[The Spinning Coin] Trouble-Makers {Shiress}

[Isolde Seibold]

The Nuit was growing more and more uneasy as the conversation progressed. How had this happened so quickly? She had forgotten the inquisitiveness of the mind during conversation, and now she was on the receiving end of a bunch of curious --or was it suspicious?-- questions. Perhaps the Nuit should have not been so eager to engage in conversation with the two girls. Isolde knew only too well how this would go. Soon enough the two of them would find out that she was a Nuit, and then they would probably hate her or be disgusted by her, and then they would try to hurt her. And the Nuit didn't want to get tangled up in a situation like that. She had practically no way to defend herself. Back when, it had been the Burned Man who would stand up for her, protect her with his fire and magic and raging temper. But the Burned Man was long gone. Now she was alone.

For the first time, the Nuit considered the notion that it was a bad idea to be in a place like this, surrounded by strangers, questioned by strangers, and defenseless. Hmm. She would have to remember that.

When Shiress touched her arm, the Nuit hesitantly drew it back, hugging it closely to her body. She should've seen the touch coming. She shouldn't have let the girl feel her skin. The Nuit decided immediately that she was going to be needing some sort of jacket from now on, once she figured out what size this body was. She looked down. Small. Tiny, actually. She was tiny. She stretched out her legs. Probably no more than 5 feet tall and already petite. In a few weeks she would be absolutely scrawny, stick-thin. With a body like this, she would probably be even weaker than normal. Likely to be easily tossed about and stepped on and abused. The Nuit's expression became somewhat nervous as she looked from girl to girl. And yes, now they were on either side of her. She had better answer their questions, and fast.

The only problem was, the Nuit didn't like lying. She didn't really do it, and any lie she told would be immediately recognized as false. She was trapped by the truth. Perhaps that should be considered good, lucky even; the Nuit couldn't lie to save her life. Unfortunately, that was exactly the problem. But never mind. She would just have to answer, and hope for the best. The Nuit took a deep breath --the first in a long time-- and then let it out, hunching in a little as if trying to be away from each of them at the same time. Still, she made no move to leave. That would only put them on red alert. And red alert might draw even more attention to herself. "I-- I haven't... been hurt-- and I'm not-- not sick, st-strictly speaking." She took another deep breath, then said, a little more quickly, and with a lot more tremor in her voice, "B-But you're... you're right. N-No. I-I-I'm not... h-human." She seemed reluctant to go on, pausing for a long time, ducking her head a little. Would it be better for them to guess at her race, or for her to bring it up herself? She honestly didn't know. Well, they were probably going to question her regardless. So she might as well have it out now. And hopefully nobody around would hear. Otherwise she might have bigger problems than just these two. Quite reluctantly, Isolde asked, "H-Have you-- you ever... heard... of a r-race called-- called--" Oh, it was so hard to force out the word! "--N-Nuit?" Her mouth had set in a grim line, her eyes wide and shining with a faint, expectant fear. She tried to prepare herself for whatever might come.

[Shiress]

Shiress listened curiously intent as the girl spoke. She felt bad that she had invaded her new friends personal space, she felt even worse about her own reaction to the girls cold skin, but it wasn't expected to say the least.

A gentleman patron beside her had left his stool to retrieve a few dropped coins, Shiress immediately took advantage of his departure and planted her rear-end quickly in his chair. The man expressed his annoyance and Shiress gave him a look of -get over it- over her shoulder, the man followed up with "You vagik." called over his shoulder as he walked away, Shiress couldn't help but return the pleasure with a "petcher"thrown over hers. She was so very drunk...and so very brave, not a good combination, but this time, for now, it worked.

She motioned for another drink as her ears sank into the conversation again. The girl seemed scared, actually scared of the barmaid and her blacksmith friend. Her drink came and she quickly broke it in and as her glass lowered she heard a familiar word said by the girl. Nuit.

Shiress repeated the word several times in her mind, finally, her thoughts, slowed by the alcohol flowing through her veins, clicked and she was back home in Zeltiva. "Nuit?" Shiress twisted herself to face the girl, her hand pulled gently at the girls arm to gain her attention, but not too hard, gods, she didn't want to upset her more.

"You're a Nuit, an undead?" The barmaid's words were obviously slurred as she spoke, but a smile lifted her lips to reassure her unoffensive intentions. "I know your kind from Zeltiva, where I grew up. The cemetery there is ran by Nuits and I have read books about the race." Shiress' eyes danced around the Nuit girl's face, stopping at her forehead. Her head tilted curiously as her hand raised and brushed a bit of hair away from the girls face.

There on her forehead was smear of paint, Shiress knew immediately what this meant thanks to the books and childhood around the kind. "You have a new body? A very new body, don't you?" Her hand retreated and grabbed for her drink as her eyes slid around to Hadyn, her face remaining forward. She wondered how the blacksmith would take such news. Instantly, she was back at the Stallion on pins and needles worried about the reaction of one Hadyn Ms. Blacksmith. She sat motionless, glass resting against her lips and eye brows raised as she peeked out the corner of her eye awaiting the reaction like an old woman sipping tea on a porch.

