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”3. 2. 1. Let’s jam.”
Cue tenor sax.
The man in smoked specs sets a quick tempo. Enter the sustained blurt of a tuba, smooth as the clean-shaven dwarf wielding it, accompanied by the incessant yipping of the gnome-in-black’s trumpet and the swank flowing out of the lanky elf’s slide trombone.
The Brass Balds have the crowd sufficiently entertained for now. Always a good sign when the usuals aren’t arm-wrestling, groping waitresses, bragging about conquests and backing the implausible holes in their sky-high tales with their fists, or loud words about their fists.
This is where our heroes come in.
And why the hell would they come in here? Get drunk? Rent a bed that comes with a complementary warm body? That’s not very heroic.
But the music’s good. Maybe they’ve come to listen. Perhaps some of the low-lifes can be persuaded to sing…
On the stage: four bald men in black suits performing…
* Human on Tenor Sax
* Dwarf (beardless?—GASP!) on Tuba
* Gnome on Trumpet
* Elf on Trombone
By the stage…
Left Table:
* Man in yellow hat
* Woman in red dress on his left
* Woman in black dress on his right
Right Table:
* Drunk loner with head down and noticeable flatulence
Away from the stage…
Table by the Window:
* Man with huge muscles
* Man with less huge muscles on his left
* Man with less huge muscles on his right
Table by the Door:
* Bespectacled man with book
At the bar...
Behind the Bar:
* Man in brown hat
Together on Adjacent Barstools:
* Half-orc in white hat
* Half-elf in black hat
* Halfling in gray hat
Alone on Corner Barstool:
* Moustached elder in tan hat
Upstairs…
Leaning on Railing:
* Well-dressed woman in blue dress
* Underdressed woman in blue underwear
* Flamboyant blue-eyed man, dressed as a woman
On Stairs:
* Nervous-looking halfling, male
* Tall drow in black leather, female
Rooftopolis was once a bustling metropolis, until an organization known as Level 426 literally infiltrated the sewers to build an underground empire. Politicians were bought, reputations were slandered, and innocent lives were lost as a multitude of crime families would rise to power, only to be destroyed by the next generation of soulless opportunist scum.
The harborside Red Lantern District, formerly an east-meets-west cultural melting pot, is now a borderland between a tourists’ paradise for thrill-seekers and the slums where residents either join a gang or keep their heads down for the sake of their loved ones.
Shipments come in every Thursday along the docks by the Fu Bar. You know tonight’s shipment is precious cargo with a direct link to a “prince.” You know the prince is connected to Level 426. What you don’t know is what the cargo is, who the prince is, or what he is a prince of.
Someone in this bar does. You’re not really sure about that either, but that’s the word on the street: a ship’s coming in tonight, and the local connection is here.
The half orc lounges against the bar, elbows on the counter, eyeing up the room with her one eye. An eyepatch obscures the other, although it doesn't hide the scars present on her face. Her black hair is cut short, and sticks up. Her short sleeved shirt shows off her scar adorned muscular arms. She's tall, and strong. A massive axe leans against the counter next to her, almost as a threat against messing with her. Her body language seems to be relaxed and calm, but a slight tension in her legs betrays that she is both used to and expecting fighting.
She smiles widely, and yawns. Someone here knew something, and that was good enough for her. She could wait. Tilting her head back over her shoulder, Narissa conversationally declares "Bartender! Gimme something lethal."
Henrietta swings open the door hard, already high off her successes on the race track, and drunk to boot. "Heyyyy," she gives out, loudly announcing her arrival. She laughs and slaps her palms against open and waving hands, pointing at people in the crowd with finger and thumb outstretched, wiggling her wrists and going "pew pew". She mingles with some of the folk in the crowd, bragging about her success as a spider racer. "Best in town," she tells the drow. "You should see me ride," she casually tosses a wink her way.
With a hop over the stairwell, she makes her way to the bar, grabbing someone else's unattended booze and sitting next to the scarred half orc.
"Howsit treating you, One-Eye?"
She is a short, fit, muscular woman with a high cheekbones and short hair; you notice at the ends of her firm but slender arms, she has unusually large hands. Her neck is long and lean and her shoulders broad. She is still wearing her riding clothes, with her competition number and team symbol embroidered on the back (#420 and a fist, second finger raised)
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Forced to suffer the indignities of racing yet again only to be rudely thrown about and slapped against other people's wet, sweaty hands and forced to imitate gunfire, Hank was not having what he would call a good day, strictly speaking. And it was only starting. Ugh, at least his daughter was already in the pots and he could feel some of that alcohol filling his veins.
At least they'd won, he supposed. Something to be proud of. He liked when she lost, though, he'd slap her or flick her nose or punch her real hard whenever she fell off him, but winning was nice, he guessed. Not that he'd ever see a lick of that gold tho.
You see, even though it was his cantankerous and poisoned spirit infesting the hand, there wasn't much of Hank Howard left, just bitterness and disappointment turned into hate and resentment over twenty years, bubbling up into emotions that Hank never would have given into as a man, but now- now he was a hand, and hands can only hold so much.
And he had hate by the fistful.
He despised being Henrietta's plaything, loathed being trapped in her body, and mourned at the complete lack of respect given to him by his own daughter, always keeping him at arm's length, with no thought to his boundaries or desires.
