Andre de Zaparon de la Homan, Entering/Talking to Florei
The doorway into the tavern opens rather powerfully, causing the door to slam into the wall beside it; not enough to bounce it back into Andre's face, but enough to make a dramatic entrance.
Andre smirked. He stood in all of his glory (both imagined and existing) in the doorway to the tavern. A human of average build but somewhat waxy complexion, his black hair is pulled back into a ponytail of average length. Clad in a luxurious but mobile outfit (cloth, but well-tailored) with bits and pieces of elaborate steel armor, he looked like a princeling returning from the battlefield. At his side was a wide-bladed one-edged rapier with a large, ornate handguard. His features were sharp, and he might have been handsome, but the perpetual condenscending smirk and taunting eyes ensured his continued bachelor status.
Andre, satisfied his entrance was dramatic enough, stepped towards the bar, slipping into a seat two seats down from the barbarian. He waves over Florie. "Wine, elven. I'm in the mood to spend. Today's payday." He smirked at the barmaid, as if he found the barmaid's appearance amusing instead of enticing. Maybe he was used to better, or maybe he was just being a dick.
~ Navenne ~ Part-time Fire Dancer, Part-Time Fire-Slinging Folk-Heroine.
Into the kitchen, meeting with Elanor, soon to be in the infirmary.
In through the back door, she stumbled, a muscular caramel arm tensed and sheened in sweat, pressed tightly at her ever-increasing crimson coloured top. Blood glinted in the torchlight, sliding down her taut toned mid-section. Green eyes that usually dazzled and dared the male portion of clientele on weekend nights, held trapped behind long lashes, reddish brown eyebrows knitting them shut. "
Bare feet covered in caked dirt and blood, took two more steps. Her long shapely brown legs were crusted with half-dried mud barely covered by the torn and stained green skirt. Her strong chin snapped up sending red fox coloured braids whipping about her head; the beads frantically clicking and clacking away as the tendrils flew. Full dusky lips trembled before parting revealing crimson lined teeth. "D-Dammit, El... I am hurt, girl," her normally warm and laughing husky voice sounded out low and broken, reflecting her current condition and temper. The staff in her other hand was cracked and missing a poi at one end. "real bad this time.."
Two more steps like a drunkard on a bad day she took and upended several pots and lids. Luckily for her, none held the wicked concoctions of the Mistress of the Dark Bog. Clanking and whirring enough to raise the sleeping dead, the metal cookware scattered about the feet of the 'witch.' A single eyebrow raised from beneath the cowl. Pale hands with midnight tipped talons continued to clutch and stir the large handle of the wooden stick that stirred the latest 'brew' in the 'cauldron.' "Oh dear, my dearie, tis a nigh of madness thou bringst with thee, and a nigh best knew Old Mistress should sour... aye, warn'd thee 'gainst such foolishness, childe o' Flames..." She really was old, but only by the count of the years of humans. Elanor looked still spry for the time she had earned in her life. "Navie, the world works for thee when thou'st dances for the spirits to warm hearts, the world works to only betray when thou'st dances to control spirits to incerate bodies--"
"Enough, El...!" Navenne hissed and fell to her knees, her broken staff breaking free from her weakening grip and sliding across the strangely immaculate floor in the kitchen, "Please... I don't need to hear the "I told you so's" right now! Save it for when I make it out of this alive, girl! Please. El--" Navie cleared her throat and held a more formal tone when she spoke next "--Mistress Duathin El'Alawooin, wounded is the Childe o' Flames, and a bad thing she has done, the Childe does admit. Beg o' thee, Mistress, aid in her time of need."
The single eyebrow lowered beneath the cowl. The pale hands stopped stirring. The Mistress body straightened up, yet shoulders relaxed. A light chuckle escaped her as she reached down and slung an arm around Navenne to help her up. One made a grunt of effort, the other made a grunt of pain as Navenne shakily made her way back to a standing position. "Ahhh... such respects now, childe Navie," as they turned back the way Navenne came Elanor grabbed a satchel and a couple of pouches of 'magical reagents.' Even though the caramel skinned woman was hunched over, her six foot tall frame still held a full head above the pale skinned cross-elf. "Know this: The Mistress does aid thee if only to return the kindness and protection thou'st brought for the Mistress."
Navenne afforded a bubbling giggle despite the pain. "Really, El?" she leaned over and gave the other woman a kiss on her shrouded head, "you sure it's not because you have a fancy or two for me and 'my assets'...?"
A sniff of indignation. "Nay! Tis as the Mistress has spoken of thee... and to keep Navie's blood from tainting a smear upon the Dark Bog's floor! Tis a nasty omen to have a Childe o' Flames blood spilt upon a place o' power...!"
A light playful bump of the hip. "Hmmm... then don't stare too long when I wash up then, lady..."
A sigh of exasperation through a hinted smile. "That mouth closes now. Or drop this foolish girly dead right here, the Mistress will!"
A hand warming up with the power of a Childe o' Flames. "Oh you like it... I know you peek..." The warm golden brown hand stroked the pale pinked cheek.
A sideways glance and a light shaking of the head. "Fool girls with even more foolish words... save heated flirting and coyness for Fool customers believing this dancing fool girl moves hips for men..."
A giggle shyly covered with a hand. "Okay, El, okay. Hush now..." then a wince of pain and a bout of vertigo, "but thank you. Thank you soooo much, girl, for saving me."
A warm squeeze with a muscular arm, a hint of a squeeze right back. No more words were exchanged. To the infirmary Elanor hobbled along, struggling to bear the weight of the larger woman as an alarming slick trailing of crimson followed close behind them.
Gnap entering the kitchen behind Navenne and Elanor
Gnap waited in the bush outside the back door of the kitchen. He hid easily being just a child of about eight summer seasons. His dirty face and ratty clothes mixed with the shrubs well. It would be hard to know his muddy hair was white, his dirt encrusted skin was fair or his thin frame could run fast. But his bright green eyes were as shiny as rain covered light green leaves. They were opened wide as he watched the wounded lady stumble in the door.
He could hear them talking but the conversation didnít matter. It was the tone he judged. They were friendly and concentrated on each other. Thatís all he needed to know. What mattered to Gnap was the distraction. As they did whatever it was old women and girls did, Gnap snuck in door. He wasnít unfamiliar with the layout of the place having been lucky once or twice before.
Staying low to the floor hunched on his bare toes his dirty grubby hand reached up to the counter and groped for whatever might be sitting there. Hopefully it was editable.