appearances drunk, girl like her. This ploy had worked well for her in the past, and if she could catch him off guard, she'd rob him blind, laughing all the while.
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Dianelopa
- Citizen
- Posts: 200
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 8:50 am
- Name: Dianelopa
- Race: shifter human werewolf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
It was getting late. Not used to sitting in taverns drinking mead, Dianelopa felt her eyelids getting heavy. The stories the people at her table were telling began to fade, not sounding so funny any more. She would have simply got up and gone home, but when she tried to move, her damaged ankle shot a stabbing pain through her body, she felt too heavy to move and the thought of going home was like a dark cloud over her head. She closed her eyes and didn't move.
Not until an elbow jabbed her in the ribs. "Hey, don't go to sleep, come on. The night has just begun", said her neighbor, a white haired, wrinkled man with a big wart on his nose and red eyes with a tear dripping out of one of them.
"Oh right," said Dianelopa.
"Huh?" said the man.
"I meant, you're right, I shouldn't go to sleep. Just give me 5 minutes, then I'll be awake again, OK?"
"Sure," said the man and then he announced to the whole table. "We wake her in 5 minutes."
That caused some merriment, which Dianelopa didn't understand why, but she closed her eyes again and felt the whole place gradually dissipating.
Maybe it was five minutes later, maybe not, but the next thing she heard was a rather raucous high pitched giggling at a near-by table. Dianelopa opened one eye and saw a young drunk looking girl lalling next to a rich man. They didn't look like they belonged together and from the snatches of conversation that Dianelopa could catch the girl seemed to have ulterior motives. But what did it matter. Nonetheless, she was awake enough now and couldn't fall back into semi-consciousness. The girl had caught her attention and though she didn't stare, she couldn't avoid an awareness of her.
Not until an elbow jabbed her in the ribs. "Hey, don't go to sleep, come on. The night has just begun", said her neighbor, a white haired, wrinkled man with a big wart on his nose and red eyes with a tear dripping out of one of them.
"Oh right," said Dianelopa.
"Huh?" said the man.
"I meant, you're right, I shouldn't go to sleep. Just give me 5 minutes, then I'll be awake again, OK?"
"Sure," said the man and then he announced to the whole table. "We wake her in 5 minutes."
That caused some merriment, which Dianelopa didn't understand why, but she closed her eyes again and felt the whole place gradually dissipating.
Maybe it was five minutes later, maybe not, but the next thing she heard was a rather raucous high pitched giggling at a near-by table. Dianelopa opened one eye and saw a young drunk looking girl lalling next to a rich man. They didn't look like they belonged together and from the snatches of conversation that Dianelopa could catch the girl seemed to have ulterior motives. But what did it matter. Nonetheless, she was awake enough now and couldn't fall back into semi-consciousness. The girl had caught her attention and though she didn't stare, she couldn't avoid an awareness of her.
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
The girl was stupid, this he noticed immediately. Her skin was crisply sunned and her hair was a black molasses, thick and healthy with youth and oils. She stunk of womanhood, like a ripe peach on a tree waiting to be harvested, although he could guess that this particular peach had already had several worms run through its fine flesh. For the night, he decided she would make a fine match for his finely-built self. Mogan was thick with the health of food and drink, his face built stout like a bulldog. His hair was dark and curled with native blood and had an exotic shine to it. The mead began to do the work that mead often does, as he had already drank half of the pint before she had stumbled to her seat across from him. The drink heightens the senses and destroys performance when it comes to the dance of sexes, and Mogan was not immune to such an effect.
The mead was honey sweet and poorly made, tasting more like something rotten than a foul wine. Mogan preferred wine, but knew that a bad mead was always more tasteful than a bad wine. "Oh you must stay, I'd like the company muchly," he said, his speech a bit staggered and clearly used to speaking some other tongue. Women, stupid bar wenches alike, were a large part of the reason why Mogan attended taverns, and why he stayed in such a place such as The Drunken Rat. He was also from out of the area and was not aware of which establishments were high class or low class. This was obviously the latter.
Mogan was a wary individual, but he was also a light drinker and a careful spender. Still, he snapped his tan fingers to a nearby, very busty waitress.
