Booktown's cobbles are wet-slick with the rain, small streams collecting in the gutters that run along the centre of the streets... onwards to the square of bookshops that the boatswain suggests is just along the way, the group travel.
...and then one of them sees it, a notice stapled at a corner of the street - gothic script declares the six poorly drawn portraits - blurred by rain and barely recognisable - as wanted by the Office of the Watch. Of the faces, there is one whose features can be placed... Rigo... It is but one notice though, smeared by rain and half covered by other parchments.
"Kaikki tiikerit näyttävät samalta."
"All tigers look alike."
Audria scurries along next to Alexis, her arms covering her chest as the rain begins to soak her clothes. She wanted nothing more than to get somewhere warm and curl up in a blanket, or three, but there was still business to be done. She barely sees the notice, but when she spots Rigo's smudged, but recognizable, features, her heart stops.
Burn it! Let me out and burn it!
Audria turns away, whimpering and clutching her head.
"Please tell me we're almost out of the rain," she mutters more to herself than anyone present.
Tugging off her large blue coat and tossing it over Audria's shoulders, "Whenever the book obsessed find whatever they are looking for."
Frowning and sounding more her age, in a very dramatic sense, "We get to drown on land while we wait."
"Thanks," Audria says before grabbing Alexis and pulling her under the coat as well. "No reason for you to get wet, too," she says with a little bit of humor in her voice. The coat's large and has more than enough room to keep the two of them covered.
"Maybe after the bookworms are finished we can find a place with a fire and some warm cider and warm blankets to curl up in."
Salom's mouth goes cotton-dry when he sees the posters. "Perhaps, but we shouldn't leave it to chance. Our absence has been noted, and we should proceed with caution. Haircuts, anyone?"
Aishe looks at the notice, such as it is, and a cold chill runs down his spine. "I think, for no particular reason, I'm going to grow a beard." he mutters to himself as much as the others.
He worries more for Rigo. Not a lot of Tabaxi in the city he suspects. He'll be easiest to find, and when they find him, they find the rest of us.
He frets, but says nothing as he walks along in the rain, seeming not so pleasant as it was a moment ago. He looses some interest in languages for now. "Let's get going. We need to do the job and hope they'll clear our names. And quickly."
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Haircuts, anyone?"
"...I recommend Curl up and Dye back on Festival." Moira gallantly sweeps of her hat and shakes out her awesome new hair. Then she approaches the poster, and--as discreetly as possible--removes it for later study. She looks longingly at the bookstores lining the streets.
"I've never been inside of a shop devoted entirely to books, though I've ransacked many a country store for its stories, songbooks, cookbooks and the like. So I guess I can wait a little longer."
Looking down at the poster, she says:
"It's nice to feel wanted."
Curiosity pulls Alexis forward. Looking around at the soggy posters, "Hmm, never had one of these before."
"Is this really the time," Audria hisses quietly at the others before jerking her head at their guide.
This unwanted reminder of their time upon the Redemption draws the group short - suddenly the attraction of the libraries and bibliographs here in BookTown seems less attractive than the urge to keep a lower profile... and, even though the rain is keeping the streets comparatively clear, there is ever the chance of being seen - and recognised. Better then to head back to the river and over to the relative safety, if that is truly possible to say, of Festival.
...and so, pulling hoods over their heads - against the rain and against inquisitive eyes, the group hurry from BookTown and back to their boat. There is a feeling, whether it be caution, paranoia or reality, of being watched... but looking around, none of the people who are out seem to be interested in anything other than their work.
The journey back across the river is far colder, and wetter with the drizzle building to a shower near the mid-point of the journey, than the trip on the pleasure ferry - but at least their departure from the mainland of the city is discreet... and hopefully, unwatched. Arriving back at Festival, the boatswain moors on the northern end of the isle... and cursing the rain, thanks the group for their custom.
As the group starts heading back tot he dock, Aishe stops. "Wait a moment. We have to investigate that prostitute first. No sense in heading back now empty handed. We'll just lose whatever leverage we have with that family and be out on the streets."
"That does us no good at all. C'mon, let's check this woman out before we flee back to that circus."
If he's overruled, he shrugs and heads back with the others, though his mood is grim.
Aishe looks confused at the others a moment, shrugs, and heads back with them.
He puts another gold in the hands of the ferryman. "We hope to see you again, you've been a great help, and we may have need of your services in the future as well. Thank you good sir!"