And she used him for the most vile of things! Cleaning, washing, picking boogers, wiping places, eugh. It was enough to make one shudder. Or twitch. Or tap rhythmically and try to drown out thoughts.
Life was not easy when no one cared enough to give you a hand.
The bar tender looks Narissa in the eye-patch. "Lethal, eh?" After a pensive shrug, he proceeds to mix vodka, merlot, and limoncello as Henrietta makes her entrance, receiving a high-five from the otherwise mild-mannered bespectacled man sitting alone and loud woo-hoos from the musclular trio. Those close to the stage do not react. The leather-clad drow winks back with a grin, which somehow makes her halfling client even more nervous.
The half-orc man at the bar notices that the racer knows the orcish lady. He says to the bar tender, "I'll have what she's having, both drinks on me. And while you're at it, you can put Four-Twenny's next drink on my tab."
"Spit in it," mutters the black-hatted half-elf next to the half-orc, who replies:
"Spit in your own drink. Ain't her fault you bet on the wrong jockey."
The bar-tender ignores the banter, aside from the part about who's paying. He makes a double order of the "lethal" beverage, finishing it with dose of maple syrup and--from what is surely some kind of magical device--three tiny spheres of solid ice (about an inch in diameter) plunk into each drink.
As he plops down the two drinks on the bar, he says, "House specialty. I call it Rocks' Fall." The ice sinks to the bottom of the reddish-gold liquid.
The orcish man takes his glass and raises it, toasting in orcish, <Everybody dies.>
He waits for Narissa to drink before taking a swig himself.
Narissa snorts at Henrietta's dramatic entrance. "Hah!" She twists her upper body to face the rider, and raises the eyebrow on her good eye. "Well enough, Showoff. Seems you won, huh? Someday you'll find a real challenge, I'm sure." She claps Henrietta on the shoulder, and leans around her to steal the stolen booze. "Don't mind if I do." She takes a swig, and slaps it on the counter between them. "Best in town? Pfft." She laughs, and then turns to watch the bartender pour her drink. "Who'd ya beat today?"
Bowing her head slightly forwards, Narissa winks at the other half orc and thanks him in a dramatically posh accent. "Dreadfully kind of you, my good sir." She grins wildly and accepts the glass from the barkeep, sloshing the liquid around and watching the colour shift in the light. She brandishes her glass to finish the toast, <Our foes first>, before drowning the whole glass in one go. "Ahhh, wonderful."
Henrietta finishes the stranger's drink and slams it on the bar. She leans on the bar beside Narissa, saluting the half orc paying for her drink with two fingers. "Everyone. Eight riders, but me and Hank," she pats her left hand against the bar, indicating the hand in question, "we smoked 'em." Swinging around, she orders a caipirinha, elbow on the bar, Hank behind it.
She drinks some and sets it down, hand tapping incessantly. "Doesn't matter. You, uh, heard about any visiting royalty?"
Hank pushes past her elbow, knocking her over. Henrietta swears loudly, and rips off her hand, throwing it onto the ground and stomping on it.
"Owwww," she utters, sliding the hand back on her wrist. "He's always like this after we race. Or when we win, anyway."
The orc is impressed by the toast. "Name's Bulge," he says in the Common tongue. "Your friend earned me a hundred gold tonight, so I guess I'm in a generous mood." He allows a small smile and returns the saluting gesture.
He seems rather mellow, and doesn't seem like he's trying to hit on anyone. If you walk away from him, he'll probably leave you alone.
When Henrietta and Hank have a father-daughter spat, the bar tender almost drops the glass he is cleaning at the time. He is speechless for a moment, then says matter-of-factly, "Please keep your hand attached while consuming your beverage. If your hand falls off and you break my glass, I will not be in a generous mood." In a kinder tone, he adds as an afterthought, "But I won't charge for bandages if you cut yourself... ma'am."
If our heroines would like to talk to each other in peace, there is an empty table by the stage (center-stage, but not as close to he stage as the sage-left and stage-right tables).
"As usual" Narissa dryly declares at Henrietta's description of her prowess. She shoves her glass back towards the bartender, and shakes her head to refuse another. One was plenty for when she had a job to do. Still, she noticeably eyes Henrietta's drink, and an expression of longing flashes across her face. "Royalty? Hmph." She twists away, to hide her mischievous smile. "Do I not count? I may not look it, but I am a princess." Her head jerks in a pattern that would've successfully tossed her hair if she had more of it.
Now facing Bulge, Narissa winks at him with her good eye. "One a' these days, I'll start betting on her too. Course, all the fun's gone if you already know who's gonna win" She reaches up to fiddle with her eyepatch momentarily, adjusting the straps across her forehead. "Nice to meet ya. I'm Narissa. And you likely know of this crazy jockey." She points over her shoulder with a thumb, and calls out "If you really don't like it, then try losing! A new concept for you, I know" Shaking her head, she mutters such that only Bulge can hear "Or at least don't stomp on your own hand."
"I just learned of your friend, Princess Narissa."
The half-orc tips his hat, as he says that. And he must be sucking in his gut--because now, the buttons barely holding his shirt together are those at the upper chest now. Even his massive shoulders seem squared and chiseled, where they looked round and flabby before. And his facial expression shows confidence, making him appear slightly more youthful.
