Fable - Ask C'mere, Chimera!

[Quinton]

Spoiler: Music IC

In the village of Shroudshire, life was slow and simple, like the little strokes on a piano toward the eve of slumber, or the slumber of eve, or like night’s tide when the storm has gone away, or maybe like the gliding of a bow on the strings of a violin by a drunken patron who is yet as skilled and masterful as a drillmaster with one hand filled.

Though, if one patron was being totally honest, and was asked to summarize what he saw in this establishment, he would recite the above nonsense without having any idea what the heck it meant to begin with.

Thing is, this little thing called a halfling was minding his own business in the only tavern in the village. It was a warm day in this area of the Allir Reach near Alliria. Now it was evening. He had woken up that day to a nice hot cup of tea, what little he had left in his backpack from yestereve’s camping trip. One thing led to another and there he was in The Good Old Cabbage tavern of Shroudshire eating good ol’ cabbage that fortunately wasn’t so old and it came with beef.

Instead of tea he was sipping ale. He had a whole half already but then he found out it came in pints so he just had to get one. Biding his time as the night gave way, with a cool breeze outside, threatening to rain, there was a roaring fire in the center of the tavern whilst he idled in a corner; malt beer on the table beside him with its boisterous patrons; and a plate meat ripe off the bone right before him.

He had been thirsty. He had been hungry. He still was both, honestly, and he had his hot food to keep him company. This halfling had long since discovered that he was his own best friend, needed only his own company to be content if not happy, only himself. Just as well. His privacy tonight allowed him to listen to the live band and a female elven woman singing with lyrics alongside violins and drums and some instrument he didn’t quite recognize but it sounded fabulous.

“C’mere, Chimera!
O ye of mighty fire!
O beast of stamina!
Burn higher O higher!

C’mere, Chimera!
O body of a goat!
Lion’s head, O I know!
Serpent’s tail, I tell ya!"

Quinton listened, Quinton grinned, looking O so innocent.
Sitting alone but not lonely, eating, drinking in his corner.
Many patrons around him—here to escape in this tavern.
Waiting for him, you see, a thief, O a halfling pickpocket.

Maranae

 

[Maranae]

Yet another errand sent out of the city, as though the Master craved his privacy and sought to send his apprentice far enough away that he could have the shop to himself for a day or two. Every man needed to be alone with their own thoughts every now and again, yes? Surely it was so for him as it was for any other.

It wasn't as though he had asked for an apprentice. It wasn't as if he'd ever been saddled before with one so green and so naive of the world. And yet...

She walked down the road in the twilight, steel pan strapped to her back in place of the blade it had been made from. It was an inexpertly crafted thing, misshapen and uneven in thickness. But it was hers, and she had made it with her own hands and she cherished it above and beyond any worldly possession she owned. It was strapped atop a long and thin bundle wrapped in cloth, secured to her back by straps. (There were not many worldly possessions for her. She was not driven by greed or jealousy or lust. Unless it was for food, of course! But who wouldn't be in that case?)

Picture her thus: simple clothes creased and much mended, a mane of long fiery hair that framed an oval face festooned with freckles and set with gleaming yellow topaz eyes with slitted pupils. She was quite tall, with the willowy build and form of one in their adolescence. The tips of overlong canines jutted from her lower lips. She moved with a predatory grace that was at odds with her innocent appearance.

Pretty and strange. Young looking enough to not be on the road at night in the countryside, and certainly so much so that - have followed the scent of food and the sound of music for a couple of miles - she did not belong in a tavern after the sun had dipped below the horizon.

She stood in the door, eyes gleaming in the light from within. Her eyes darted round the few patrons that occupied the tables; there were not many at this hour. Truth to tell there were not many, period. This place was off the beaten path and away from the trade routes.

Some of them looked up at her as she opened the door. "Where is Mister Tapton?" she asked after a moment, each word careful and deliberate and slow. There was no preamble, no salutation. Just an unanswered question. And, gnawing at the edges as always, hunger deepened by the scent wafting through the air.

 

[Quinton]

In retrospect, the lack of (too) many patrons meant that the thief’s work was cut out for him. It was a lot easier to navigate between a sea of bodies, negotiate his way throughout a crowd, picking this pocket and pocketing the contents of that purse, without anyone even noticing of the half-man’s existence to begin with.

However, the live music helped. A tavern need not be busy for there to be a band of this character and caliber. That meant attention would be diverted to the makeshift stage and its singer’s fables before the roaring fireplace. That meant eyes and ears would not be trained toward tables.

Granted, this was just strategy and tactics at the moment as the halfling planned this evening’s events for his thievery tactics. No one would know it. No one had noticed his presence in this establishment except when he spoke up for something along the lines of meat and mead.

Someone arrived just then. A newcomer from the outside night and into the artificial daytime that was inside this tavern. She didn’t look like anything special but could be on another level with her possessions. Quinton had met the richest poor person and the poorest rich person in his travels.

Let’s see what she does. He’s too distant to pick up on whatever it was she had spoken. Did she appear to be a little lost? Where she sits. What she eats. Perhaps, perhaps not, but for now Quinton sits, he eats, he listens, he watches. Let’s see.

Maranae

 

[Maranae]

"At this hour? Asleep, girl," a man at one of the tables replied to her, looking up from a wooden mug of something sour smelling to her nose. She remained in the doorway, eyes swiveling to the man that spoke and locking on until someone else grumbled about closing the door.