Once they are back on the island of Festival, Rigo turns to Moira. "Have heights on it?" He asks of the paper. Looking at it, he rubs the back of his ear. "Suggest we change appearances. Few months, mine not match so well." He looks around. "Not sure how change mechanical thing to something else. Suggest change hair color and length for all. Need find tub and either gold or grey dye for me. And need to not go around in big group, two or three smaller groups, always change up."
Moira also flips the guide a GP. "Appreciate your help and discretion."
Responding to Rigo a little later:
"My stylist in the Souk did a good job turning my hair reddish, and seemed to enjoy a challenge. She could probably fix you up, Rigo! Who says a tiger can't change his stripes? Or I could go in and say that I want a lifetime's supply of my new color and we could try to do the dyeing ourselves."
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"Probably better let them do dying, professional. Doubt they talk to guard around here, haven't seen a single guard on street so far here. Not safe I think." Rigo replies. "Tabaxi no red. Gold, White, or Black. Mother was black with blacker stripes, father was gold with black stripes." He then moves into a singsong. "Gold and Gold is Gold, Black and Black is Black, White and White is White.
Gold and White is Black, Black and White is Gold, Gold and Black is White." It doesn't rhyme, but it might in his native language. "Few months, won't matter, be taller then, face different, not match poster."
Thea wasn't pictured. Salom rationalizes with himself. They don't know she exists.
But he knows this is a futile path of reasoning. Someone had known about her, or else he wouldn't have salvaged her on the boat. And once they'd found him, she would simply be cast aside for scrap metal.
"Perhaps a visit to Curl Up and Dye is in order, Moira."
"Do you think they could make my hair longer," Audria asks from under the coat she shares with Alexis.
And so, bidding a farewell to the boatswain - with Aishe's unspoken hope that a shekel will buy discretion... and silence, the group head away from the quayside and start their long ascent towards the centre of the island. The rain, with a weak sun smeared through the clouds, is starting to abate now... and the businesses of Festival; the stalls, the markets, the street entertainers clamouring for attention - they are as noisy as ever...
Up they head, through narrow streets and alleyways - the journey is starting to feel familiar as shop windows from the last time they travelled to the Souk jog their memories.. but this time, with no Ammos as guide and with the images of the poster in BookTown - and all that such a notice might entail, there is a pointed urgency to their trip. Back to the Bright Souk - and the quest for some anonymity... and, from there, upwards to the Great Fayre. This job that Marren Grast has set them, to find Grace Spindleshanked... it is a purpose and a means to an end...
Aishe goes for a different style of hair than he had before, and dyes it black. Hie eyebrows always were dark for his skin, and now they more closely matched his hair. He plans to grow a beard, at least for a while, and so doesn't go for a shave, but he does enjoy the process, and lingers easily as the others get changed as well.
In a while, he's ready to head to the Great Fayre.
Moira boldly leads the party into the salon, calling the noble haircrafters to our aid. The stylists, flamboyantly coiffed in a rainbow of colors, are each a sort of living advertisement for their work. While slightly taken aback by so many walk-ins at once, they are very happy for the business, and offer their many-fangled shears, bleaches, dyes, wigs, extensions, razors, waxes, ribbons, mousses, pomades, shampoos, conditioners, hot towels, curlers, blow dryers, straighteners, foils, perms, and the like to the crew.
But all of them pause and circle around Rigo, consulting seriously about the logistics of dying an entire person.
Moira, already altered, sits on a spare barber's seat, spinning herself slowly while tapping on her drum and singing the "Fixin' to Die Blues." She fights off a vague desire to get her hair dyed blue--the reddish blonde is only a day old, after all.
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When it comes time for Audria to have her hair done, she looks at the barber, a woman with orange and bright pink hair, her expression sheepish.
"Um, could you make my hair longer," she asks.
"Oh of course honey! We can put these in and make it any length you want," the outrageously dressed barber replies.
"No, I meant can you make my hair grow out longer," Audria clarifies.
The woman blinks at her before standing up straight and tapping her cheek with a pair of shears.
"Well, Ol' Bellamy has been workin' on something that might work, but no one's ever used it on a person."
"Uh, is it dangerous?"
"No," the barber answers with a chuckle, "but it's only ever been used on dogs. We've never really had a reason to use it on a human or elf."
"So I guess I'd be the first," Audria says, more trying to distract herself from the butterflies in her belly than anything.
"Are you sure you want to, honey?"
Audria gives a firm nod of her head and soon Ol' Bellamy, a dame with greying, frazzled hair and a lazy eye comes out with a bottle of the ointment that smells of so many things that it's difficult to pin down, though cinnamon and mead are two of the stronger ones. Ol' Bellamy takes over, massaging her concoction into Audria's scalp.