Bulge goes on, "When I read of Handsome Henrietta, a woman who rides her own hand... that piqued my curiosity. I'm not normally that impulsive. Guess I got lucky."
And that's all he says. He finishes his casual-toned response about how he knows of the 'crazy jockey,' which he could have done as easily without concealing his enormous pot-belly.
As the evening wears on, a young man enters the bar, about 6 foot tall (about 2 meters) short black hair and well trimmed beard image enters the bar.
he is dressed in seemingly plain clothing, black shirt and black leather looking pants. and an overcoat that looks to have been military issue but resembling no known military in these parts. there are still markings on the sleeves, and silver braided Epaulets . Also in black boots,that at one time might have been expected to be spit shines to an almost mirror like shine, not they are a bit rugged and worn, and not so presentable anymore.
He goes to the bar and takes a seat. Ale please. he says and puts a gold coin on the bar.
As he waits for the drink he turns to survey the establishment taking note of the various customers.
"It's not that I don't ever lose," Henrietta clarifies, twisting the hand round and round as if tightening a screw. "It's just that I keep getting better and better and it happens less and less."
She's not boasting, either. Henrietta has been riding spiders for the last fifteen years, and her apparent prodigy and unorthodox methods of beast-handling have drawn all sorts of attention. Attention that doubled after a mysterious hiatus ending with her riding a new mount.
"And I did have to stomp him. But it's a little tender now that you mention it, oww."
She tends to her drink and sidles up to the newcomer. "Nice boots," smirks the jockey. "You ride?"
As the stranger enters, the women sitting with the man in the yellow hat turn, appraising the bard, lips curling in admiration. But once Henrietta approaches, the women silently sigh, then lean on the arms of the man in the yellow hat, who was apparently too engrossed in the on-stage performance to notice his girls were eyeing another.
The bar tender gives Alastair his ale, and throws in a free piece of advice. "Keep a wide berth from those two girls." He points to the pair by the stage leaning on the man in yellow. "The man they're with--the man in the yellow hat--that's Furious George. He's in a good mood for once. Not sure why, but when George is just George, bodies aren't removed from my establishment in buckets."
On the stage: four bald men in black suits performing…
* Human on Tenor Sax
* Dwarf (beardless?—GASP!) on Tuba
* Gnome on Trumpet
* Elf on Trombone
By the stage…
Left Table:
* Man in yellow hat - Furious George
* Woman in red dress on his left
* Woman in black dress on his right
Right Table:
* Drunk loner with head down and noticeable flatulence
Away from the stage…
Table by the Window:
* Man with huge muscles
* Man with less huge muscles on his left
* Man with less huge muscles on his right
Table by the Door:
* Bespectacled man with book
At the bar...
Behind the Bar:
* Man in brown hat
Together on Adjacent Barstools:
* Half-orc in white hat - Bulge
* Half-elf in black hat
* Halfling in gray hat
Alone on Corner Barstool:
* Moustached elder in tan hat
Upstairs…
Leaning on Railing:
* Well-dressed woman in blue dress
* Underdressed woman in blue underwear
* Flamboyant blue-eyed man, dressed as a woman
On Stairs:
* Nobody - The nervous-looking halfling and tall drow in black leather have gone upstairs into a room.
Alistair sips his ale, acknowledging the advice. he turns his attention the lady that has approached.
If you are referring to your recent competition, then no, however I am sure we can examine other definitions of the term ride. he replies with a grin wondering where this may lead.
Narissa sighs, and shakes her head slowly. "Ah well, wish I could say the same. I may not be losing, but I'm also not getting better. I need a challenge. I haven't had to use any of my tricks for too long." She pauses for a moment, before continuing in a less rueful tone. "Only a little tender? Woah. That was quite a stomp. Colour me impressed." She twists sightly to look at the newcomer, and decides to let Henrietta deal with him. He looks relatively harmless. She nods at him, and turns back to Bulge.
"She is one of a kind. You'd likely continue to be lucky, were you to keep betting on her" Narissa nods. "She's good. Exceedingly so." As she talks, Bulge's muscles draw her attention. She narrows her eye suspiciously at them, unsure if they were there a moment ago. Maybe he was trying to impress her by sucking his belly in? Well, there was a really good way to find out. And a warmup round would help with the real thing. She wipes the counter for show, and then props her arm into arm wrestling position. "Speaking of impulsivity, wanna go? I'll buy you a round if you can beat me."
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Bulge nods. "Nothing wrong with a friendly competition."
He accepts the challenge...
...and it seems the two half-orcs are closely matched, but after a brief struggle, Bulge is juuuust barely able to force Narissa's arm to the bar.
When Bulge realizes he managed to win, there's a guilty expression on his face. He mutters to Narissa, "Uh... we don't need to count that. I kind of forgot I was magically aided just now."
He tips his hat again, and though the change is subtle, his flabbiness returns as soon as the hat leaves his head. When he puts the hat back on, he is still the same. His face never changed a whole lot, but now that Narissa is looking closely, she does notice Bulge's chin was ever-so-slightly more square while she and Bulge were competing. Now he looks like the same half orc, but a few years older with an ever-so-slightly rounder chin.