OOCI can't help but think of this as a joke playing out A blacksmith, a barmaid and a Nuit walk into a bar...

[Hadyn Skellig]

Nuit. The very word was alien to the blacksmith. She stared motionless at Isolde before sliding her gaze to Shiress. The auburn barmaid made no indication she was either afraid of mistrustful of their new friend. Hadyn finished the last of her booze and set the glass down, her hand resting on the bar's surface as she pondered this situation. The woman really had no qualms with any race, so long as they minded themselves and behaved appropriately.

Gods preserve her she couldn't quite remember all she'd read from her brother's literature on Nuits. Sure there was gossip and rumors - fear mongering among the foolish. Hadyn had never directly involved herself in the prattling of suspicious minds though it was sometimes impossible to ignore. But considering the way Isolde conducted herself and the reaction from Shiress the brunette was inclined to remain congenial. Leaning against the bar with a disarming grin, Hadyn nodded once to the barman for another drink before returning her attention to Isolde.

"S'alright," the woman replied with a shrug of one shoulder. "Y'seem alright to me," she clarified as the empty glass was swooped away. "Anyone's got the approval of this'un," a nod to Shiress, "must be acceptable."

Hadyn smiled as another drink was set before her. Not rum. Something darker. Skeptical but still alcoholic, the woman picked up the glass and sniffed the contents suspiciously. Some kind of dark brandy. Ah well. Beggars can't be choosers. Swigging half the glass down the woman kept silent. It mildly concerned her that Isolde was in the Coin. But there wasn't much to be done. Glancing around, the woman took stock of the increase in volume and yelling. Things were beginning to pick up as folk cleared a space for a cock fight. With a quick grin to her companions, Hadyn threw the rest of the booze back and slid the empty glass down the bar.

"I hope y'have ahold of your knickers, ladies. Scene's about to get messy."

She nodded over their heads as the roosters were brought in, men elbowing each other to see and throw down Miza. Not a gambling woman, Hadyn preferred to watch but her intention tonight was to keep both Shiress and Isolde from harm. Keen eyes surveyed from their relatively safe location at the bar. But as the fight continued, men would become rowdier and drunker.

[Isolde Seibold]

Isolde's nerves relaxed a bit when both girls appeared non-hostile, though she tensed again when Shiress first pulled at her arm, and then even reached out a hand to brush at her forehead. The Nuit was still somewhat having a hard time correctly reading expressions, though she thought she was getting better. So she didn't flinch when Shiress reached forward and simply sat, still as a statue, until the girl's arm returned to her side.

One thing was certain. Shiress really did seem to know quite a bit --more than most people bothered, actually-- about Nuits. "You have a new body? A very new body, don't you?" The question startled the Nuit, not putting together Shiress' actions with her words.

"H-How did you--?" Before the Nuit could finish asking her question, the noise in the room swelled and Hadyn cut in, speaking over the crowd, eyes focused on something in the background. The Nuit swiveled in her seat to see.

"I hope y'have ahold of your knickers, ladies. Scene's about to get messy."

Roosters were being brought out, great handsome birds with sharp-looking beaks, nasty claws, and mean, black eyes. They looked very much unlike the docile, nervous brown hens Isolde remembered from the Outpost, which Vaughn had used to tend. One of the angry birds struggled in the grip of its handler, flapping its wings hard, snagging one long talon in the man's sleeve and likely nicking the flesh of his arm. The man immediately howled and swore, and the rest of the men watching broke out into hearty, guffawing laughter, much to his annoyance. Someone better suited to handling the bird stepped up to grab a hold of it, but the creature was wily, full of piss and vinegar. It nearly flapped free, causing a mad scrambling among the drunken men. A couple of them were knocked straight from their feet by their oblivious, excited companions; one man was so drunk he had to be helped back up, and he soon staggered away from the mess of close-packed bodies back to the bar, probably hoping he had the stomach to knock back another couple of drinks.

Tables soon were snatched out from under dice and card games to be used to set up a makeshift ring. Five or six of the long, rectangular wooden tables were set on their sides, legs facing out, corners shoved roughly together, creating a lopsided hexagon to hold the birds for the fight. Men crowded around the tables, leaning over, yelling out bets and shoveling out Mizas to be lost or earned back in double, triple, quadruple. The Nuit could barely see through all the bodies bumping together, though she knew the fight hadn't yet started. Two men were expertly snapping little glinting hooked spurs onto the backs of the birds' legs. This only seemed to aggravate the animals further, causing another flurry of motion as the birds flapped and flapped their pretty, long-feathered wings.

Back at the bar, the Nuit watched with little-disguised consternation. She had seen plenty of animals slaughtered in the Outpost, that was simply the way of life there. Animals were bred and raised to be eaten. One got used to the fact. But this was something different. Cock fights had not been allowed in the Outpost when she had lived there. Or, at least, she hadn't seen any take place. Some strange emotion yawned and stretched within the Nuit, and she suspected it was disapproval, or dislike, or... something like that. She couldn't quite name it, but she really didn't like violence, especially unnecessary violence, even between animals. And the way the men were becoming more and more agitated, excited... that was disagreeable to the Nuit, too. One man stepped back and accidentally bumped his way into Isolde, probably accidentally knocking into Hadyn or Shiress --or both-- and rumbled something vaguely offensive to the three young women before stumbling to shove his way to a better position for viewing the fight.

