[Flashback]Spiders and Sunberthans(Tock)

[Volinir Orchid]

13th of Fall, 511AV It wasn't often that Volinir drank. If he wanted to be honest with himself, he hardly set foot in taverns at all. Then again, it wasn't often that he was in a city where just walking the streets carried the risk of getting one's legs broken and being dragged off to some mouth-breathing civil servant's chambers. As such, drinking was a boon to Volinir, and one that he was rarely allowed. So here he was, sitting on a splintery stool, nursing a half empty cup of ale and trying to forget the ache in his back, the uneasy, derisive, or outright hostile glances towards the empty corner he was in, or the wretched state he'd be in once his hour of leisure time ran out. For the most part, people tended to pretend he didn't exist, other than the occasional double take to make sure what they saw was real. Invariably though, someone always decided to play with the spiderling, as they called him. This time, it was a heavy-set man of middling years, with a round pot belly, bald head, and a trim brown beard sopping wet with silver sliver, the accompanying tankard held loosely in his right hand. "Oi... Spiderling..." he called over unsteadily. They always started with some variation of that. Volinir continued to simply stare at his drink. The curious patron's upper lip twisted into a snarl, and snapped angrily at him, leaning on the counter for support. "OI! I'm talkin' to ya, bug!" Volinir sighed quietly to himself, then slowly turned to face him, smiling mockingly at the man. "Why yes, what can I do for you, my most beloved bag of blood?" he said in the most sickeningly sweet voice he could muster. This prompted the patron to hurl his tankard at him with a slurred "Petch off!", only missing his head because the Symenestra had known what was coming, and ducked to avoid the punched iron mug. Unfortunately, he couldn't evade his own mug, and he bumped his lip roughly against the edge as he was showered with silver sliver, the rest of the tavern bursting into gales of cruel laughter. He'd suffered too many similar incidents for this one to bother him much, though the bruised lip was a bit of a downer. He reached out languidly and fetched the mug rolling on the counter, eying the mouthful of liquor left for a moment before shrugging and downing it, letting the the tankard clatter to the floor afterwards. It was a pleasant enough drink; strong, too. Of course, he could never afford it with the measly allowance he was given. Volinir smiled bitterly to himself and returned to his ale, muttering "Azo..." irritably under his breath. Meanwhile the other Ravokians kept laughing, a couple of the rowdier ones tossing their own cups his way. Ledger-4 SM

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Yesterday had been an interesting day. Studying architecture, swimming in the canals... making out with a girl. Tock had been giddy all night, and had dreams about the wonderful day she'd had. It had been exciting, educational, and a touch erotic. One of the best days she'd had in Ravok so far. Today? Not so much. Tock was currently unemployed. She had nothing really to do here, except explore the city, study the floating architecture, and try to make the best of things while she figured out what the next step in her life would be. Unfortunately, exploring the city wasn't always the most pleasant thing. Instead of meeting cute blind girls and studying architecture, she'd spent this morning being preached at by someone who kept blathering on about something to do with rice and some black son (though she couldn't see what the color of someone's skin had to do with anything). She'd scoffed and walked away, only to wind up taunted and harassed, and called a 'heretic'... and she didn't even know what that word meant. So she was in a bit of a foul mood when she entered the tavern. She was pissed, she was irritable, and she was kind of itching for a fight. Luckily enough, one seemed to be starting right in front of her. Half the tavern was throwing their mugs at a single man, who, as far as she could tell, was just sitting there minding his own business. Now, back in Sunberth, when people started picking on a weakling, there were only two appropriate responses: take bets on the outcome, or walk away so you didn't get yourself in trouble. But Tock had been away from Sunberth for over three years now, and she didn't consider herself to BE a Sunberthan anymore. She also didn't much like bullies. She stalked into the room, hands on her hips, casting a glare around the room. She wasn't motivated by any sense of justice. She didn't want to protect the stranger. She just figured it was bad form for so many people to pick on one man. The least they could do was let him fight them one-on-one. So she decided to bully the bullies. She walked up to a table where two men had just chucked a couple of empty mugs at the lone stranger, noting the half-full pitcher of silver liquid still on their table. "Wotcher, blokes?" she asked them. They were still laughing at the stranger, and barely turned their attention to her. "What language is that, Red?" one of them asked. "Hey Puck, check it out, she must be Inartan. Hey Red," he leaned forward, leering at her, his eyes locked on her cleavage as he spoke, "how do you say 'Petch me harder' in Inar?" Tock's eyes narrowed. She hated it when people assumed her red hair meant she was Inartan. She wasn't even quite entirely sure what an Inartan was, save for the fact that they had red hair, and something to do with birds. She'd never met one, so she didn't know the details. She also had no schooling, and thus knew next to nothing about foreign lands beyond those she had personally visited. She did, however, know when she was being insulted, and she hated it when men tried to look down her shirt. So she grabbed the edge of the table and upended it on the men, spilling silver beer all over them and smacking them in their faces with the wood.