He then says, "Now it's just plain old, fat old me, if you care for a rematch." He says it with a smile.
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Henrietta frowns at the newcomer's reaction. Usually, people were more caught off guard by this, and she was able to twist the conversation in a way that benefitted her more directly: free food or drink or just getting the chance to brag. He just accepted it, like it was an everyday happenstance. Putting on a fake smile, she leans into and continues, tucking her arm behind her back so Hank could pop off without notice.
"Oh, yes, you see not only am I a talented jockey, but I'm an excellent mount as well. But I don't let jockeys ride me bareback, gotta use my saddle. Don't worry, I keep it nice and polished, even has a little horn for casual riders to hold onto while I do the work from below or behind. Of course, like any beast worthy of riding, I am a bit temperamental and impatient with how I'm handled, so be careful or else I'll have to bend you over and give it to you- hard." It's a bit hard to follow with all the metaphors, but she doesn't seem to be describing a typical heterosexual sexual encounter, but rather one with equipment and 'your ass in the air'. It almost definitely proves distracting enough for you not to notice the detached hand in your coinpurse, exploring and fiddling around and grabbing a handful of gold, just enough for another drink and some pan-fried chicken.
It scrabbles back to Henrietta with barely a whisper, which it can't do anyway, because as a hand, it has no mouth.
Hank climbed up the fancy man's leg with great ease, distracted as he was by Henrietta's hamfisted attempts at fake flirting. Strapped to the man's thigh, he found, what was it? Burnished metal, that fit perfectly in his, well hand. It had a nice spot for his index finger to go even. He started to squeeze when, no, no, looking for coins, not even that much, three coins. He climbed a little higher and retrieved them.
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Sensing the direction of the conversation, he lets the jockey lady finish, and turns back to his drink. If your not interested, you should just say so. but you do get an A for creativity in your response.
He give the lady a toast and takes a drink.
he has no notice of the hand pilfering a few coins at least he definitely is not showing any sign of noticing.
Henrietta spins around and goes back to the bartender, ordering another drink and some fatty food. "Anything special I should know about going on tonight?" she asks, like a tourist would ask their bartender to tell them fancy spots in and around town.
The bar tender shrugs. "I just know Furious George is in a good mood, and that's special enough for me."
The Brass Balds finish a tune. Before starting the next, the man with his head down on the table emits an audible tuba-like sound.
One of George's girls—the one in the little black dress—holds a silk scarf over her nose. George shouts at the man, "Find a privy, for cryin' sakes!"
The tuba player starts a cheerful tune, which—once the rest of the quartet joins in—seems to calm George down. George's girl-in-red unfolds a fan. The three muscle men exchange unfunny fart jokes.
The bar tender, noting George's almost-outburst says to Henrietta, "Seems George is in a bad mood after all, so I don't know nothing. Except how to fix a proper drink, of course." He serves Henrietta another drink. (A waitress named "Roz" will bring the fatty food in a few minutes.)
The halfling and half-elf at the bar whisper to each other, looking at Henrietta, and her half-orc friend who seems to have made an impression on their half-orc friend.
Finally, the halfling whips out a small cube—like die with no dots. He tosses it casually, catches it, then says to Henrietta, keeping his voice low, "Visiting royalty, you asked?" He points to an empty table by the stage. "Answers are on that table."
The halfling in gray and half-elf in black move to said table. The half-orc in white waits to see what Narissa will do.
"Rrrg!" Narissa grunts with exertion as her arm is forced downwards. Pulling free, she shakes her arm quickly to loosen the muscles. "That was close." She smiles, pleased with her results, only to have her eyebrow raise suspiciously at his guilty expression. She bursts out laughing at his declaration of innocence. She claps Bulge on the with her good hand. "Haha! Of course it counts. There's no cheating in battle. Only victory and defeat. However you did it, you won." She raises a finger for the bartender's attention, and calls out "One for my surprisingly strong friend, on me!" She pauses for a moment, as her desire rages a delicate battle within her. "And another for me. Rocks fall, after all." She massages her arm, trying to get the tension out. It's worse to have a close battle, as dragging it out makes it for more tiring. A decisive victory for Bulge would've at least left her at almost full strength. "If you do feel guilty and need to make amends, fat old you could tell fit young me where to get a hat like that. I could use another trick up my sleeve." She stretches her arm out, and rubs the top of her head, miming tipping a hat. "Or on my head."
As Bulge's friends leave, Narissa leans towards him and rests her elbow on the counter, propping her chin on her hand. Quietly, she whispers "Your friend's hats, do they work the same?"
Then she turns around, to face Henrietta. "Shall we? I'm curious." Her hand finds the handle to her axe as she stands, and Narissa swings it up onto her shoulder with enough speed to scare anyone standing too close. She gently lays a hand on Alistair's shoulder and comments "Don't take it personally. You're not the first. I don't suppose you're royalty? Life is funny like that."
She eyes Furious George with disgust for a moment, before deciding to ignore it. If there wasn't business, she'd take the fight. He sounded like a nasty character.
Bulge shakes his head, "Nah. I'm not even sure Manny's hat is magic. I think Ness' hat is, but I'm not really sure how his magic works.
"My hat is called the Hat of Greater Self. I just think of a time when I was in better shape, or when I was a child, and I look like myself at that age."