"I-It certainly i-is getting cr-crowded in here," the Nuit said, voice raised, pressing her back nervously against the bar as another man approached, leaning between Hadyn and herself to order himself a drink, coming way too close for comfort in the process. Another man seemed to be waiting for the first, and tried to catch Shiress' eye before giving a wink and making a lewd gesture. The Nuit's mouth turned down into an uncomfortable frown. She looked at the others. "Sh-should we tr-try to get to a l-less crowded--" Before she could finish her question, yet another man moved in, smelling of pigs and manure and sweat and whisky and looking as if he wouldn't be long on his feet. He bumped his big belly up to the bar, and a tick later a glass shattered on the floor, contents splattering the three women and a couple of the nearest strangers. One thing led to another and soon there was a quickly-escalating tussle between the man who had knocked over the glass and one of the men who had been on the receiving end of its strong-smelling liquid. It would really be a good idea to get out of the way, and soon. "H-Hadyn... Sh-Shiress..." the Nuit called out, voice becoming alarmed as one of them reeled back his arm, forming a fist.

OOCLong post, but why not use it to rile up the crowd? ^^

[Shiress]

Invincible

Standing at 7 feet tall and completely capable of taking on every patron in the tavern, Yes Shiress suffered with the state known as invincibility, inebriated style, she was going to free those poor chickens, one way or the other.

The more roosters she watched being brought into the tavern the more she stewed in her seat. "Repulsive" She growled through gritted teeth before slamming her now empty glass against the bar top. She would make a sailor proud right about now at the amount of alcohol she was consuming. The sad thing was it hadn't all caught up with her yet.

Just as the barmaid began to lift herself from her chair to see about those chickens, she was completely doused. Her shirt was soaked and ale dripped from her chin. She gasped a long breath as her arms flung out by her side. Her eyes settled on her soaked blouse then narrowed with anger. Oh gods, this was all it took for her to grow another couple feet.

Angry eyes turned up to see a man whose fist was ready to meet with someone, seemed that it was possibly meant for Isolde. A quick glance back to the frightened Nuit's face created a swell of courage in the barmaid and she lept behind the man, grabbing his hovering arm and yanking it backwards. The man's body leaned and some how he began to fall and as his back met with the wooden floor, Shiress lifted her foot and brought it down right in the middle of his stomach..hard. The proned brawler let out a groan, his arms wrapping around his bruised belly as his face wrinkled in pain...Shiress felt terrible. She didn't mean to hurt him, she just wanted to keep her new friend safe and, well, she lost control.

The girl cocked her head regretfully as the man reacted to the pain, his lips turning a slight blue having had the wind knocked right out of him. "Shyke, I'm sorry, mister." She said, lowering herself to, unbelievably, aid the man that she had just sent sprawling to the floor.

Just as she leaned over, another brawler stepped backwards, tripping over Shiress' bent frame and was sent hurling over her back, his head striking a table corner before his body slammed against the floor motionless.

Shiress shot up straight and twisted herself around to see a prone man sprawled along side the other. Her eye's lingered on the two before she slowly turned back around to the last brawler left standing, the expression on his face looking just as surprised as her own and without moving her head, her eye's slid to Isolde then to Hadyn. She pulled her shoulders up as her bottom lip slipped out to the side "Did I do that?"

[Hadyn Skellig]

Shyke. This was turning into a broiling hot mess and the three of them were caught definitively in the middle. The jostling, noise and general chaos of the gambling pit didn't bother Hadyn as much as it clearly disturbed her companion's. The Nuit's fear was palpable and drunk Shiress was looking to end up in the Tank. With a grim set of her lips the brunette decided these two needed to leave before further danger befell them. But it was too late.

Hadyn was ready to reach for Isolde and escort her to safety before they were separated by a bear of a man. This ox in a glassblower's shoppe bumped his great belly against the bar and somehow managed to douse a contingency of drunks, including the three women, in alcohol. The weaponsmith snatched a bar rag from the hands of a passing server and wiped the liquid from her neck and breasts with a scowl. This sort of behavior, well... it's to be expected. But her compatriots were taking the situation with a bit more insult.

The brunette caught the tail end of Shiress' heroics, her gaze fixed on a prone man and the auburn girl's foot crashing upon his stomach. The fellow convulsed like a larvae on the floor, roiling from her attack as she reacted to her own ferocity with guilt. Hadyn winced as Shiress actually bent forward to help her victim, her words muddled in the clamor. Ready to pull the girl up and give her a good shake, Hadyn was obstructed as another brawler went tumbling over her bent form, striking his head on the corner of the table.

"Petch me," the weaponsmith growled as she made a more concerted effort to collect her friends and depart. Pushing against the oaf what started this melee the brunette reached for Isolde, raising her voice and dodging her head to the side.

