Private Tales NO YOU

[Visha Sofka]

"Hey, hey, hey!" Nicholai clapped his hand over Visha's mouth. "Not so gosh-darned loud!"

The two of them had just passed through the busy gates into Oban, and Nicholai was already ruing the day. Did someone curse him? Did a divination spell backfire or something? How on the green fields of Arethil did he keep running into Visha Sofka. You know the one. Everybody knew the one. The fire-smitten, Sparhawk-worshipper that the College, quite rightfully, had expelled. Why had his mother so impressed upon him to invariably be a gentlemen to the womenfolk? She might well eat her own words if she, too, encountered this very same pyromancer. But as it was, Nicholai, yet again, was helplessly being nicer than he ought.

He let his hand slide away from Visha's mouth. Soon as he did, she said flatly, "Fuck."

A trifle aghast, Nicholai blinked rapidly and said, "W-What?"

Visha exposed the teeth of her grin like an obsessed butcher did his knives. "You can say fuck. It's got more punch! Like this: not so ~FUCKING~ loud!"

For reasons Nicholai was too prudish and horrified to speculate, Visha had not only yelled the profanity but had done so in a husky, provocative moan. Nicholai flinched as if his trousers had suddenly dropped down to his ankles, and, more than a trifle aghast now, he glanced around rapidly at the Festival passersby on the avenue (none of which truly seemed to care, other than a few brief and curious gazes).

Nicholai thought his best course of action was to just get back onto the point. He swished his hands in front of himself in a frantic Stop gesture, and said, "No, no, no, Visha, please. Listen. I don't know if you've ever been to Oban before, but things are different here. So whatever you do, don't say anything, anything, about you--" he lowered his voice "--having magic!"

Visha just crossed her arms and inclined her chin so far up that her head might've rolled off of her shoulders. "You don't need to worry about me! Only I'm allowed to worry about me! Thanks for getting me in the gate! I owe you a favor I'll never repay!"

Nicholai frowned, let out a long and dubious ehhhhhhh, and said, "Okay. That's great. So, all I need to do is take notes for my report on the Festival of Feathers. Can you, uh...keep it together long enough for me to do that?"

"I'm your scribe! I take the best notes, I'll have you know! If you cheated off of me, you wouldn't have gotten expelled from the College, Nicholai, you ever think about that, huh!?"

"No, Visha, that--" Somebody bumped into Nicholai from behind and he turned and apologized profusely for having gotten into the man's way and then turned back around and when he did he noticed, quite clearly, that Visha had vanished, "...was you."

He blinked. One long, slow blink.

"Oh my god."

* * * * *

FARTS AND FEATHERS​

The proprietor of the Farts and Feathers tavern didn't give a damn. Not about the name of his establishment, not about fight club and criminal hub beneath his floorboards in the basement, and certainly not about the ruckus his current crop of patrons was engaged in.

Everyone in the tavern was stomping their feet. EVERYONE! And Visha was trying her best to be the loudest. No, she was the loudest, and if anyone said otherwise, she'd feed them their own fingernails! She was stomping her boot onto the hardwood, slamming down her tankard onto the table she sat at, and belting out the chorus along with all of the other drunk bastards in the tavern. So she was a little tipsy! Big deal! It's not like she bought the ale--Nicholai did! Wherever he was, he was probably wondering where his coin purse had gone. Who said Visha never repaid a favor, huh? Huh??

THIS BARD WAS ON FIRE! Not literally, which was the only thing that sucked, but other than that, HE WAS ON FIRE!

Visha got swept up in all of the excitement and jumped out of her seat and onto the top of the table, the three burly sailors she had been sitting with all momentarily surprised and then each giving a shout of "Ayyyy!" She raised her tankard high into the air and ale sloshed over the side and splashed onto the table and every other patron raised theirs in turn. Visha stomped her heel onto the tabletop with redoubled vigor and together she and the whole of the tavern shouted as loud as could be the final chorus of the bard's song.

A POWERFUL FINISH!