"Not sure where you get 'em. I got mine by saving Brother Seamus, who was almost assassinated while hosting a self-improvement seminar. He paid me with the hat, and I hear he visits his would-be assassin in prison on Tuesdays. They play chess and meditate, if rumors are true."
Once everyone is assembled at the table, the halfling says, "Meeting in Session," and places the gray cube in his hand on the center of the table. The music playing and other general chatter suddenly becomes quiet, like a dull murmur—still audible, but weirdly muffled and monotone. Even the music is monotone—just a bunch of Middle C toots! The musclemen's unfunny fart jokes are somehow made even less funny by their now-flat delivery. If you try to listen, your mind wanders before any joker can get to the punchline, which takes forever even if the joke is one sentence long. Once someone at your table speaks, listening to an outside conversation becomes virtually impossible.
The halfling introduces himself, "Manny Nelson's the name, and these are my half-brothers, Bulge and Ness. I just activated my Cubicle of Public Privacy, so it's safe to talk about the prince."
Ness says, "Before we say anything, tell us what you know. It's obvious you're not with any crime syndicate, or you wouldn't be asking about 'royalty.'"
Bulge seems to trust Narissa enough to add, "It's safe to talk now, but Manny's cubicle only buys us a few minutes. Even before the magic runs out, folks might get wise to our unnaturally muffled words."
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Henrietta sits down, chicken wings in one hand and the other hand severed from her body, tapping impatiently on the table. She nods to Narissa and (if present), avoids looking at Alistair.
"These are your half brothers? So, you're half ling, then, and they're quarter ling, half elf n' orc? What's the remaining half, I'm curious."
At first, Henrietta's words are taken with good humor. But the Nelsons' amused expressions melt away in seconds, and for a few seconds more, there is an uncomfortable silence.
Manny finally says, "It's not a biological relation, Miss. Our mothers all worked at the same brothel. A place called Nelman's Nightengale."
Ness interjects, "Maybe you heard of it. Maybe not."
Manny goes on, "'Bulge' was named in the womb. Or rather, it was the name of his human mother's belly, which got so big she was out of work when she was only six months pregnant."
Ness adds, "There was a market for pregnant whores. Nelman's was famous for meeting that need. Employees who mothered boys called us 'Nelsons.'"
Manny continues, "Bulge's mom didn't survive the birth. Ness and I were both six at the time, and decided we'd treat him like a true brother. 'Nelson Brothers' stuck. Saying we're half-brothers usually doesn't raise questions."
Ness says, "Like what did they call our half-sisters?—the girls born at Nelman's?" He answers his own question: "Future employees," then adds, "or at least they would have been."
Bulge chimes in, "Nelman's Nightengale burned down fifteen years ago."
Manny says, "The girls made it out of the fire. Not our mothers, who had died years earlier, but all of the working girls and their daughters who never had to enter that life. They all made it out unscathed."
Ness cracks a small smile when he says, "Nelman didn't."
Bulge nods. "Hard to untie yourself from a chair when all your fingers are bent the wrong way."
Manny says, "None of the johns made it out either."
Bulge grins as he corrects his brother. "One crawled out. Remember the guy I had to toss back in?"
"Twice." Ness says, "He was a persistent little prick."
Alistair listens to what is going on, and wondering how a simple university professor is getting wrapped up into all of this. he occasionally makes eye contact with the lady jockey. despite the apparent non-interest. she just needs to give her some time.
eventually he has to ask, alright, tell me something, I don't know nor really care about any royalty. and what does a simple university professor have to do with this? If you are asking us to do some job, then get to the point.
The brothers look at each other. As they silently contemplate Alastair's demand, the Brass Balds finish a tune. "Yaaaay," the muscle-men cheer in a collective monotone. The quartet starts another tune. Again, all of the instruments sound like Middle C from the Half Nelsons' table. Too bad the Cubicle of Public Privacy doesn't similarly dull smells, as the stench from the sleeping drunk is rather rancid. One of George's girls sprays some perfume, which helps.
Ness replies to Alastair, "I suppose if you don't care about royalty, you don't care whether the 'prince' lives or dies."
Bulge looks at Narissa. "You do realize the Frog Prince of Darkness isn't a legit prince, don't you? I mean... people like him are the reason my mom spent half her short life in the Red Lantern District."
Manny says, "The job's a delicate one. We heard it's a huge trafficking operation. People kept talking in code, but my brothers did get one of the Level 426 scum to admit they're running whores. So we take out the frog-men; spare the women." He lets those last words hang, then repeats, "Spare the women."
Ness says, "This job's personal for us, but our cause is funded by a generous benefactor." He looks at his brothers. Manny makes a hand gesture like a one-inch karate chop. Ness says, "Half. Three of us. Three of you. That is, if this interests you, Professor."
"Thanks." Narissa smiles at Bulge's hat information, and joins the gang at the table.
Casting her head around wildly, Narissa tries to focus on the dull room, but finds her attention constantly slipping back to the conversation. Not so easily deterred, she stubbornly continues to attempt to ignore the brothers, gritting with effort. Just one punchline. Again, her eyes and ears slide right back to focus on the speaker. She shrugs, and gives up just in time to hear the complete brothel story. As the brothers go on, she grits her teeth, and spits out a single furious "Good." when they mention the fire and subsequent murder.