"Isolde, time to go," she tossed an urgent hand in the direction of the door. Pushing the large man to the side she threw an arm around the Nuit, thrusting against her shoulders to assist her in a duck as a man behind threw his mug back. If Isolde didn't double over the pottery would land squarely across her skull. Hadyn wasn't able to see if her aid was necessary as another chap pulled roughly against her upper arm, spinning her back on uneven feet against the bar. He clearly thought she was someone else for his angry face melted into inebriated surprise. But that didn't stop him from gripping her harder, until she pivoted on one foot and sent her elbow cracking into his cheek.

Uninterested in finding out how well her hit subdued him, the weaponsmith searched for Shiress. In her drunken state the girl would either be cowering in a corner or attacking folk like they were Ziths. Frankly Hadyn didn't care but it was not a good place for either Shiress or Isolde. Elbowing her way through the mass, she searched for the girl's auburn hair, hoping the Nuit had the chance to slip away and shadow her. The brunette's height gave her minimal advantage, for the mob of bodies was nigh impregnable.

"Shiress," Hadyn called out despite the futility, her expression bearing no mercy for those in her way. That was the only method for battling this swarm of drunk desperate gamblers. No pity, no shame. She slammed one heel down on the toes of a man grinning lopsidedly at her, pushing him from her path as he howled, tumbling into more patrons. The heat of the place was stifling. A hand grasped her waist, pulling her off course as she stumbled to the side, visual trajectory lost. Hadyn wrenched herself angrily from the floating hands, seizing an abandoned spoon from a table and thwacking those nearest to her to bid them move.

Lurching to the side and turning toward the ring, she could see those deeply embroiled in the cock fight couldn't be bothered by the rabble at the bar. Their sweat slicked faces were mesmerized as the fowl beat each other to shredded pieces. Turning her face from the fight, Hadyn once against searched for Shiress and Isolde, swallowed up amongst the denizen. She could spot the exit from her location but, spoon in hand, pushed back into the fray to find the girls.

"You damn idiot," she chastised herself as she doubled over to avoid an errant fist. Cocking her head, she thought she heard her name over the din of voices. But it was that pause which caught her off guard, the dead weight of an unconscious gambler tossed upon her. He hit her back and sent her sprawling on her stomach, the ground soiled with dirt, food, and booze. He lay motionless above her, arm draped over her shoulder as his head lolled against hers. Palms finding purchase against the distinguishing floor, the blacksmith heaved her upper body up, knocking him to the side as her face caught the heel of someone's boot.

"Petch!" The woman seethed as she forced herself to stand in the crowd. Dazed and irritated, she realized she lost her weapon. It would be so easy to skirt to the door but a sense of guilt and loyalty to both girls kept her put. She began the arduous task of retracing her steps to the bar, praying Isolde and Shiress were alright.

[Isolde Seibold]

Hadyn's arm wrapped her shoulders, tugging her down, and the Nuit nearly toppled over from the sudden force, slipping unwillingly from her seat at the bar out of necessity, stumbling forward. Things were happening quickly. Hadyn was elbowing a man in the face, Shiress was stomping on some poor drunk's stomach-- and Isolde wasn't paying near enough attention to how she herself was fitting into the rabble. A sharp pain burst in the Nuit's ribs, and she gasped for a breath, stumbling with the blow; stumbling over a man's outstretched leg, tripping her, she fell, flinging out her arms; her hands caught hold of someone's wide, wide shoulders and she clutched to him for dear life, legs still twisting up, ribcage burning; the man shrugged her off and she managed to keep her feet, just barely, shuffling her feet and wind-milling her arms; her hand connected with someone's face and red speckled her shirt, gushing from his nose; his friend tried to get his hands around the Nuit's neck but only managed to shove her further into the crowd; she was knocked this way and that in a variety of different ways from a variety of different people; until --oof!-- her stomach connected with something hard, winding her again, and her fingers automatically scrabbled at it, finding... herself free of the crowd, utterly lacking in direction, confused and disoriented, lost from both Shiress and Hadyn, and... out of danger, for the time being. Most of the crowd had cleared out from this section of the room. All except one table... of extremely well-dressed old men, and extremely undressed young women.

The men wore expressions with glittering eyes and rings of glittering gold, the latter inlaid with pretty, precious stones, glinting red and blue and brilliant green and looking utterly expensive. None of them looked the least bit disturbed by the tussle still going on, running loudly in the background, or the cockfight which was drawing to an end, feathers flying, men screaming in rage or pleasure depending on their bets. They did, however, look disturbed by the Nuit's interruption. Isolde had accidentally rammed herself into their table. Mizas glowed in large quantities in front of her eyes, and it was the most money the Nuit had seen in once place ever.

Still smiling, but it was the sort of frosty smile that chilled a person to the bone, one of the men extended a hand towards Isolde, a welcoming gesture. "Are you looking to join our game, young lady? You are certainly welcome to join. Beginning bet is 2,000 GM. Minimum."

The Nuit peeled herself from the table, snatching her eyes away from all the money, shaking her head, eyes blue as the midnight sky and twice as wide.

The man who had spoken nodded his head, and the woman glued to his side --she was barely more than a girl-- tittered out a derisive, feral laugh, fixing her vacant eyes on the Nuit. Another chill raced up Isolde's spine. "Then I would advise," the man said, seeming to consider his words, and something dangerous flickered at his expression, and he was still smiling so politely, "that you leave. Now." He stared hard at her. The others were looking at her. They were all staring at her. Even the women, with their empty, doll-like expressions. She didn't know why she felt so threatened, so creeped out by this group in their strange bubble of solitude, but she did.