Maranae started at the annoyed words, but stepped inside. She took a deep breath through her nose and went glassy-eyed as she processed all the wonderful (and not so wonderful) things she could smell in here.

After a moment, her eyes wandered the room. They immediately fixed on a short fellow seated at a table with a drink nearly as large as he was. Maranae had never seen a halfling before (not that she could remember, at least) and so she rushed over to his table even as the owner of this particular establishment was making his way to ask what, precisely, she wanted.

Her face split in an ear-to-ear grin. Most would be forgiven if their first go-to was an ancient fairy tale: My, what big teeth you have there, grandma! If not for the outwardly friendly appearance, it might have been intimidating. Hers was the mouth of some kind of predatory cat.

"What are you?" She asked without any preamble. Her words were still slow and precise, but the teeth made them slur a little too.There was no guile and there was no malice in the question either; curiosity shone in her big yellow eyes. Possibly the curiosity of child.

 

[Quinton]

Quinton was taken aback for two reasons. The first reason was because of this giant girl rushing toward him. The second reason was because of her ear-splitting grin. Not ear-splitting as in the sense of it being loud except, in a sense, it's akin to synesthesia or something, but in the sense of being wide and a bit intimidating despite the outwardly friendly appearance.

My, what big teeth you have! Quinton blinked. He didn’t grin. She asked him a question as he just sat there squeezing his tankard of frothy foamy ale, wondering if whether he takes another sip should he take his eyes off of whoever she and whatever this is? She just might eat me the same time I eat my meat.

Then again, the more he looked at her, the more she appeared to him to be a curious cat rather than some werewolf who might bite him. Childish, even, after a fashion. Chewing on her question as to what he is, Quinton finally decided to take a hearty swig of his dark beverage.

“Thirsty.” He swallowed a sliver of cabbage. “Hungry too.” Washed it down with another sip. “You?”

Maranae

 

[Maranae]

She cocked her head to the side, confused at the answer. It was clear as day on her face that she did not understand how thirst or hunger defined what one was.

"But children should not drink that," she said, and pointed to his drink meaningfully. She cut her eyes to look at the cabbage and made a face of disgust. "And that is not food," she continued carefully, each word - each syllable - falling into place precisely. Neither the cabbage nor the swill appealed to her; she could smell both quite keenly so close.

"She ... I am always hungry," she added after a bit, the pause at the beginning seeming like someone shifting gears and correcting herself. As if in agreement, her stomach squirreled and rumbled.

She bent down low so that her eyes were level with his and perhaps too uncomfortably close. Personal space was a subject she did not necessarily understand so well, either. "That ... brown stuff. It smells bad," she said. To a complete stranger than never invited her over. As if he cared what she thought.

 

[Quinton]

Quinton tilted his head, baffled by this creature’s statement about children not drinking what he was drinking that moment. It wasn’t as if he was going to offer it to the kid! He definitely wasn’t surprised to find that this child cringed at the sight and scent of cabbage. Sliced, spiced and peppered to delight.

The girl’s rumbling stomach was not convincing anyone that she wasn’t hungry especially with her statement about being hungry. If this halfling was in her position then he wouldn’t have walked up to someone on an empty stomach. He would have entered this tavern, gone straight to the counter to be closer to the kitchen, and ordered the heaviest ale and toughest meat he could order!

“You mean this?” Quinton traded cabbage for beef, stabbing a cut of it onto his fork, pointing it toward the girl. “Salty. Smoky. Sweet. Juicy. Smells like a dwarven oven. Tastes like the tongue of a dragon. Finest cut of beef from the bloodiest gut you could ever dream of eating!” Quinton chomped his teeth. “Try some?”

Maranae

 

[Maranae]

If Quinton had any idea who or, more importantly, what he was talking to he would not have mentioned bloody anything. She had eaten some pretty bloody guts.

Some of them were even dead at the time.

She drew in a deep breath of the piece of meat which only made her more hungry. The description didn't exactly mean much to her; she found most food that had been properly cooked was not right by her sense of taste. Even the frying pan that she carried, if used in conjunction with a meal, was more or less done because humans and others like them only thought it proper to burn flesh before eating it.

She stared at the morsel with unrepressed longing but shook her head (her eyes remaining locked on the food regardless of how she turned her head). "Not that," she said slowly. She pointed at the mug with its dark and frothy concoction. "That. Smells bad," she repeated. She absently wiped at a thread of drool. Her mind was hard wired to her nose at that moment, and it was actually difficult to isolate out the scent of the alcohol from the scent of meat.

Especially when she was brutally hungry.

 

[Quinton]

Quinton barely stifled a frown at this little character’s rebuttal of the gifted beef. Did it smell bad or something? The next moment the child pointed at the halfling’s ale. “Smells bad?” he repeated. “That there is every tavern’s certainty to keeping open and in business as long as people like me exist.”

He knew that she probably didn’t know what he meant but it was just as well. “Yet ale is not something I shall be offering you as I did with meat. Sorry, kid.” They might be about the same height but he wasn’t going to dwell in a jail cell for the night.

“So, no meat, no ale, let’s see…” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Ah! You like music? Have a seat! Listen!”

The singer had all but vanished from the scene as the band drifted into lyricless music, instruments, lutes and hurdy-gurdy's and entertainment for a certainty.

"Japers always said 'you can fill your stomach with meat and mead but only your ears with the sweet kiss of music'." Quinton shrugged. "Granted, he was drunk."

Maranae