Narissa barely spares Alistair a glance, although her tightening cheek muscles make her opinion of his question clear. The trio had earned her respect, and thus all the time they needed to explain themselves. She just had to sit tight while they did. To be fair and contribute her part, she adds "I don't know much. I know that a crime is too occur. The specifics are beyond me."
She meets Bulge's gaze, and puts on a menacing smile. "Don't know or care how legitimate he is." Her tusks stand out, tight against her lips. One hand massages the well worn leather grip on her axe. "They all fall the same." She pauses to centre herself. The anger is rising, and it wouldn't do at all to yell at her newfound allies. "I'm in. Save the women, end the scum, do some good." She nods slowly. "My axe is at your disposal."
As Henrietta listens, her hand detaches and scuttles all up and over the table, impatient, frustrated. She twitches and fidgets and stuffs her face with the chicken, but at a certain point in the story, she finds her voracious athlete's appetite missing. She had no issue with women selling their body by choice, but being forced into it and from birth? It's enough to make one push their food away in disgust. She leans back, red, raw, unbleeding stump on the table, the other arm slung over the back of her chair at the elbow.
She shrugs when asked about what she knows, gesturing with both hands, the one on her body and the one on the table.
"All I know about the Prince is that Frogjam Jim the one legged jockey said that if one were so inclined, they could meet visiting royalty tonight only at the Fubar. I remember hearing something similar from Narissa here so I figured it was worth looking into: she's only got the one eye, so when she sets her sights on something, it's typically worth looking into a bit closer. And since Frogjam's such a slippery f@@~, figured it wasn't something very good, either."
Hank grabs one of the man's hands and she leans forward, neatly reconnecting with her appendage. "Half," she agrees, "regardless of the professor's decision."
You believe the brothers are sincere. Perhaps, too easily, because you want to see the good in Bulge.
As you spend time at the Nelsons' table, you pick up on some instances of suppressing emotions, particularly in Bulge's case, when his brothers spoke of his mother's death. Even when you listen to their words with a healthy dose of skepicism, evidence increasingly supports that the Nelsons' motives are as they claim.
The brothers seem satisfied with this agreement, and Manny goes on, "The benefactor is Brother Seamus. Same guy who gave us our hats. Bulge already blabbed about his. Mine is sort of a portable eye for Brother Seamus. He'll be watching; he'll know you earned your share, which he'll pay in-person. Five grand being odd to split six ways, he might just round up to a thousand each if we can pull this off with no innocent casualties."
Ness says, "We do have a little test for you, first, since there's time before the ship arrives. The prince's contact is in this bar. We don't know who he is, except that he is a 'he.' We got all the information we need to do the job, but what I'd like more of are details about 'the shipment.'"
Bulge adds, "It's a bit odd, the prince personally overseeing a humanoid trafficking operation. I asked, uh, an 'informant' about that, but he, uhhhh... ran out of things to say."
"That's because you threw him out a closed window," Ness says.
Manny says to his brothers, "Don't overshare," then to our heroes, "I think it's pretty obvious this particular job is a bit too personal for us, by which I mean you're all more likely than Bulge to get info on the shipment without starting a brawl."
It turns out Ness and Manny learned the names of everyone at the Fu Bar, except for that one moustached stranger on a lonely bar stool drinking sarsaparilla and rambling...
On Stage: The Brass Balds
* Human on Tenor Sax - John
* Dwarf on Tuba - John
* Gnome on Trumpet - Dan
* Elf on Trombone - Dan
Stage-Left Table:
* Man in yellow hat - Furious George
* Woman in red dress on his left - Dots Domino
* Woman in black dress on his right - Cat LaNoire
Stage-Right Table:
* Drunk loner with head down and noticeable flatulence - Biff Wellington
Table by the Window:
* Man with huge muscles - Big Dawg
* Man with less huge muscles on his left - Big Doug
* Man with less huge muscles on his right - Dick
Table by the Door:
* Bespectacled man with book - Four-Eyed Jack
Center Table:
* Half-orc in white hat - Bulge
* Half-elf in black hat - Ness
* Halfling in gray hat - Manny
At the Bar:
* Bar tender in brown hat - Bart Ender
* Moustached elder in tan hat - Stranger
All Over the Place:
* Waitress - Roz
Leaning on Railing Upstairs:
* Well-dressed woman in blue dress - Bibbity Bobbington
* Underdressed woman in blue underwear - Underella
* Flamboyant blue-eyed man, dressed as a woman - Perry Winkler
Upstairs, Behind Closed Doors:
* Drow in leather - Maude
* Nervous Halfling - Little Lebowski
"Half the sight, twice the vision." quips Narissa. "Was right, wasn't I? I usually pick the right informants." She smiles, and then spreads her hands wide clearly calmer than a few moments ago. "Who do we start with? I'd say Ol' Georgie", she waves at Furious George to make her comment clear, "seems guilty to me, but I got nothing on making him squeal without a fight. Whaddabout that Halflin' up the stairs?"
Henrietta shakes her head and resumes eating, pulling her chicken wings back towards her. "I briefly interacted with Maude and the Little Lebowski on my way in. He seemed just like a nervous john and she a woman ready to get paid. I'm more interested in George and the loners round the room, myself."