The Nuit found her voice. Just barely. It squeaked out. "O-Okay." She stumbled back, without turning her back on the small, isolated group. They continued to watch her. She felt like she would never escape their collective, vaguely hostile gaze, and she couldn't tell where she was going, just that she was getting away from these people. Even if she had to go back into the roiling crowds. Except she wasn't moving fast enough. The group was beginning to look annoyed. Their smiles had turned brittle and their eyes sharp. She had to disappear, and fast. Or something terrible would happen. She was certain that these men were the real dangers in this place, more dangerous than any one of those drunks in the crowd. These terrible men with their hollow-faced escorts. She needed to find Hadyn, find Shiress, and leave. This place was no longer merely interesting. It was frightening.

[Shiress]

Just as she proudly settled into thinking she had single handedly contained the brawling patrons, Hadyn disappeared into a wave of people with Isolde in tow. "Hadyn!" The girl yelled out, teetering on her tiptoes, but the brunette head had vanished and merged in with the rest of the blurred, bobbing heads.

"Well shyke." She mumbled, settling back down on her heels and peering around her immediate vicinity until her green eyes settled on an empty table after a double take. The two full shots looked quite appealing sitting there in front of two empty chairs, obviously abandoned, their occupants, either pulled away or stepped away, had left the lonely liquor unattended and very tempting to a drunk Shiress.

Within a few paces, the barmaid reached the table. While placing a hand on an empty chair, she danced her eyes around the area and seeing no one coming along to retrieve their forgotten treasure, Shiress grabbed up a glass with one hand as the other reached for it's neighbor. With a swift move of her head, she emptied the glass of it's contents before lifting the other and doing the same. Her features contorted with a jerk as she forced both shots of liquor down her throat at once. She then glanced around again and slowly placed the now empty containers back in their respective places and turned away as innocent as possible.

She hadn't made half a step when an angry male voice called out, quickly followed by a cold hand wrapping around her slender arm. "What the petch you do'n woman? You'll pay for those drinks." The man spun her around, pressing her backside against the table as his narrowed eyes glared at her hatefully. The girl looked up sheepishly into a battered face blemished with countless scars...and only one eye? "Ewww, what the shyke you do to ya eye, petch, that musta hurt." She chuckled, before lifting a hand as if she was actually going to remove the man's hand from her arm, but instead, it made the man grow more angry, tighten his grip and lean his thick body over the girl. "You think you funny or som'thin you lil witch?" He snarled, letting his eyes stroll down the girls neck to her chest then slowly retracing the path back to her face, a sinister look spread across his features as he caught an idea.

In an instant, the man had leaned up, grabbed Shiress by the shoulder and was now pulling the wide eyed, struggling girl through the mass of patrons toward the back of the tavern. "Let me go you swine petcher!" Shiress demanded, her arms pushing and pulling at the relentless grip he held at her shoulder. That wasn't working so she then grabbed at his shirt. His shirt? Well, she did manage to untuck it a bit. If only exposed shirt tails broke the law, she might have actually helped herself.

The man drugged the girl, fighting and all, like a rag doll to a back wall. Beside them was the ring, currently surrounded by noisy patrons yelling and screaming to the top of their lungs for their favorite fighter to win. One must admit, the man did find a perfect spot for ones unruly deeds to go unseen and screams unheard.

With a hard shove, the girl met the wall, the back of her head striking hard against the stone structure. Her eyes rolled away and closed as her body fell limp, she'd have fallen to the floor had the man's hand not held her in place.

The beat of a man's free hand worked fast at her blouse, ripping and pulling it until all she had was exposed. He didn't waist much time burying his face into her chest. For several ticks, Shiress, in her blacked out state, was completely unaware of what was happening.

The barmaid's head shifted from side to side before her eyes slowly opened, crossed and blurred. The man was still busy at her chest, stealing pleasure for himself while a dazed Shiress struggled to come around. For an instant, for half of a half tick, it felt good, it felt wanted, something she so desperately wanted to feel...again. Bless her heart. After all, it had been a full season since the last time.

As the man's hand lowered and started working to get her pants down, She snapped back, lifting her head with wide eyes and was flooded with the memory of how she got in this predicament. "No, no, no! Wait, come on wait!" Her words were slurred at best as her arms struggled against the man, but the man was over powering and held her there with ease. She continued her struggle until she thought of an idea. She became still, staring over the top of the man's head blankly. To an onlooker, it would have looked as if she had grown bored with the mans groping and had wandered away in thought.

"wait..Wait..WAIT!" She yelled out. The man stopped and looked up quite annoyed at her. "You don't have to do it like this." She explained. The man's hand left one of it's treasures and grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks hard, causing her pink lips to pucker out. "I ork ad da orrald orm." The man's face grew more annoyed as he lowered his hand to her throat. "What did you say, wench?" Shiress licked her lips and tilted her head in preparation of sounding as sincere as she could and as not drunk as she was.