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

Just another day for Finnick the Amorous to please the countryside with his wonderful and glorious tunes. After all, the man was a legend, in his own right. At least, that's what every tavern wench between Nordengaard and the Black Bay, and everywhere in-between believed. His strut through the city would be added up with the.. moan.. of a damsel? From the sound of it, she was faking, poor dear. But the sound was still ever music to his ears. He'd be sure to capture that later in song.

Later....

Ah.. Farts and Feathers. Quite the tavern for one such as Finnick to find himself in, but by the gods was he killing it again. The crowd knew the chorus, which made his job easier. Much easier. He could sing for an unnatural length of time due to his magic. Not that any of these idiots could tell.

His show was filled with acrobatics, naturally occurring spurts of fire, and enough flair to make a Fae blush and clutch their pearls. He had just back-flipped off of a man's shoulders as the audience carried on the chorus.

"We snuffed the magic dragon, smote her hatchlings in two! Stuck her with some pointy sticks, and covered her corpse in fuel!"

As they sang he drained a random patrons tankard before discarding it with a grin. At their completion, he would bring home the last line. "Some may call us murderers, breakers of the fam! So our band of victorious heroes, are going on the lam," A hearty laugh. "Fleeing fast and furious, back to save the day!" He would pull his sword free from its scabbard, while one hand continued on with the notes. "We proudly hoist the missing sword and singing all the way, say.."

Roaring the patrons would take it from there. "We snuffed the magic dragon, smote her hatchlings in two! Stuck her with some pointy sticks, and covered her corpse in fuel!"

While they finished the song, Finnick would flip his sword and shift his stance, allowing the blade to land cleanly back into its scabbard. Timed with the last word, Finnick would then take the tankard of a very excited young lady who had joined him atop the table and took a swig, before spitting the ale through the nearest torch for a spurt of flame.

@Visha

 

[Visha Sofka]

"AH HA! AH HA HA HA!"

Visha bounced on her heels and clapped vigorously as the performance came to a close. And what a close it was! Who gave the bard a hint about what she liked to see? How did he know!? He was a good guesser, or there was a rat scurrying about! Didn't matter! That was a great trick. Not the sword thing--Visha could pull that off blindfolded so long as imaginary swords counted--but the fire! THE FIRE!

"That's my second favorite thing to do with ale!" she said. "Here, lemme try, lemme try."

Visha grabbed for the tankard in the bard's hand and tipped it so that ale would slosh over into her open mouth. It did, mostly, but it also splashed onto her cheeks and dripped off of her chin and ran down her neck. Then she set her sights on the same torch the bard had spat drink at, pretending to make a spyglass out of one curled hand and take aim.

She spat the ale.

Missed horribly, pelting some unlucky patron with a shower of ale all over the back of his head.

And, having leaned over much too far, she started to teeter forward, her arms flailing for balance and finding none.

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

The girl was an energetic one, that was for certain.. and.. familiar? Was she one of those maidens that followed him town to town? Nay, that couldn't be it. Could it? With a grin, however, he offered his stolen tankard. "Why of course, my dear. Its all in the spray control."

This one was two of his favorite things: Drunk and by all current accounts, possibly loose. "Envision the target. Be the ale." He would coach her. "Ready, aim, loose!"

She spat. She missed. At least the flame, she scored a direct hit on some now very angry patron. To make matters worse, she was now falling. He would quickly hop down as the drunk maiden fell at the slowest pace he had ever seen. One hand outstretched to press against her chest to keep her balanced. He had to say, the breastologist in him could have sworn this was a pair he had felt before. An even more concerning matter.

"My friend!" He addressed the now angry and soaked patron, with his trademark grin. "I humbly ask you walk away."

The guy and three of his friends took a step forward. "Listen here, bard. We ain't like that dragon in the tale.. We's real. Now hand ova'the strumpet."

That hand would ease her back until she was balanced once more. "I have known many strumpets in my time, good man. And she does not have the attire. Nor would I question the validity of the song."

"Just hand her o-ahh!" The man would get caught off as Finnick grabbed ahold of his ear and bounced the mans head off of the table.

Holding it there, his dagger would plung into the wood before the neck, before Finnick eased it back, the steel pressing against his throat. "If either of you men are feeling froggy, I pray thee to jump." The surrounding patrons would cheer in support of the bard.