Ness nods at Henrietta's words. "Whatever he and Maude are up to, you don't wanna walk in on that. But Lebowski probably won't last the full hour, so you might catch him before the ship arrives."
Manny says, "Seeing you're all ready to gather info without making a scene..."
Bulge manages to get a few quick words in: "But if you do make a scene, I'll back you up!"
Manny reaches for his cube and says, "Meeting Adjourned."
And with those words, the band's music is lively and jazzy! The conversations are loud, with clinking glasses and laughter. The fart jokes are still juvenile and stupid, but at least you can make it to the punch line!
The brothers sit back and enjoy drinks while somewhere far, far away, a rich monk (or who-or-whatever Brother Seamus is) is watching you through Manny's hat. It seems the two women of the party are both interested in Furious George, who coincidentally is seated with two women: Dots Domino and Cat LaNoire. Loners include the drawling Stranger, the bookish Four-Eyed Jack, and the catatonically drunk Biff Wellington who farts in his sleep more than the average toddler.
The tavern's door opens and a hooded and cloaked figure steps into the warm fire and candle light.
The figure of the man under the cloak is broad shouldered, tall and well proportioned. His clothes are of plain colours but reaonable quality.
Moving easily through the crowd, though of note being deferential towards the serving lasses, the man eases onto one of the bar stools innitially.
Shifts of the cowl indicate he's keeping an eye on the clientel as much as attracting the Bar-man's attentions.
Other than fingerless, leather gloves and a sheild beneath his cloak acros his back, the fellow appears to be unarmed.
As the Mysterios Fellow approaches the bar, he overhears the tan-hatted Stranger rambling, "...sometaahms the bar eats you. That's why they say to always knock on wood. Mimics hate that."
Bart eyes the hooded newcomer while replying to his drawling client, "We drinking to your pal who got eaten by the treasure chest again?"
"Didn't care ta see Donny go," the Stranger mutters before ordering another drink. "Got any more-a that good sarsaparilla?"
Bart Ender serves his regular, then turns his attention on the Mysterious Fellow, greeting him with a belated but hearty "Welcome!" and a polite, "What can I do for you, Mister Fella?"
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Between songs, Henrietta goes up to each member of the three muscly boys and asks them to point out "Furious George?" stopping when one does. At which point, she asks whichever man it is to point him out several times, claiming she is not quite being able to follow the line. She then offers the whole group 30 gold each to wait for her in the alley out back. Says she wants to see which one of them is the biggest "where it counts".
Afterwards, she goes up to Furious George and his ladies and says, "You Georgie? Big Doug, Big Dawg and Dick say you're too much a coward to solve things with words instead of your fists. Say anyone can beat another person, but it takes a real strong man to win an argument fair and square. Oh, and they also said your mother birthed you out the wrong end. Told me they're waiting out back to have a rational, reasonable debate."
It seems the boys are into Henrietta's idea, but they kinda hang out by the door a bit, making dumb jokes. Something about how 'pull-my-finger' would work with a detatchable hand. They do step out for a smoke, which might be enough for Henrietta's plan to work. George is into the music, and his girls are able to use that to calm his mood.
Cat however, seems a bit exasperated having to calm George's temper so much. She decides to get a stiff drink.
She gives Henrietta a look that appears highly suspect. She says to Henrietta, "What're drinkin', hon.? My treat. I could use a little girl talk, and Dots is kinda tongue-tied at the moment."
She says that in reference to the methodology Dots applies to calm George. Best not to look too hard, and accept the free drink.
Bart Ender serves his regular, then turns his attention on the Mysterious Fellow, greeting him with a belated but hearty "Welcome!" and a polite, "What can I do for you, Mister Fella?"
Turns their hooded features towards the bartender, "Uhm... Mead?" Is the bloke's reply as they peer over hte 'Tender's shoulder to get an idea as to what beveradges might be on offer....
Henrietta accepts the drink gladly, happy to have something to do with her hands and to feel less awkward.
"How much do you know about George? Like what does he do for money? Does he do a lot of business with, er, frogs? Or royalty? Maybe even a mix of the two, like that fairy tale of the princess who gets convinced by some lazy amphibian to give him some smooches and then he's like a handsome prince and they like get married and junk but in this version he stays a frog and just gets real tall and stays a frog and also the kingdom is a trafficking operation?"
She attempts to casually drop her hand in the lady's bag, rummage about for anything obscure or interesting.
Bart pours a mugful of mead for the Mysterious Fellow. "That'll be five coppers, Mister."
From the bar, the Fellow sees:
• 4 other people at the bar: the bar tender, a male customer, and two women talking
• 1 person at the table by the door: a bespectacled man with a book
• 5 people at the center table: two half-orcs—one male, one female—and the other three are male: a half-elf, a halfling and a human
• nobody at the table by the window
• 2 people at the stage-left table: a kissing couple
• 1 person at the stage-right table: a sleeping drunk, male
• 3 people in dresses upstairs: a madam, a prostitute and a drag queen
• 1 waitress who moves around a lot
• 4 on-stage performers: human on sax, dwarf on tuba, halfling on trumpet, half-elf on trombone—all male, all bald and beardless, even the dwarf!
