3rd of Spring, 513 Shikoba wandered down an alley on her way to the Scorched Skull, one of the livelier taverns, or so she had heard. Another guest at the Lady's Lap had given her directions, suggesting she be cautious as he did. Shrugging off the thought, she continued down her path. A Chaktawe woman, she was of average hight, about 5'9, lithe, with long black hair having down her back. Clad in a black tunic and robes, her hands were gloved, muffling the sense of motion her hands gave her. She noticed a short, round man beating a woman to the side of the alley, the woman appearing to be a prostitute, her hair in disarray. 'Awahtoklo scum,' she thought to the man, as she bumped into him, her hand quickly slipping out, snatching the money pouch he hung on his belt. He was a fool for wearing it in view of those, like her, who could take it. The man was so preoccupied that he didn't notice, even when he turned around to confront her. "Why you petching b-" With one look, up into her fully black eyes, he blanched, taking a small step back. Shikoba had found that most of those unaccustomed to her people's appearance tended to react in the same way, a grin without a hint of humor crossing her expression. It also helped when she happened to be taller than them, causing her to seem more intimidating. The coward looked as if he was in conflict, trying to decide between flee or fight. She slipped one of her feather-shaped daggers out from the folds of her robe to help with his decision. Truth be told, she was not very skilled with them, but at times, just their appearance could help her avoid a fight. It was amazing to see how fast a man with so much baggage could scurry away, sputtering curses as he did. Returning her dagger to it's place, she glanced in the direction of the prostitute, but she had made her escape during the confrontation. Glancing at the pouch in her hand, she tossed it to a few poor souls, a thread of regret pressing her consciousness as she did, and entered the street. She stepped up the scant steps to the cheap looking door the other tenant had described, and turned the faded purple nob. The first thing she noticed her the many skulls lining the ceiling. They looked like those of humans, not that she could be sure. Looking around the poorly lit room, she saw rickety chairs surrounding tables that were squeezed in where they could. The sour stench of beer hit her nose, seeming to emanate from the purple rugs. Stepping in brought her in sight of the packed bar. Slipping in among the shadows to draw less attention to herself, she approached the benshira bartender. "One mug please," she said her Tawna accent apparent in her rough Common. He nodded, passing it to her as she placed five copper mizahs on the sandstone counter. Nodding her thanks, she made her way to an empty table, settling in a corner of the tavern. Taking a sip before placing the mug before her, she allowed her gaze to wander the crowd, taking in the various characters from under lowered lids. |