A minute later, her hair begins to grow, going from shoulder-length, to waist-length, then longer than she was tall in a matter of moments.
"Oh! How exciting! It works better than I would have dreamed," Ol' Bellamy croons as she claps her hands together like a little girl at getting a present.
"Is it going to stop," Audria asks in alarm as her locks pool around her.
"I don't know. It should be fascinating to see if it does," the old woman answers with glee.
Rigo grumbles. "Charcoal grey, all over."
Two of the apprentices are waved toward Rigo, and he crouches naked in a large tub while they repeatedly pour grey colored water over his body. Fortunately, because of his species, nobody can really see anything lewd. As they continue to pour over the crouched tiger, his fur darkens, until it takes on a nearly midnight black stripe pattern on only merely dark fur. Where once there was white, there is now a smokey dark fur that would normally be called black, if there weren't darker stripes showing through the smokey dark grey.
Then they trim his fur around his skull and the back of his head, giving it a more urban look.
Finally, he puts his clothes back on (after drying out thoroughly), and looks completely different.
Salom holds the looking glass in one hand, admiring the dramatic curl to his mustache and the glossy sheen of his freshly-oiled beard. His facial hair had grown out fully during their time aboard the Redemption and, despite the itch that had burdened him the first week, he had actually grown quite fond of it. Though it was in terrible need of a trim. In deciding to keep it, he was also relying on the fact that his likeness had been captured prior to their imprisonment, when he was still freshly shaven. His hair is trimmed, though still long, and pulled back into a neat pony’s tail.
He smirks at his reflection. "You handsome devil."
Rigo looks at the clockwork fairy. "If paint bright green, and move all the limbs around, might not be recognizable. Maybe add red and yellow feathers."
The constantly-growing hair is ever more exciting to Ol' Bellamy, calling for her colleagues to come and see Audria's 'predicament'... crowding around the girl as panic starts to fill her eyes, the barbers and pseudo-fashionistas pawing and pulling at the tresses as they flow and flow... and flow...
The pile of hair beside Audria is almost the size of a small, and rather silky, dog when Ol' Bellamy finally seems to register the girl's discomfort, "Oh my dear... maybe this has worked a little too well", she places a reassuring hand on Audria's scalp, "There is one thing we can do... first of all, let's get rid of the worst of this"... there is the sound of snipping and a slight tugging at Audria's hair - but still it keeps growing... "And then, we'll have to put some of this on it..." The smell is not pleasant, the mud being smeared across Audria's crown has a sulphurous tang... and the feeling is strangely warm, "It's Lyme mud... from beneath TownBridge - it's got 'qualities'".
...and it's true, the hair seems to be growing at a slower pace beneath the mud - and when Ol' Bellamy peels the dried cake from Audria's scalp, it has finally stopped. Already the excess hair is being swept away... and two of the hairdressers, both halflings and both with, are placing it - with some excitement - into bags marked 'wigs'...
Keeping close to the door and watching everything that is happening with a look of distaste. It is only after the hair growth problem is tended to before she finally moves into the area.
With a heavy sigh, "Can you shave the sides and dye the rest a red?"
Audria slumps into the chair with relief as her hair finally stops growing. Even with two-thirds of it being swept into bags marked "wigs," she still has enough to go past her knees by the time it's finished growing. Not even sulphurous stench is able to dampen her relief that particular ordeal was over with.
She nearly falls asleep as her hair is washed to get the last flakes of mud from it, and it takes a few times before she realizes she's being asked how she wants it.
"Um, maybe not as long as it is now? Uh, what color would you dye it," she asks meekly, unsure of what she wants beyond having it longer than it was. The hairdresser ponders for a moment before snapping her fingers and grinning.
"I know just the thing! you're going to love it!"
A little while later, Audria's hair is trimmed to waist length and done up in intricate braids and threaded with navy blue ribbon that stands out against her now platinum blonde locks.
"H-how do I look," Audria asks the others when she emerges from Curl up and Dye.
...two of the hairdressers, both halflings and both with [MISSING TEXT], are placing it - with some excitement - into bags marked 'wigs'...
Finally finished in the hairdressers and sporting new styles and colours, the group once more step out onto the streets of Festival - in the afternoon sun, the effectiveness of these new disguises is quite remarkable... beyond the fact that Rigo is - at least according to what Uncle Marren had suggested - relatively unique on the streets of Castorhage, there is nothing to connect these simple folk of Festival to the poorly drawn fugitives on the BookTown poster... and so, feeling a little more confident, the group head up towards the Great Fayre.