"I said." She began. "It doesn't have to be like this." She arched an eye brow and held her lower lip between her teeth before letting it slip past slowly. "I work at The Harrold's Arms." She let her tongue slip out and run across her lips before continuing. "I can pay you back your drinks and then some if we can go to my room there." She followed up with her best sexy expression she could muster and it worked!

"Well then." The man said with a smirk then pulled her by the neck close to his face. "You better not be petching with me, woman." Shiress spread a smile across her lips "Oh I'M not." Promised Shiress. "I even have a co-worker here somewhere. She'd love to join the fun." She added.

The man's eye brows lifted as he jerked Shiress in front of him. He slid his hand around to the back of her neck and began to lead her through the tavern. The girls eyes began to scan the many faces as she passed by. She noticed the men smiled stupidly at her while the woman huffed and turned away. She wondered why, that is until she glanced down to see her blouse still open, offering each passerby a glimpse of the two perfect amenities she possessed. She rolled her eyes and pulled her blouse together, flashing a mocking face at a man as he passed by.

At last, she caught a glimpse of the brunette bobbing in and out of the crowd. She knew she would have to steal her attention before the blacksmith had a chance to speak so as she approached her friend, she decided on the best approach. When she was close enough, Shiress reached her hand out and grabbed a fist full of Hadyn's chest and pulled her around to face the same direction. She placed a hand on the woman's waist to guide her to the front and she leaned as close to her friend as she could without getting caught.

"Ohhhh, I petched up, well, he petched up or want's to petch me, but I petched myself and told him a petched up story." Shiress drew in a deep breath and tried her best to be sober...it didn't work. The best thing to do was try and explain things as clear and as quick as possible before the three of them reached the exit, which was quickly approaching.

"He got mad, I stole his liquor, he pushed me against a wall, got in my shirt, tried to get in my pants, I lied, I told him I work at The Harold's Arms, you are my co-worker, he gets a freebie aaaand that's where we are supposed to be going and doing..that. Do something!!"


OOCHoly cow!! I didn't realize this had gotten so long!! Im sorry!

[Hadyn Skellig]

Hadyn pursed her lips, the arduous trek to the bar paused momentarily to gather her bearings. It was a madhouse, but really... that was to be expected. The underbelly of Syliras, pathetically small though it might be, was well and alive tonight indulging in all manner of sins as the bells dripped on. Honestly it was nothing compared to the wickedness breeding within Sunberth. Enough travelers from that petch of a city with stories of depravity, squalor and evil told Hadyn the Spinning Coin was mere child's play. But for those unaccustomed to the pandemonium of drunks, gamblers, whores and general surliness wouldn't fair well this night. And for that reason alone Hadyn made it her mission to locate and extricate Isolde and Shiress.

But the throng of bodies sweating and pulsing around her was no help in her search. Standing her ground amidst the overly jovial folk the blacksmith made ready to fight her way back to the bar - stand on it if need be - and find the girls. Before she could start on her new heading, however, a hand most unceremoniously grabbed at her breast, tugging her around. A thunderous expression shadowed her face as she brought a fist up, ready to deck the bastard to whom the hand belonged. But confused surprise registered dumbly across her visage as the owner became clear. Shiress?

The girl launched into a less than descriptive explanation, pulling the brunette along with her as they headed toward the exit. Casting a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, Hadyn made eye contact with the fellow she referred to. Great. Turning to face forward as they progressed through the crowd, Hadyn shot her companion a look. By the mutt's fur, she smelled of booze.

"Petched probably ain't t'best descriptor given our predicament," she noted loud enough for Shiress to hear. She glanced at the auburn haired girl wryly before speaking in hushed tones. "An' be careful grabbin' folk's tits like that. Nearly decked you, there..."

She wasn't mad but relieved. One of her two targets was safely beside her. Now to deal with the horny brute behind them. Keeping Shiress close to her and aware of the man's heady breath on the back of her neck, Hadyn continued working her way to the exit. As they went Hadyn scanned the place for any signs of Isolde. Gods help her if she too was embroiled in something this disturbing. First thing's first. Dispatch of the fellow then find the Nuit. Without looking at Shiress, the woman tilted her head to the side, speaking as if she were commenting on the weather or quality of the alcohol.

"We'll take him outside. Act lustful. And drunk."

Drunker.

They made it to the exit in record time, Hadyn pushing her weight against the door and shoving out into the street. The trio were paid little mind, this type of arrangement hardly unusual. The warm spring air cooled their flesh as they spilled out onto the Docks, the night welcoming them with shadowy corners and forgotten nooks for foul deeds. Leading the man around the side of the building Hadyn turned around to face him, a devilish smile pulling at her lips. She assessed him quickly, his demeanor suggesting a stiff air of suspicion. He was a bear of a man, rough and unkempt and very deep in his drink. It would be bitch to overcome him, but not impossible. They'd have to legitimately seduce him before attempting any sort of ploy.

"M'friend here says we owe y'somethin' special, hm?"

Pressing lightly against his shoulders she encouraged him to take a step back, against the wall. He complied though the skepticism hadn't left his visage. Hadyn's brain worked quickly to plan their escape from the scene. Offering him a loose suggestive smile the brunette moved closer to him, licking her lips and trailing fingers across his cheek.

