Search Posts
The half-orc starts to loudly shill her beautician services. But, as she opens her mouth, an entire gnat swarm flies in. She spends her time sputtering. Once free of the gnats, she starts again. This time a passing bird p**ps on her. She spends her time cleaning it out of her hair.
The bearded old man is barely able to turn his head towards Ling and simply stares at him with a blank look on his face. He is severely malnourished and suffering from other issues... The half-orc tries to help the old man. She gives him some water from her waterskin. Not a lot--she doesn't want to bring on a coughing fit.
"'Fifty-five', man that's a lot. Is there like a group rate, man? Because I could get my bowling friends, Donnie and Walter, to join. Hey, does this include one of those mani-pedi things?" The half-orc's mind reels with the possibilities of praying to Shelyn with so many new converts to the faith celebrating beauty together. "Claro qu si! Yes! Bring your friends! We can make it a mani-pedi party! I'll take all your friends on." she says naively--completely unaware of the double (triple?) entendre in her words. She starts rummaging through her beautician's kit. "I need to buy more nail files... This is gonna be the best prayer meeting ever!"
"Oh, and maybe some trail mix to munch on." He settles back into his seat like a soft avalanche. "So 'Viisikymmentviisi' I hear that name a lot around here. It's beautiful. What does it mean?" Whilst threading dreads into the Dude's hair, the barbarian absently says: "It means "fifty-five," honey. I'm the fifty-fifth member of my extended family to join the Pathfinder Society.
After observing the phantom's tirade, the half-orc whispers to the Dude in an aside: "I think he just cranky cuz he ain't been able to change his drawers in a long time!" Noticing the Dude for the first time, "Where did Igor go?" she thinks grasping tufts of greasy hair in her hands. "I like your sandals, honey. They look comfortable. Want me to paint your toenails?" the barbarian asks innocently.
"OK. But, we have to get there from here. Don't become upset if you're bored during the trip. If you change your mind, we can pray to Shelyn together later. You know where to find me, honey." Though she tries to seem like she shrugs off the comment, rejection is really hard for the barbarian to accept. When she thinks nobody is looking, she lets a tear fall. And, she is sure to wipe it away quickly. "Explore, report, cooperate. Explore, report, cooperate. Explore, report, cooperate." The half-orc repeats the Pathfinder Society's motto in her head like a mantra. She thinks to herself: "It's okay, chica. You'll show them what a good Pathfinder you can be once we're in the field!"
Kennick follows Ling. "I know what you mean. My hair does what it will unless I'm done up like a Korvosan noble" "Claro! I know exactly what you mean. It takes work to look this good. ¿Tu sabes? The half-orc says as she gestures along her body. "But, don't you worry, honey. After I'm finished with Igor's dreads, I'll do you next. We'll make you a coif that looks as good as Lady Gloriana Morilla's!"
Alas too, there is not a lot of thinning, greasy, black hair for the stylist to work with, though Igor does mention the possibility of him getting some 'hair plugs' (er, 'plugth'). The half-orc reaches into her bag and begins pulling out the makings of a hair weave. "Oh, no, honey. We gots to make you stand out. Let's do dreadlocks!"
A 6-foot-and-11-inch-tall half-orc comes lumbering into the room. From the sound of her footfalls, she easily weighs 300 pounds--probably more. And all of it is solid muscle. "Ay, ay, ay! Did I miss it? Did I miss the briefing?" Her voice seems to be more appropriate fit for a young woman of much smaller stature (she sounds like an 11-year-old), and she has an odd accent. She waggles her neck at nobody in particular, muttering under her breath, "Ay, la diosa, Shelyn! She gave me bad instructions, again! Puñeta, coño! That cousin of mine is always getting me into trouble. Venture-Captain or not, I'm gonna sic Aunt Bootsie on her for making me late!"
She wears long false nails of acrylic--each with a different fancy design. But, only on one hand. One nail looks like a checkerboard, another looks like a tie-dye swirl, yet another looks like a sunset. A fourth looks like it was attacked by a goblin armed with a bedazzling kit. Her impossibly thick thumb has a portrait of a bird. She also has a holy symbol of Shelyn around her neck. "See captain Valsin, I was praying in the temple," she flashes her acrylic nails. "And I was sooooo moved by the goddess that I lost track of time." Her slightly green cheeks readden with embarrassment. "That, and Aunt Bootise was tellin' me how Marguerite's baby-daddy ain't her husband!"
She smiles as a curler falls from her hair onto the ground. Her other hand lacks acrylic, attesting to the truth of her claim. Instead it has a fistful of misshapen, jagged nails.
Her eyes fall upon Igor for the first time since coming in. "Oh, girl! You need some prayer!" She walks over to the alchemist and immediately starts braiding his hair. "Don't you worry, honey. We gonna make you look beautiful! I'm strong with Shelyn, and, girl, she worked miracles with me!" The half-orc smiles with genuine pride--completely unaware of the ridiculous visage she presents.
Unfortunately, her braid-work is uneven and off-center--giving Igor a... comically distinctive look. "Ooh, honey! You lookin' better already! You gonna feel like it's your Quinceañera all over again!"
|