"Whu' can 'ah getchoo, good sir?" she asked, in that characteristically waitress speak. Mogan gestured swiftly to the girl, who was looking particularly stupidly at him, a drunken smile plastered across her sweet lips.
"Yes mead is what we drink, yes?" he peered into her mug to check, though the motion was unnecessary due to the amount she had sloshed on the floor while staggering to her seat. "Yes. More mead we want." The waitress peered at the girl for the briefest moment, then spun away. Less than a minute passed before she had made her way back with another two full-to-the-brim mugs.
"What is such a lovely girl doing in place like this?" Here he made his move, hardly trying. Women had a habit of falling into his lap. It was the money thing.
The mead was honey sweet and poorly made, tasting more like something rotten than a foul wine. Mogan preferred wine, but knew that a bad mead was always more tasteful than a bad wine. "Oh you must stay, I'd like the company muchly," he said, his speech a bit staggered and clearly used to speaking some other tongue. Women, stupid bar wenches alike, were a large part of the reason why Mogan attended taverns, and why he stayed in such a place such as The Drunken Rat. He was also from out of the area and was not aware of which establishments were high class or low class. This was obviously the latter.
Mogan was a wary individual, but he was also a light drinker and a careful spender. Still, he snapped his tan fingers to a nearby, very busty waitress.
"Whu' can 'ah getchoo, good sir?" she asked, in that characteristically waitress speak. Mogan gestured swiftly to the girl, who was looking particularly stupidly at him, a drunken smile plastered across her sweet lips.
"Yes mead is what we drink, yes?" he peered into her mug to check, though the motion was unnecessary due to the amount she had sloshed on the floor while staggering to her seat. "Yes. More mead we want." The waitress peered at the girl for the briefest moment, then spun away. Less than a minute passed before she had made her way back with another two full-to-the-brim mugs.
"What is such a lovely girl doing in place like this?" Here he made his move, hardly trying. Women had a habit of falling into his lap. It was the money thing.
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Lis Spencer
- Outsider
- Posts: 17
- Joined: Wed Mar 09, 2011 3:13 pm
- Name: Lis Spencer
- Race: Half-Elf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
Lis watched him carefully through her drunken façade, noting his reaction to her presence. He was a singularly foul individual, and she had seen his like before -- the way he leered at her, quite openly too, made his intentions as clear and obvious as if viewed in the noonday sun. Lis had no intention of letting the man take her (she was not a virgin, neither was she overly scrupulous -- but he was a mark, and she still had standards). So she let him grope her with his gaze, and grinned stupidly when he ordered more mead.
"Mmmm, more mead iiiiiis llllovelllly," Lis squeaked, appearing to have some trouble finding the words she wanted. A giggle punctuated her speech. "Ye're a righ'....gennelman, you are. Righ' nice to a laaady."
She took a deep swig of the liquid that remained in her mug, hiding a grimace at the stuff's foul taste. Unstrained beer, the stuff that tasted like sewage, was better than this rot. Her mug was drained, but still heavy -- weighted, of course.
Lis didn't notice the girl across the room shooting glances at their table. She had eyes only for her mark, the greasy and lustful man whose fat purse would line her bed tonight and for many nights to come. She leaned closer, evidently trying to lower her voice to a whisper, and failing utterly. "You see, as t' why I'm here...." Here she stopped for a breath, and --it appeared -- to gather her drunkenly scattered thoughts. "I'm out lookin' t' spend my evenin' with a...a drink or two, and a good time mebbe." Lis put some emphasis on the word good, looking the man up and down much the same way he had done to her, albeit less....predatorily.
"Mmmm, more mead iiiiiis llllovelllly," Lis squeaked, appearing to have some trouble finding the words she wanted. A giggle punctuated her speech. "Ye're a righ'....gennelman, you are. Righ' nice to a laaady."
She took a deep swig of the liquid that remained in her mug, hiding a grimace at the stuff's foul taste. Unstrained beer, the stuff that tasted like sewage, was better than this rot. Her mug was drained, but still heavy -- weighted, of course.
Lis didn't notice the girl across the room shooting glances at their table. She had eyes only for her mark, the greasy and lustful man whose fat purse would line her bed tonight and for many nights to come. She leaned closer, evidently trying to lower her voice to a whisper, and failing utterly. "You see, as t' why I'm here...." Here she stopped for a breath, and --it appeared -- to gather her drunkenly scattered thoughts. "I'm out lookin' t' spend my evenin' with a...a drink or two, and a good time mebbe." Lis put some emphasis on the word good, looking the man up and down much the same way he had done to her, albeit less....predatorily.