Cat orders drinks, and keeps her dainty coin purse in her gloved hand. This leaves the handbag open, presenting an opportunity for Hank.
• lacy panties, which might not quite cover what an undergarment should
• flask, half empty
• tea bags?
• a bottle, likely perfume
• probably a hygiene kit
While Hank stealthily feels around Cat's bag, the woman replies to Henrietta, "His business ain't none of my business." She subtly rolls down one of her black lacy gloves, exposing a tattoo, which reads:
LV426
It's nearly scribed along the wrist, but there's nothing elaborate about the lettering. It's an A+ in penmanship neatness. The phrase "property off" is unwritten, but glaringly implicit.
Cat says in a low voice, "George ain't in on the shipment. Dots and I are here to keep him from making a scene. Can't have the prince deliver his merchandise with George blowing his top. It might blow the deal. And what that deal is, well, I ain't busted the glass ceiling yet. So ain't none of my business what my bosses want. But if I were to tell you what ain't my business or yours, would you leave George alone—not provoke him into fighting?—so I at least appear loyal to the people who stamped me?"
Alistair takes a seat next to the mysterious fellow at the bar Hello stranger, he says. been a long time.
next to the mysterious fellow is a somewhat familiar face, Possibly recognizing Alistair a few years back when Cooper first crash landed Captain Andoran helped fight off the Azlanti hunters that came looking for Cooper at the crash site. They enjoyed a few other minor adventures together before parting ways.
Somewhere behind he door where the nervous halfling and leather-clad drow entered maybe twenty minutes ago (if that), a tiny, muffled voice squeaks, "Safe word! Safe word!" A light thud is heard, like that of a shoe falling.
After several seconds, some locks are unbolted. The door slowly creaks open...
Alistair takes a seat next to the mysterious fellow at the bar Hello stranger, he says. been a long time.
Upon hearing the familiar voice the hooded man turns slightly, enough to show some smiling features and be polite, as they reply.
" 'Waeshaeil ' and well met." Even offering a hand to shake, though as Alistar extends his hand in return the Staranger shifts the grip so that both men are offering frim grips on each others fre-arms as they mutually 'shake'.
"I find myself in town after some... buisness... over a few boarders away and who does lady Luck put in my random tavern?" 'Stranger' asks with a smile by of greeting Alistar.
"How does the good lady's favour find you, my freind?"
At the bar, the Stranger finishes his sarsaparilla and moseys on, saying with a tip of his hat, "Catch y'all later on down the trail."
By the railing, the Little Lebowski says to the madam, "I picked a bad day to lose my virginity." His intentionally-quiet words are easily heard by those at the ground level of the bar, as is the drow's reply from within her room:
"You didn't."
The young halfling man doesn't seem embarrassed by any of this. He's no less nervous than when he entered the Fu Bar. If anything, he actually seems a little scared. Enough that he wants to bolt, but he need to catch his breath.
Underella, the underdressed prostitute, massages Lebowski's shoulders, trying to get him to relax.
The Brass Balds play a swinging number. George says to Dots, "Dance with me, Babe." And for a guy who's known for leaving the Fu Bar a bloody mess, he really knows how to handle a lady on the dance floor.
Dots seems to be enjoying herself, despite being the one hired to entertain him. She follows George's lead, twirling and dipping like a pro with the man's guidance.
Biff Wellington rises from his slumber. He shifts to another seat, so his back now faces the band. He watches George and Dots dance through bloodshot-pink eyes. His trembling hand reaches for the drink that he so desperately craves. His glass his half empty. He makes it totally empty, and brings down his overturned mug onto the table with a clunk. He then makes a pillow of his forearms and rests his weary head.
The Nelsons seem satisfied with the "test," as far as our heroes trained in Sensing Motives can tell from reading facial expressions and body language. Though Narissa hasn't left the table, it doesn't take special training to see that Bulge certainly doesn't mind her presence.
And she did mention an interest in talking to the Little Lebowski, who currently seems torn between accepting the hooker's complementary massage and bolting down the stairs...
Alistair takes a seat next to the mysterious fellow at the bar Hello stranger, he says. been a long time.Upon hearing the familiar voice the hooded man turns slightly, enough to show some smiling features and be polite, as they reply.
" 'Waeshaeil ' and well met." Even offering a hand to shake, though as Alistar extends his hand in return the Staranger shifts the grip so that both men are offering frim grips on each others fre-arms as they mutually 'shake'.
"I find myself in town after some... business... over a few boarders away and who does lady Luck put in my random tavern?" 'Stranger' asks with a smile by of greeting Alistair.
"How does the good lady's favour find you, my freind?"
Alistair makes a mental note of the bad and its effect. then returns his attention to his friend. things been slow. been teaching at the university, engineering professor. then I got wind of a possible situation, thought it would be interesting.
he takes a swig of his drink, [b]I have a feeling something is about to go down. just unsure exactly what. he says as he turns and scans the room.
Henrietta stares at the mark as Hank claws his way out of the purse and climbs up her legs to rejoin her arm. "I can get you out, you know. Take you far away. Keep you safe."
Regardless of the reply, she shakes her head and takes a deep drink from her cocktail. "I really don't have much choice. Tell me, and I'll do my best to do as you say."