[Volinir Orchid]

The tavern fell silent. From the meekest barmaid to the most boistrous blacksmith, all eyes were locked on Tock. A tankard meandered in lazy circles on the stained floor. The barkeep nonchalantly strolled into the back. The pervert was too busy admiring the Sunberthan's physique to notice the solid hunk of tree traveling towards his none too handsome mug until it was too late, the table slamming into his jaw with a sickening crunch and knocking him to the floor. The one the man referred to as Puck was only slightly luckier, stumbling back in his chair and falling over, the contents of the table raining down on the poor sap before the furniture itself collapsed on top of him. The pot-bellied man staggered towards her, roaring drunkenly. "Ya little bug petchin' wench! No one asked ya to get involved!" Meanwhile, Puck was pushing the table off of him with a groan, already starting to sit up. His nose was a pulpy mess and his hair was matted with blood and silver, causing him to bear a passing resemblance to to the Symenestra who was now smiling at the scene. When he saw Tock flip the table, he could hardly believe it; now that he was sure she wasn't a hallucination, he drained the rest of his ale and slammed the empty tankard on the counter, rising to his feet. He'd say they insulted his master's name... That should do it. The man who'd tried to come onto Tock rolled onto his side, covering his bloodied mouth with his hand. The large drunkard snatched clumsily at Tock's shirt. Should he succeed, he'd yank her roughly towards him, growling angrily. "I'm goin' to make ya regret doin' that..."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

If there was anything Tock knew about fighting, it was to strike first, strike hard, and ALWAYS kick people while they were down. It made it less likely they'd get back up. So while the wounded man was rolling onto his side and clutching at his face, she started kicking him in the gut repeatedly, until the fat man suddenly grabbed her. "Petch off, ya wanker!" she screamed at him. She'd been grabbed like this more than once in Sunberth. When she was a young girl, she would always try to pull away. Most girls would, when a lewd, drunken man was pulling them in. But most girls weren't strong enough to resist a strong man's grip, and so trying to pull away never went well. Eventually, an older girl had taught Tock a different move. It had since become her favorite. Instead of pulling away against the man's grip, she pushed forward, and brought her knee up into his groin. The fat man yelped, letting out a high-pitched, long, slow exhale as he clutched at his smashed privates. It was exactly what Tock thought a man deserved when he acted like a lewd oaf. Of course, a few people in the room hadn't forgotten that the dark haired stranger was their original target. While Tock was kneeing the fat man in the groin, another man across the room came up behind the Sym and swung an ale mug towards the back of his head.

[Volinir Orchid]

Ah, a true classic. The old "conk someone in the head with something blunt and heavy" trick. It was effective on just about everyone. But for someone like Volinir, it could be outright fatal. Strong bones weren't something his kind were known for. It would've worked flawlessly, if it weren't for one tiny problem. The Symenestra had seen him coming. When the man took his swing, Volinir, who was already in the process of turning, ducked underneath the mug and spun full circle, carving bloody furrows into the hapless ambusher's ribs with his obsidian colored claws. The man shrieked in pain and dropped the tankard. Pot belly crumpled to his knees, his face beet-red. The lecher was out cold at this point, sputtering on the filthy floor. Occasionally, a bit of green and silver vomit spurted out of his mangled mouth. Puck by this time had managed to stumble to his feet, and charged madly at Tock, swinging a wild hay-maker at her jaw. Volinir in the meantime lunged forward, his fangs extending to their full length as he tried to latch onto the man's arm and reduce a good part of it into something one would expect to find in one of the many mugs strewn across the floor. "Somebody get a paladin!" a panicked voice squeaked.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