An incredibly steep cobbled street connects the Seethe to the Great Fayre at the summit of the island - had the friends attempted to come here earlier in the day, they would surely have found the rain-slick cobbles to be treacherous... as it is, the ascent - hundreds of yards towards the musical noise of a carnival - is arduous enough.
Arriving at the top, and entering a kaleidoscope of gaudy colours, sweet smells and circus noises, the group arrive at the Fayre... The Great Wheel, Uncle Marren had extolled its wonder the night before, and a nearby Helter-Skelter tower some 80 feet above the Fayre - surely guaranteeing brave riders a view they will never forget. And, even now in lazy mid-afternoon hours the crowds are building within this labyrinth of fortune-tellers, prize stalls, food vendors, hoopla’s, crossbow ranges, wrestling challenges, and countless other diversions...
As they enter the Fayre, Rigo begins to take slow deep sniffs, looking for hints of 'death' smells (ghouls/undead/vampires) as well as were rats.
He also keeps his eye open for swan tattoos.
Aishe huffs and puffs a little up the steep incline, I've spent too much time on the wagon and not enough walking - ooof!
However, at the top, he is energized by the sight. "Wow, a real fair! I've only seen the traveling variety, not something as stable and built up as this! I'll try not to get too sidetracked." he grins at the party as he stands there taking it all in for a long moment.
When the group is ready, he follows them into the mass of colors, sounds, and smells. He keeps his eyes open and wonders if one of the fortune tellers could tel them where to find their quarry. He chuckles at the thought as he moves through the crowd, careful to secure his coin purse.
If the group has no other suggestions, he'll start to ask after the ghoulish prostitute among the vendors of the fair (gather information).
(watching for thieves and other oddities)
(looking for Grace Spindleshanked)
Salom, also huffing , follows along after Aishe, struggling to contain Thea as she tries to look at everything at once.
"The real show is upcoming, I am sure."
Moira, focusing as well as she can on the task at hand rather than on the excitements of the fair, realizes just how awkward it is to try to find a specific sex worker in a crowded place. She’s impressed by Aishe’s upfront approach, but is unsure whether to join him, or whether that would seem weird.
Instead, she hangs out with the girls. Her appreciation of their fresh and flamboyant haircuts begins to morph into slight anxiety. Audria is just too cute with that lush blond hair and people are noticing… and Alexis looks tough but adorable. Gotta keep an eye on them… hmm, they are probably magnets for the sort of folks who would be Spindleshank’s clientele. That’s bad… but maybe useful?
“Girls, if anyone suspicious starts hitting on you, maybe… ask them if they’ve seen Grace Spindleshanks? It’ll feel gross, I know… but we’ll keep each other safe.”
Nodding at Moira and mumbling, "I have dealt with the ladies of the night before. Dangerous business but you do what you gotta do. Askin about her ain't gonna make me dirtier."
Grinning at the older woman, "Be back in a bit."
Shrugging and moving away from Moira and Audria, away from the safety in numbers to start listening to the ebb and flow of the fair. Listening for anything that will lead her to Grace Spindleshanks
"Uh, Moira? Why would I ask someone a question instead of running away if they are hitting me?"
Rigo shrugs. "If someone start hitting on you, yell for me. I rip them up. No more hitting." Rigo says, a little distracted, as he sniffs around and stares.
"Oh, sorry sunshine, in my part of the country 'hitting on' means... oh dear. How to say it... seduction, but a kind of brash, clumsy, almost always manly sort of seduction? Like Ammos, he 'hits on' pretty women. I'll point it out next time it happens. Of course you shouldn't tolerate someone hitting you for real! Consider running, but I, for one, would be interested to see just how hot they would ultimately find you if you decided to stand your ground. As for tolerating being 'hit on,' well, I wouldn't normally recommend it, but I thought a temporary exception might help us find Spindleshanks..."
"I think I understood a quarter of that," Audria says, looking more confused than she had before Moira's explanation.
"Perverts try talk you into going with them, try take clothes off, Moira says pretend might, then ask about the ghoul. Also says normally don't pretend or decide go with." Rigo translates.
"Now I'm just wondering why Moira thinks it's a good idea to pretend that I'll go with them."
"Thanks for trying, Rigo--Audria, just forget it. Sorry, it was a bad idea. Want to grab a snack or ride the Wheel or something?"
Salom eyes the helter-skelter tower. "What in blazes is that?"
- the sickly sweet smell of undeath, quite prevalent in BookTown across the river, is nothing more than a residual taint here... as if the undead, or freshly deceased, were an occasional presence within the Fayre - but not at this mid-afternoon hour.
