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A merry laugh bursts from the little gnome. "Hahaha! Well, I suppose it could be from all the fruit I eat. And drink!" With a wink, she raises her glass once again. After a hearty swig, she continues with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes: "Your coloration is beautiful, too, but I don't know of any pale purple fruits that would cause it."
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A flash of disappointment is quickly replaced with a cheery expression. "Well, nice talking to you! Maybe we'll cross paths another time. Good luck, wherever you're going!"
Once Volsung leaves, she turns to the half-orc. He's huge, especially compared to her petite form. She's...a little intimidated by him, but tries to hide it. With a cocky upward jerk of her head, she blurts: "'Sup."
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Luurg smiles, his pearly whites a shining beacon of hope for Orcs all over Golarion "Hey Dare. I'mma Luurg." He pronounces it with a very low voice, dragging the uuuuuuurrrg out considerably.
"Waitin' fer mah Elf mang buddy Damiel. He real smrt. Met at big fruit trade show." Luurg laughs, his belly jiggling, along with dozens of different fruits on strings across his neck, belt and chest. He pulls over a half coconut filled with pink juice and a bamboo straw.
Partially hidden under Luurg's cloak are what seems to be butterfly wings..
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Pai's eyes open wide like saucers. Her curiosity mostly--mostly, mind you--overcomes her trepidation. This big guy just might be a jolly fruity type! And butterflies? Huh.
"A big fruit trade show?! Where? When? Was it a one time thing, or does it happen every year? Ooooh! I wish I had been there! Did they give out free samples? What unusual fruits were there? Is that where you got all your snacks on strings?" She chatters in sparkly-eyed excitement...and a little bit of nervousness.
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"Dey have fruit shows all over! Kinda smallish. Mang deez days mostly go fer dah flashy stuffz, not fruitz. But fruitz dey da key, make you real strong, real gud med'cin." He smiles, showing off his perfect teeth. Not a hint of gum disease or cavities.
"Deez fruities bring dare fruitz from all over. Hot wedder fruitz, cooler fruitz, dry desert fruitz. Not many cold wedder fruitz. I wuz just up dare on a trip... slim pickuns." He points out a whole range of figs, pears, bananas, pineapples, plums, and quite a few more. Apples seem to be his favorite as he's got a sack full of those that he doesn't hardly stop eating. A pile of cores collecting on the floor behind the bar.
"Here, yummie!" He tosses over a perfect green apple then takes a long drag off his coconut drink.
He leans in and whispers "I get most my gud fruitz at night... or tradig wid fruities." He leans back, winks, before looking around cautiously.
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Seated in a corner away from other patrons, the dwarven woman with an RBF that could curdle dairy had finished her ale quite some time ago. She has filled the time since with meditation. Opening her eyes, she sighs, rises with purpose, and strides to the job board. It doesn't take her long to realize that no new applicable jobs have come available since she last checked. Stoically, she turns to the bar, orders another ale, and turns to head back to her spot in the corner.
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At the sound of claws on floorboards, Kala turns around to see Stinky trotting toward her, an expression of adoration in his warm brown eyes. She sighs in resignation. "Guess I have to teach you to stay, huh? Just when I think you're pretty smart..." The tone and inflection in her voice communicate a warmth and affection for the beast, despite the deprecation of her words. Turning back to the bar, she gives him the hand gesture for "heel", which the wolverine luckily knows and obeys.
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The front door crashes open and a towering half-orc steps through sheepishly. "Uh, sorry 'bout that everyone. Din't mean to do that." He gingerly closes the door with his gloved right hand, careful not to slam it.
Sidling up to the bar, he accidentally knocks a couple other patrons aside with his huge bulk. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. Uh, I'll have an ale please, if it's not to much trouble." He takes a sip and, eyebrows raised, looks at it approvingly. Wow, this is good stuff. Why in the hells was Ma keeping me away from this? He downs the entire flagon in one shot. "Burrrp. Oh, 'scuse me." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking around to see if anyone noticed his vulgarity. "Another pleash!"
"Sheesh! If only four to six classic Pathfinder Society members, of levels first through fifth would help that guy with his sleeping problem. Aw geez, he's fallen into the peanut bowl again."
"Oh, and it's my 20,000th post. You know. In case you were wondering."
The tanned woman in ship-hand attire looked on as the man dipped again into the bowl of uncracked peanuts. "Sadly don't think they'll accept me for the more, classic events. But congratulations on your stunning twenty-thousandth announcement good crier."
"Oh, why not? Your classic mode Pathfinders are pretty open to race, class, and creed, not like those CORE orginalists."
"And it's actually 20,016 now. Not that anyone cares." says the publican smoothing out the germs over the bar top with a damp rag.