"I don't see why we can't get started now, 's that right, Violet?" She cast a sultry glance to Shiress, tongue stroking her top lip once before turning back to the man.

He'd softened some in appearance, hands moving to the woman's hips as she smiled playfully. She hoped Shiress wasn't too drunk to take a cue about the name change. Drawing close to him again she pulled gently at his shoulders to tug his upper body close to her, testing the weight of his body against hers. His grip settled firmly on her, one hand drifting lower to squeeze her buttocks. Hadyn forced a laugh as she twirled a lock of his dirty hair. She could see in the faint light the dark wall of the Coin, his body leaning against it. He was moving his lips against her neck and she tilted her head up, bidding him south.

While he took his fetid pleasures she was busy gauging his body, determining the weakest points and those that would do the most damage. He probably had at least one weapon on him, likely tucked away from prying eyes. She herself maintained a dagger in the depth of one boot, though it'd be too conspicuous were she to attempt to retrieve it. Instead she continued to let him roam across her body, taking his tactile fill. Turning in his arms, Hadyn swept her behind against his crotch, tilting her head back until her cheek brushed his sideburns. She could feel his growing interest against her thigh and she would use his lust to subdue him.

She rolled her hips against him with a lascivious glance over her shoulder at him. She may not be a prostitute but it didn't take a whore to know what made men hungry for more. Her mind was concentrated on the task because a break from the game might set him to anger. Bending forward she cast a quick glance to Shiress, the false lust gone from her eyes as she shot up quickly, elbow bent to crash mercilessly into his throat. Hadyn gave him no time to react, spinning on her heel and kneeing him heavily between the legs. It wouldn't fell him as most women liked to think. Truthfully any man who'd been put through his paces would soldier on despite the pain. It was erroneous to assume a swift kick to the balls would do him in entirely. Which lead to the man coughing and doubling over, but still reaching quickly for a knife in his belt. Hadyn left nothing to chance, slamming the same elbow on the exposed vertebrae of his neck before back peddling. He surged forward, head cocked down, knife zipping around and forward.

Slashing to and fro as he stalled to regain his breath, taking a lunge toward her. The edge of the knife caught her thigh, drawing a line of blood and slicing the fabric as she moved away. Hadyn continued backwards, grasping for Shiress while simultaneous pushing the girl away from the man's blade. The brute seethed, aware of the true nature of their deceit and all the more enraged for it. But he was drunk and the light was paltry. He was growling and issuing threats but unable to maintain balance, falling forward on one knee but still brandishing the knife, coughing as he went.

"Kick him in the face then high tail it," Hadyn ordered haggardly, not wanting Shiress to miss out on the action. Her voice was breathy with exertion and anticipation as she retreated further from his bent form. The elbow to the throat and vertebrae would do more to subdue him than the offhanded knee to the groin. And if Shiress was so inclined she could take a strike at him. If not, Hadyn would take the kick then leave him for the Knights. It all happened in a matter of moments, the time to judge mistakes and lost opportunities fleeting. Could she have offed him the moment they got outside? Maybe. But he might've been packing heat in the form of daggers, bagh nakh or a wrist razor. It was a chance one took when playing this game and Hadyn preferred not to take stupid chances.

[Isolde Seibold]

Not fast enough, not fast enough, move!

The Nuit couldn't get away, she couldn't. The crowds had closed, swarming into one giant, dense crush. One third of the Coin's patrons were gleefully and drunkenly taking part in the bar fight. A second third of them were angrily and drunkenly taking part in the cockfight brawl --a new and completely separate struggle going on because a few of the men had not liked seeing their Mizas taken as a result of the first round of cockfights. Those first two thirds were somewhat hard to distinguish, but Isolde thought that there really were two entirely separate scuffles. The final third of the men were ignoring the first two, clustered around the makeshift cockfight ring, animated and even more concentrated on the next birds being carried in and readied for battle. Regardless of what group a man belonged to he seemed to be amped up and utterly hostile: getting nudged by his neighbors and shoving in return if not openly throwing punches, sloshing his mug around and still managing despite it all to drink heavily. And the Nuit was stuck in the middle of it, she couldn't push her way through, and she really needed to. She tried to squeeze in between the people and only managed to get herself knocked around some more, without really going anywhere. And that was bad, very bad, because it appeared the table corner had sent someone after her... and, glancing fearfully over her shoulder at the man pursuing her, she didn't want to know what might happen to her should he catch up. Which he was rapidly doing. He looked as if he was used to dealing with crowds like these, hardly even bothering to pay attention to the men roiling around him, eyes fixed on the Nuit.

Isolde jumped and pushed and very slowly made progress, and it wasn't fast enough. He was coming. He was there, behind her. She felt his presence looming dangerously near, almost within arm's reach; she looked back and he was all she could see, right there, and he was so damned big it was no wonder. He dwarfed her. He thrust out an arm and almost had her, his fingertips brushing against her arm, making her skin crawl. Not thinking, only trying to get away, the Nuit turned and dove at the space before her, ducking through and shoving between angry men. Not good enough. She felt the man behind catch hold of the back of her dress, felt him give one mighty pull, and she went stumbling backwards, flinging out her arms, screaming. Her hand collided with someone's mug, spinning it to the ground, spilling the vile liquid to the already wet floor; she was tumbling backwards; her upper back thwacked into the man's stomach and he got one arm around her, and she felt his muscles tensing as if he was going to lift her, carry her away.