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Dianelopa
- Citizen
- Posts: 200
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 8:50 am
- Name: Dianelopa
- Race: shifter human werewolf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
Thad was as drunk as his friend. "I think, I think, I think, I am." said Thad."Wha' you think Thad?" Gilligan was drunk, and his words were more degenerated than usual.
There was silence. The rest of them seemed to be waiting for something, so Thad figured he ought to say something. He'd already forgotten what he'd just said. "Nasty weather," was all he could come up with.
The silence continued.
"Well?" Thad groaned. "What do ye want me to say?"
"About that monsta' on the road to Shim, all the corpses 'n stuff", one of the others said.
"Oh, yeh," said Thad. "The Werewolf. Screwed it up for sure. Ihhh." Thad felt his stomach heaving. And then an explosion burst out of his mouth: a thick spray of mead and green bile.
"Hey buddy," Gilligan muttered. "What the hecks wrong wit ya. Can't hold likor any more? Dissss gusting. yuk." He got up and stumbled off. The others followed one by one. Thad was left alone at the table, staring in consternation at the mess he'd made on the table.
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
"Is that why you have come here?" The sentence was awkward in the air, but it felt natural on his foreign lips. The girl swaggered and swayed in her seat, occasionally sloshing liquid into her pretty little mouth. Her look to him did not go unnoticed, and he grinned something of a flashy, toothy smile. He had decent teeth because he had the money and expertise to keep them that way. Few common folk could afford tooth specialists as he could, and few common folk knew how to clean their own teeth to begin with. Thus, Mogan's smile was one of his prized aspects, a thing he believed to be a deal breaker as far as good relations with women went.
He pushed his hand over her much smaller knee under the table and pushed it up to her thigh. He stopped there and caressed a leg beneath her skirt with his fat fingers. Mogan took a heavy drink from his mug and casually slammed it onto the table, stupid with lust due to the thrilling touch.
"If it is a good time you after, I offer such," he said. He didn't realize he had already finished a second mug and was well into his third. The mugs were large enough that even a man his size would be understandably compromised.
He pushed his hand over her much smaller knee under the table and pushed it up to her thigh. He stopped there and caressed a leg beneath her skirt with his fat fingers. Mogan took a heavy drink from his mug and casually slammed it onto the table, stupid with lust due to the thrilling touch.
"If it is a good time you after, I offer such," he said. He didn't realize he had already finished a second mug and was well into his third. The mugs were large enough that even a man his size would be understandably compromised.
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Lis Spencer
- Outsider
- Posts: 17
- Joined: Wed Mar 09, 2011 3:13 pm
- Name: Lis Spencer
- Race: Half-Elf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
Now they were getting somewhere. Lis didn't even shudder at his fat fingers under her skirt -- that was for blushing maidens, of whose number she was most certainly not. His smile was uncommonly toothy for the day and age, so Lis surmised that this particular commodity of his was one of his most prized possessions.
The buxom -- very buxom indeed -- waitress returned with more weighted mugs of the foul mead, and Lis again spilled a good amount of her raising the tankard to her lips. She noticed the rich wanker was drinking every last drop of alcohol in front of him, so he should be getting nice and drunk now. Lis herself had had no more than a few awful sips, though she was wearing quite a bit of the mead, as was the table and floor.
Lis wriggled her knee and slid a little closer -- well, actually a lot closer -- still acting the unsubtle drunk wench with a wink and a grin. She still had all her teeth, thank goodness, though they weren't nearly as white as the rich man's. Maybe it was time to speed things up a bit. "Hmm, well, you're already showin' a girl a good...good time," Lis said in her worst seductive tone. She raised her eyebrows and tapped her tankard meaningfully.
The buxom -- very buxom indeed -- waitress returned with more weighted mugs of the foul mead, and Lis again spilled a good amount of her raising the tankard to her lips. She noticed the rich wanker was drinking every last drop of alcohol in front of him, so he should be getting nice and drunk now. Lis herself had had no more than a few awful sips, though she was wearing quite a bit of the mead, as was the table and floor.