Their eyes constantly searching for someone sporting the tattoo of a swan, the group make their way along the narrow and noise-filled alleyways of the Great Fayre... they see nothing like Eleanor Shank has described although there is much inked flesh on show - dragons, unicorns, sea creatures and other such fantastical beasts are depicted... many with great artistry and some, decidedly less so...
And there are other wonders to see here - the helter skelter that sends its excited riders hurtling around its frame, the wheel that clanks its heavy cog mechanisms as it turns slowly upon its axis, and so many other things besides...
The primary reason for being here though, at the very summit of Festival, is to find the ghoul harlot, Grace Spindleshanked... and, maybe unsurprisingly even in this strangely debauched place, few people here prove willing to discuss any kind of association with such a being. Eventually, after asking at enough food stalls and cheap fayre games, someone finally admits to having heard of her - and directs Aishe and his companions towards 'the Honeycomb' at the south-eastern corner of the Fayre. This 'Honeycomb' is well named; it is a cramped area of alleyways infested with sweets stalls, liquorice, and boiled candies, lurking in the far shadow of the Great Wheel. Here the stalls are shabbier, the owners (more) sinister-looking - perhaps desperate for custom and the advertised shows more extreme in their challenging of taboos... the advertised entertainments include "Castorhage's famed" jugglers of viscera, the "renowned" pig race, dozens of magicians who promise ecstasy through pain and then there are the stitchwork golem shows.
Eventually, the group's search leads them to the Sugar-Plum Gin House - rowdy and stinking of boiled sugar, the Sugar-Plum is surely a great place to pick up information. Decorated like a gaudy cake, the place sells only gin, and is - despite the relatively early hour - already quite packed with customers... welcomed in by a somewhat statuesque woman, the group are directed - across unpleasantly stick carpets - towards a booth near the bar...
Looking around the place, Rigo's nose wrinkles. He firmly takes Audria by one shoulder with his left hand, Moira by one shoulder with his right hand, and marches the two of them to the table indicated. He pushes Moira into the round booth on the left side, and then pushes Audria in on the right side, and follows her in. This leaves Audria smushed between Rigo and Moira in the very back of the booth, as far away from any of the patrons as possible, with the only way to her to go through Rigo and Moira.
He declines any gin. He especially declines anything other than gin.
Rigo’s shoving is a little terrifying… but when Moira realizes she’s being maneuvered so as to protect Audria, she goes with the flow. Definitely has her hand on the hilt of her sword, attempting to look jaunty rather than nervous.
She orders a straight gin, very hot. Upon confirming that the drink is both strong and nigh-boiling (and therefore quite sterile), she rubs some of the gin around the rim of the cup to kill any residual gunk hanging on there, and takes tiny sips.
She attempts to engage the statuesque waitress in a little small talk:
Abandoning her wandering to return to the group as the people here are less than helpful. Wrinkling her nose at the reek of sugar permeating the aptly 'honeycomb' Vile things that rot your teeth.
Schooling her features and grinning at Rigo's back. Maybe that stupid spell was worth the time.
Grinning at the violent games and coming to be brief stop to glance around at the honest brutality the human race is capable of when morality is flung from the windows. "Can we go to the golem show?" Letting out a little whine when pulled away.
The Sugar-Plum is vile and the floor clings to her boots in a way that make Alexis want to leave, or at least take off the new shoes. Glancing down and then shaking head. Hmm, suger or booze?
Waiting until everyone else has taken their seat before taking an edge. If need be mumbling, "Please let me have the edge." With a hint of desperation in her voice. Happy to buy a gin though she does nothing beyond a small sip.
Audria does her best to tune out the more horrible sounding entertainments, but her face is still almost as pale as her hair when they arrive at the Sugar-Plum Gin House. If it hadn't been for the sticky floor, she would have jumped into the rafters when Rigo puts a hand on her shoulder to guide her to the booth. She doesn't struggle or put up a fuss as she's seated between the imposing tabaxi and worldly Moira. She politely, if nervously, refuses any drinks when asked.
"I really hope we don't have to wait here long," she murmurs once the serving girl is gone, "I don't feel so good. The smell's making me queasy."
Rigo grunts, and then rubs a the top of his hands, between the fingers, very hard. Then he brushes the finger he used to rub under Audria's nose. A strong sent of animal musk assails her nostrils, but wipes out the other smells, leaving her just smelling Rigo. Not an unpleasant smell exactly, but strong for sure.
Aishe slides into the cramped booth and is a little uneasy as to the closeness. Hard to get out and fight in here if we have to. he worries to himself a little.
But he tries to enjoy himself, and even has a little gin, though he goes very easy on the stuff having had the fruit of the juniper before...