There was a certain predictability to the chaos of a bar fight. Someone bumped into someone else, a swung fist hit the wrong person, someone ducked under a hurled mug and it hit the man behind him. Before long, a huge brawl had started, and no one could even remember who was fighting who, or why it had all begun. It became a mess of individual moments, with someone stuck facing a single enemy only for a few swings, before someone was shoved away, and someone else approached. Tock took a hit to the face from Puck, but the man was tackled by someone else for no apparent reason. Stumbling, Tock staggered to the side, her jaw aching from the blow. She stumbled into someone else, and the man's drink was spilled all over his nice shirt. He yelled, "What the hell, bitch!?" and swung a fist at her. He clipped her eye, but she half-stumbled/half-dodged out of the way and only took a minor hit. Growling, she rammed into the man, wrapping both arms around him and shoving him back until he slammed onto his back on the table behind him. She elbowed him in the gut twice, then staggered back, glancing around for someone else to fight. She saw a big man taking advantage of the chaos to drag the barmaid off, and she quickly guessed what his intentions were. She grabbed a chair and smashed it over the man's back and shoulders, and he went down in a heap. Then she heard someone calling for a 'paladin.' She wasn't sure what that word meant, but the context made her assume it meant guard. That meant it was time to get the hell out of here. She patted the dark haired stranger's arm and told him, "Oy, law man's comin', best git on out, aye?" She hurried for the door, ducking under a fist that came at her, though the assailant managed to land another blow against her ribs. She groaned in pain, staggering and doubling over for a moment. She grabbed the first weapon she could find, a broken piece of the chair she'd just swung, and thrust it at the man. She shanked him in the side with the jagged piece of wood, and he stumbled back, screaming in pain. The wood wasn't sharp enough to go deep, and it wouldn't be a fatal wound by any means, but it drove him back long enough for Tock to get out the door.

[Volinir Orchid]

It was pandemonium. The sight of blood had the bar erupting into violence like a swarm of starved sharks. Volinir grabbed the screaming assailant's hair, nails digging into his scalp, and bashed his head against the counter top for good measure before a chair slammed into his head and shoulder, knocking him onto the ground and sending him skidding a few feet. He blanched as he rolled on the floor to escape the stampede of trampling feet, a heavy heel nicking him in the eyebrow. The other attacker collapsed with a concussion and a rapidly dissolving shoulder. He finally managed to find a spare inch of air and sprang up to his feet, sprinting over to the bar and vaulting over it. The fragility of his frame wasn't something he was particularly happy about. It was true that it let him run fast: faster than most humans. But it also meant he had to be careful just standing in line. In an all out rumble like this, he had no place on the ground. So he gathered up an armful of bottles and skittered up the wall into a corner, the miniscule hooks in his hands and feet extending without conscious thought. Once there, he began hurling the improvised projectiles at the brawlers, not paying much attention to who he hit. Not that it would have made much difference in the writhing orgy of bodies that had become the tavern floor. He caught sight of the would-be-rapist, and sent a bottle of cognac hurtling his way. The missile shattered harmlessly on the wall, though it caused the man to pause and look up to locate the source of the flying glass. More than enough time for Tock to snatch up the chair and crack the fool's skull. Around the same time he fell, Volinir heard the cry for a paladin. His already pale skin turned bone white. Ebonstryfe. He didn't know who this red-headed girl was, but he'd be petched before he let those goose-stepping bastards near the only person to show him a scrap of sympathy in this city. When he was down to one bottle of brandy, he hopped down, landing with a thud in an empty edge of the bar. A gentlemen with a rather extravagant mustache sailed across a table and crashed into him. Volinir crumpled against the wall, the room swimming in front of him for a few seconds before his sight returned to normal. His ribs were on fire, but desperation gave his limbs strength as he shoved the brawler off his lap and dashed into the fray, determined to find Tock. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of red, but in the chaos of the fight he could do little more than duck and weave to avoid being shattered into tiny pieces. Suddenly he felt a tap on his arm and a very welcome voice in his ear. "Oy, law man's comin', best git on out, aye?" Volinir nodded emphatically, his eyes wide as he grabbed onto Tock's hand and followed her towards the door. When a brawler bashed her in the ribs, he slashed viciously at his face, rending his cheek open. That, combined with the broken piece of wood lodged in his stomach, bought them enough time to clear the door; and not a second too soon. A small crowd had gathered around the outside of the tavern, and a line of four fully armored hulks were cutting through the gaggle, the two in the middle carrying long scrolls. The others were wielding halberds. "Know anywhere we can go?" Volinir muttered to his fellow instigator as the Ebonstryfe lined up along the wall near the door and opened the scrolls. Everyone inside the tavern was blown onto their backs by blasts of wind, but the Symenestra and the Sunberthan were not included in their number.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