Lis wriggled her knee and slid a little closer -- well, actually a lot closer -- still acting the unsubtle drunk wench with a wink and a grin. She still had all her teeth, thank goodness, though they weren't nearly as white as the rich man's. Maybe it was time to speed things up a bit. "Hmm, well, you're already showin' a girl a good...good time," Lis said in her worst seductive tone. She raised her eyebrows and tapped her tankard meaningfully.
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Dianelopa
- Citizen
- Posts: 200
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 8:50 am
- Name: Dianelopa
- Race: shifter human werewolf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
The scenario at the near-by table now seemed to rivet Dianelopa's attention. Probably it was because she was still tired, and there was still throbbing in her ankle. It wasn't that unusual now, was it? A drunk young girl looking for a few bishani and a drunk rich man wanting to give it to her. Or? The thought passed through Dianelopa's mind that perhaps the girl wanted more, the way she was leaning over the man a bit contortedly. She had to see what came next.
In the meantime, Thad, sitting alone at another tavern, put his sloshed head down on the table to rest a minute and fell asleep.
In the meantime, Thad, sitting alone at another tavern, put his sloshed head down on the table to rest a minute and fell asleep.
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
"Arthur!" Mr. Bengal shouted from the barkeep, punctuating the command with another, "Arthur!" The slow but steady murmur of dark and deceitful guests echoed a vibrato through the air. This was the midnight crowd, the ones who had fouled the city and its residents in unspeakable ways, along with those few who were simply too drunk to care about what company they kept. A couple paid-for women still lingered among the patrons of the bar, waiting for one of them to take them to an area with more privacy. As he was shouting, Mr. Bengal was cleaning some old, chipped drinking glasses with a rag.
Soon enough, a young man no older than twenty shuffled over to him and asked, "Yes, Father?" He was a handsome brute, with a tall stature and dark hair. He looked hardened with age, though his face retained the softness of youth and there was an abundance of joy in his dark eyes.
"Go rouse that Osrith fellow. His tab is too high for this shite and I've got someone with real bishani who wants that room." Mr. Bengal didn't look up from the glass, and Arthur didn't question him.
The boy took a might long time on the stairwell up to the rooms, nervousness creeping down his spine with a twang like bent metal. Many had spoken about the man with bare feet. There had been rumors of his whereabouts, that he was secretly some kind of monster, that he wandered into the Virdara woods at night to lurk about with other monsters. There was the mention of the word "werewolf," and there were many other adjectives that went along with it. Arthur had always been afraid of shifters and non-humans in general, but the idea of a werewolf, a real werewolf, the kind from lore who were controlled by the moon and had little thought as monsters... he shuddered.
Arthur knocked on room 208's door.
Someone, or something, growled back at him.
He knocked again, then jammed the key into the lock and opened the door when no one answered.
There was a pile of linens on the floor, and the sunken mattress had been partially overturned. It was balanced at a precarious angle on the wooden bed frame. Two of the drawers in the chest of drawers on the wall had been stolen, but Arthur had suspicions about the culprit behind that. The drawer thief was unlikely to be Mr. Osrith.
"Mr. Osrith, you must leave now. Mr. Bengal has reserved this room for another who paid in full," but Arthur's sure words were rickety. The pile of linens moved and the man hiding inside of it moaned with resentment. "You must go, sir," he repeated. Beneath the top-most blanket, an arm emerged, and then the man himself, unshaven and unbathed. He was clutching a drum to his chest, and had the other arm behind his back. He stood shorter than Arthur, and this made the boy feel better about his safety for some reason. He held the door open while the man dragged himself out.
Morry was used to getting thrown out of beds by this point. He had a habit of convincing bad business owners to let him simply run a tab on the inn, while he worked up the money to pay for it. Sensible individuals saw Morry and knew that they would never be able to trust him with money. But it was the kind and the stupid that Morry preyed on, the ones who thought he was just a bit down on his luck and had to gather a bit of cash before he could go on. Mr. Bengal was one such idiot.