And then a man in one of the fights spun to dodge a punch, one of his feet slipped one way on the slick, wet floor and the other slipped forwards, and he pitched downwards and back, crashing into the Nuit and the thug.

There was a sharp pain that burst from Isolde's knee as the man collided with the two; the falling man gripped tight to her legs to stop his fall, but it wasn't enough, and he continued on his way to the floor. But he wasn't letting go of the Nuit, and she felt herself suddenly yanked straight downwards, and miraculously the grip around her midsection broke loose. The Nuit had fallen free, and found herself confused and sprawled at the thug's feet with the other man still wrapped around her legs. The inevitable happened. Other men --unwitting of the dangerous amount of spilled alcohol and the two new obstacles tangled together on the ground-- backed up to fill the gap that had been left in the crowd, only to find themselves tripping and slipping. More men fell or slid, grabbing at one another, and it was a mayhem of stomping feet and yells as the Nuit desperately tried to reorient herself. Isolde saw her pursuer's own feet betray him, and he lurched above her as the others bumped and scrabbled to keep their own balance, and the Nuit thought for one terrifying moment that he was going to fall on her and that she would be completely squished flat. But the tick passed and the man fell, and not on top of her but beside her with a thud that felt like it should shake the rafters.

He was still too close, too focused on getting her. The danger had not passed. The Nuit tried to scrabble away, crab-crawling awkwardly over the man who had dragged her down, with her pursuer struggling to mobilize his great mass, dragging out his hands to grab onto her ankle. He got a grip and yanked her back, but his hold wasn't as sound as last time; she lashed out her foot at him, kicking savagely, knocking him in the chin with her heel, stunning him momentarily, and his grip slackened, allowing her to break free. And then she was scuttling and scurrying away on hands and knees, between the knees of the other patrons, getting stepped on and slammed around and no matter that, because she was getting away. Suddenly she was like lightning, flashing between the crowds as she crawled for her life, and then, with one final, great push, she broke free. The Nuit staggered to her feet, grabbing at the nearest wall to haul herself up. She flung herself through the door and into the night and dark streets, throwing a frightened look over one shoulder; she caught a glimpse of her pursuer, now also back on his feet in the middle of the hustle, plowing his way through the crowd, royally pissed off. And then she spun on her heel and ran.

She didn't know where she was going, running with great breaths of air panting in and out of her lungs, throwing looks over her shoulder every chance she could. Not a good idea at the speed she was going. Isolde was flying... and then she was falling as her legs twisted together and she hit the ground, skidding forward, scrapping her knees and elbows. She hardly felt the pain, didn't take note of her condition. The Nuit scrambled back to her feet, throwing a look behind her-- and there he was, giving chase, a little way back but steadily gaining. Terrified, feeling another scream threaten to bubble out of her throat, Isolde turned to flee. And then a sound caught roughly in her ears, like coughing and gasping around the corner of the building, and Isolde didn't care who it was or what they were doing. She only knew that she was going to the sound, because that meant another person, and another person was the only thing that might stop the thug from following her further and doing whatever it was he planned on doing.

She bolted towards the side street, flinging around the corner and yes, yes! There were three shadowy figures pressed near to the wall, two of them standing over a third. The Nuit didn't care what they were doing, what she was interrupting-- she only screamed out, "Help, help, help!" as she tore her way towards them. Faces swam into view and the Nuit skidded to a halt, shock and dumb relief and horror spreading over her face simultaneously; shock because it was Shiress and Hadyn and some man doubled over in the street, and when did they get out here?; relief because it was Shiress and Hadyn, yes; and then horror because it was Shiress and Hadyn, and oh gods that man was coming and he was so big she doubted that the three girls --especially with Shiress completely drunk-- could manage to subdue him.

Before either of the two young women could recover from the surprise of the Nuit coming screaming and barreling down the street, Isolde lunged forward and grabbed at both of them, cold, shaking hands latching onto their wrists. Then she was tugging at them, yanking at their arms to get them to move now, yelling in a frenzy, "Go, go, go! Run!" And still, the Nuit had not been fast enough.

Something crashed into Isolde from behind with the force of a horse at full gallop; she felt large arms wrapping around her; her hands were ripped from Shiress and Hadyn, her feet from the ground; she was falling and slam!, the air knocked from her lungs, and the man was on top of her, his body smashing hers into the hard street; she writhed to get away, screaming; he was trying to get a better grip on her, cussing and growling and totally incoherent. The Nuit struggled to break free, lashing out at his face, squirming her body and kicking her legs, and he just swore all the louder, wrestling with her, trying to catch her wrists, livid face in hers.

OOCWhy not bring some more trouble? Hey, and Shiress can still do some kicking if she wants! Now there's two men on the ground, and both make excellent targets! Sorry for the extra long, and somewhat late post!