This was why you didn't stick around to see how the fight ended. When Tock saw the armored men approach, she stood next to a random stranger, and pretended to peer inside curiously, just like everyone else. Had she been running, she would have looked guilty. The 'Paladins,' whatever they were, would have pursued anyone who looked to be fleeing the scene. So instead she acted like just another bystander, until all four guards were inside, putting a stop to the fight. As soon as it was momentarily clear, she started walking, NOT running, away. She kept a brisk but casual pace, and turned the first corner she found. Belatedly realizing that the stranger was following her lead, she whispered to him, "Act innocent, aye?" She didn't know the first thing about this stranger, and she wasn't about to get herself arrested over him. A few more turns here and there brought them to a canal. Tock hopped into the first boat she found waiting for passengers, and told the driver, "Down 'ere, an' left at the big blue 'ouse." She sat back and relaxed as the boat took them off. Tock had no clue where they were going; she had barely been in the city two weeks, and didn't have a clue how to get anywhere. Right now, 'away from the scene of the crime' was all that mattered.

[Volinir Orchid]

To say a redhead and a Symenestra, both bloodied and covered in silver liquor stood out would be an understatement. Still, the four soldiers were too busy to pay attention to two people minding their own business when twenty were still trying to claw each others' eyes out. Volinir nodded subtly to her as they walked away from the wrecked tavern. When they were finally being carried away to relative safety, he slumped into his seat, exhausted. His ribs were still screaming in agony, and he suspected he might have cracked one. He looked over and smiled weakly at Tock. His opinion of humans had never been very high, and his treatment so far hadn't brought them any higher. Right now though, there was no room for scorn or racial pride. Perhaps he was just happy someone said a sentence to him that didn't have the words "spider" or "freak" in it. "I... Thank you..." he finally stammered out, staring down at his crimson stained hands.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock slowly worked her jaw, prodding her cheek and jawbone tenderly with her fingers. She wasn't missing any teeth, but she tasted blood inside her mouth nonetheless. She'd had worse, though. Of course, a nice salve or something to stop the inevitable swelling would certainly be nice. She glanced at the stranger and said, "No worries, mate. Ain't right what fer blokes ta done bully on someone like 'at." She shrugged. She hadn't really done it to 'save' him. She just didn't like bullies. The stranger was a bit odd looking. Stringy hair, pale skin, and really long fingernails for a guy. In the chaos of the fight she hadn't quite caught on to his 'special moves,' nor did she even know what a Symenestra was. She didn't have any schooling, and the part of the world she had lived in was quite primarily human in population. She had met Konti, heard about Kelvics and some other races. But Kalinor and the Symenestra were so very far away from her limited world that she just had no idea they existed. And with there only being 900 of them on the entire planet, it should be no surprise that she wasn't familiar with them. The most she had heard was vague stories of 'spider folk' that she had mostly passed off as superstition. Besides, even if she HAD known what the man was, she wouldn't care. People were people, and Tock considered everyone in the world equals, from the lowliest slaves to the Gods themselves. "Serves 'em right, anywho," she said, spitting a little blood over the side of the boat into the canal. "Maybe what teach 'em next time fer not ta go 'round pickin' on a chap what's mindin' 'is own business, aye?"