He forced himself downstairs and moved Zou back into his brown leather bag that he kept strapped to his chest almost constantly. Most people wouldn't try to steal a drum, but just the same, Morry liked to keep the drum hidden from view for the most part. He was in the process of opening the front door of the inn and looking out into the dark streets of Marn when a familiar shape crossed the corner of his eye. Swiping his tongue over his teeth and lips, as was habit, he turned his head and pushed his good hand through his filthy brown hair. He walked over to a near-empty table where a man dressed in dark clothes had his head on the table. He sat. He stared.
"Well, well. If it isn't my buddy Thad." He said it loud, so that his words would, hopefully, rouse the man. He had one hand on the table, the good one. The other was hidden under the bag. His expression was nothing short of bedraggled and displeased.
___________
Mogan watched his prize while she spoke, the same way a vulture might circle the carcass of a fallen gazelle, or the way lions dilated their pupils just before they launched a chase on a zebra. The drink made his head feel warm and his movements less than accurate. Her tone of voice might have sounded a little ridiculous had he been sober, but alcohol had its funny way of softening everything. Her face too, looked as if it had been run through a filter, and any blemishes on her skin went completely unnoticed by him. From his leather belt, the man pulled off a small velvet pouch and pulled five bishani from its depths. As he did so the currency clanged against themselves, giving away the fatness of the purse.
He set each stone-like coin onto the table with great care, as if nursing a baby bird. Then he stood, took the girl by the hand, whose name he had already forgotten (or had she ever given it?), and pulled her toward him. The purse dangled precariously from his belt. "Shall I find us a more secluded area?"
Soon enough, a young man no older than twenty shuffled over to him and asked, "Yes, Father?" He was a handsome brute, with a tall stature and dark hair. He looked hardened with age, though his face retained the softness of youth and there was an abundance of joy in his dark eyes.
"Go rouse that Osrith fellow. His tab is too high for this shite and I've got someone with real bishani who wants that room." Mr. Bengal didn't look up from the glass, and Arthur didn't question him.
The boy took a might long time on the stairwell up to the rooms, nervousness creeping down his spine with a twang like bent metal. Many had spoken about the man with bare feet. There had been rumors of his whereabouts, that he was secretly some kind of monster, that he wandered into the Virdara woods at night to lurk about with other monsters. There was the mention of the word "werewolf," and there were many other adjectives that went along with it. Arthur had always been afraid of shifters and non-humans in general, but the idea of a werewolf, a real werewolf, the kind from lore who were controlled by the moon and had little thought as monsters... he shuddered.
Arthur knocked on room 208's door.
Someone, or something, growled back at him.
He knocked again, then jammed the key into the lock and opened the door when no one answered.
There was a pile of linens on the floor, and the sunken mattress had been partially overturned. It was balanced at a precarious angle on the wooden bed frame. Two of the drawers in the chest of drawers on the wall had been stolen, but Arthur had suspicions about the culprit behind that. The drawer thief was unlikely to be Mr. Osrith.
"Mr. Osrith, you must leave now. Mr. Bengal has reserved this room for another who paid in full," but Arthur's sure words were rickety. The pile of linens moved and the man hiding inside of it moaned with resentment. "You must go, sir," he repeated. Beneath the top-most blanket, an arm emerged, and then the man himself, unshaven and unbathed. He was clutching a drum to his chest, and had the other arm behind his back. He stood shorter than Arthur, and this made the boy feel better about his safety for some reason. He held the door open while the man dragged himself out.
Morry was used to getting thrown out of beds by this point. He had a habit of convincing bad business owners to let him simply run a tab on the inn, while he worked up the money to pay for it. Sensible individuals saw Morry and knew that they would never be able to trust him with money. But it was the kind and the stupid that Morry preyed on, the ones who thought he was just a bit down on his luck and had to gather a bit of cash before he could go on. Mr. Bengal was one such idiot.
He forced himself downstairs and moved Zou back into his brown leather bag that he kept strapped to his chest almost constantly. Most people wouldn't try to steal a drum, but just the same, Morry liked to keep the drum hidden from view for the most part. He was in the process of opening the front door of the inn and looking out into the dark streets of Marn when a familiar shape crossed the corner of his eye. Swiping his tongue over his teeth and lips, as was habit, he turned his head and pushed his good hand through his filthy brown hair. He walked over to a near-empty table where a man dressed in dark clothes had his head on the table. He sat. He stared.
"Well, well. If it isn't my buddy Thad." He said it loud, so that his words would, hopefully, rouse the man. He had one hand on the table, the good one. The other was hidden under the bag. His expression was nothing short of bedraggled and displeased.
___________
Mogan watched his prize while she spoke, the same way a vulture might circle the carcass of a fallen gazelle, or the way lions dilated their pupils just before they launched a chase on a zebra. The drink made his head feel warm and his movements less than accurate. Her tone of voice might have sounded a little ridiculous had he been sober, but alcohol had its funny way of softening everything. Her face too, looked as if it had been run through a filter, and any blemishes on her skin went completely unnoticed by him. From his leather belt, the man pulled off a small velvet pouch and pulled five bishani from its depths. As he did so the currency clanged against themselves, giving away the fatness of the purse.
He set each stone-like coin onto the table with great care, as if nursing a baby bird. Then he stood, took the girl by the hand, whose name he had already forgotten (or had she ever given it?), and pulled her toward him. The purse dangled precariously from his belt. "Shall I find us a more secluded area?"
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Lis Spencer
- Outsider
- Posts: 17
- Joined: Wed Mar 09, 2011 3:13 pm
- Name: Lis Spencer
- Race: Half-Elf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
Lis was getting hot in this foul place, with the foul man's foul eyes crawling over her body, undressing her with his gaze. She ignored it, however; focusing on her prize. She heard the clink of the coins as he set them on the table, but zeroed in on the clink of still more bishani in that bulging purse of his, horribly ill-concealed on his belt. Either he was too rich or too bloody stupid to care about that bag of coins, but to Lis it was heaven, beckoning her even as she maintained her drunken façade. Her gaze didn't even turn to the purse, not the slightest flicker, yet she was as aware of it as a soaring eagle is of a hapless lamb down below. Standing, she allowed herself to be drawn towards him, his sweaty body pressed against her own.
Lis turned her face up to his, leaning in a little, hand just brushing the purse at his belt. "Mm, secluded sounds jest...jest lovely...." she slurred.
Lis turned her face up to his, leaning in a little, hand just brushing the purse at his belt. "Mm, secluded sounds jest...jest lovely...." she slurred.
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Dianelopa
- Citizen
- Posts: 200
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 8:50 am
- Name: Dianelopa
- Race: shifter human werewolf
Re: Every Wolf Has its Day
Why doesn't she just take it and run, Dianelopa thought. That's obviously what she's after. She watched the slow motion event with increasing tingling in her fingers, toes and stomach. Maybe she needs covering.
Slowly Dianelopa got up from her seat. "I'll be back," she told her table mates, making as if she had to go to the toilet. But moving, getting onto her feet reactivated her injuries and she couldn't help emitting a groan. That already made a few heads turn toward her. She hobbled the few steps toward the sweaty rich fat man and the girl. And then she stumbled, landing awkwardly against the fat man's shoulder. The smell coming from his sweaty arm pits as he turned and raised his arm to try to push her away, almost made her throw up. "Grab," she muttered, making it sound like another groan.
Thad, meanwhile, was indeed awoken by the familiar voice of Morry. He shuddered, hoped it was a bad dream and opened his eyes. But his senses were still befuddled from the liquor. He couldn't focus on the bedraggled man sitting opposite him, but he understood that it was no dream, it was trouble. He tried to shake off the weight that seemed to be crushing him. It didn't work. "Go away," he said finally. It was all he could get out.
Slowly Dianelopa got up from her seat. "I'll be back," she told her table mates, making as if she had to go to the toilet. But moving, getting onto her feet reactivated her injuries and she couldn't help emitting a groan. That already made a few heads turn toward her. She hobbled the few steps toward the sweaty rich fat man and the girl. And then she stumbled, landing awkwardly against the fat man's shoulder. The smell coming from his sweaty arm pits as he turned and raised his arm to try to push her away, almost made her throw up. "Grab," she muttered, making it sound like another groan.
Thad, meanwhile, was indeed awoken by the familiar voice of Morry. He shuddered, hoped it was a bad dream and opened his eyes. But his senses were still befuddled from the liquor. He couldn't focus on the bedraggled man sitting opposite him, but he understood that it was no dream, it was trouble. He tried to shake off the weight that seemed to be crushing him. It didn't work. "Go away," he said finally. It was all he could get out.