Visha Sofka

 

[Visha Sofka]

"What a soft landing, wow!" Visha exclaimed as she was still leaning over the table, steadied by the bard's hand upon her chest. "I couldn't have planned it better myself!" And, immediately destroying what she had just said, "That's me being humble!"

Hey, that bald guy who caught all of her ale on his shiny dome wasn't too happy about it. Well he shouldn't be, look at that head, it's enormous! A griffin could lay all of her eggs on it and still have room to invite over a friend to the nest. How'd he even get through the door?? Where was Nicholai when you needed him? Write this down your report, Nicholai!

Visha, able to climb down from the table without landing face first on the floor, stood beside the bard as Smooth Skull and three of his friends were getting rowdy. Ha! Rowdy! What they didn't know was that Visha learned this neat new thing called "martial arts" from Hanuman, and if they wanted to get rowdy, she could absolutely show them how to spell R-O-W-D-I-E, alright! And she spelled it with an "ie" on the end to make it extra scary!

(In truth, Visha was still quite horrendous at anything in the realm of hand-to-hand combat, and her "martial arts" would amount to little more than an overly flashy display intending to distract before attempting to launch a swift kick to the groin.)

She dogpiled immediately on ripping into the man once the bard had his head pinned down to the table, hands on her hips and leaning precariously forward. "Yeah! Jump! Oooo, wait, finding that hard!? I'm the most renowned strumpet player in all of Dalriada and don't you forget it!"

The proprietor of the tavern, ol' Fladdagast himself, came over to Finnick, Visha, and the bald man and his three comrades, saying with raised hands, "Gentlemen, gentlemen, why don't you all settle this..." a sly smirk crossed his expression, "...downstairs?"

Visha's eyes lit up with a devilish glee--the fight club! She'd overheard a few of the patrons talking about it before the songs had got going and the tavern was filled with clamor. She looked up to the bard and clapped one hand onto his chest and grabbed at his arm with the other. "Ohhhh! Do it! Do it! DO IT DO IT DO IT! I'll cheer for you!!"

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

She wasn't wrong. They were very soft. As was the landing. He could only smirk as Visha proved her humility to the scoundrels, aptly pointing it out since there was sure to be no way those dullards could tell.

Finnick shot Visha with a wink as she hopped in and began to accost their bravery, or lack thereof. Then the owner approached, ol' Fladdagast. He hoped for the mans confidence that wasn't truly his name. It was.. an awful name. But, he came with an offer in the form of the fight club. Murder. Paid murder. That was Finnicks third favorite variation of the act.

He would lift the dagger and shove Cue Ball into his three friends, glancing at the red haired woman as she began to grab ahold of him. He would mirror her movements: one hand on the chest the other on her arm. He was also more certain then ever he had felt them before. "My dear, I have no doubt you would." He glanced back at Fladdagast. "I want seventy five percent of the house winnings for the fight. It will be to the death and I will fight them all at the same time."

Visha Sofka

 

[Visha Sofka]

Visha flashed a licentious look up to the bard when again he cupped her breast, sly smirk and all. Handsy! She got handsy too, especially when she was tipsy and especially especially when she was drunk. You know what this meant? WAR! She was so handsy that if Sneezies were big hands instead of big noses she'd be Queen Sneezy! Get that mental image out of your head! Look at me. I'm wearing the crown now.

Meanwhile, Fladdagast stroked his chin, considering the proposal from Finnick. "Hard bargain, you drive there." Buuuuut...deathmatches did draw in the biggest crowds, who among them contained the biggest gamblers. The whole of the crowd of Farts and Feathers was engaged in this conflict--Fladdagast had an ear for murmur and the collective thoughts of his patrons, he did. If they all went downstairs to watch, even at a coin a head that'd be a killing (this wasn't even counting the betting ol' Fladdagast would get his cut on). And twenty-five percent of that was a whole lot better than letting this opportunity slip away.

Heh. Velaeri as ol' Fladdagast's witness, this bard sure knew how to drive a hard bargain. "Seventy-five percent. Alright, you got yourself a deal."

"You bet he does!" Visha said, both hands clutching greedily to Finnick's bicep and rocking his arm around. "You'd be a bark-chewing IDIOT if you turned that down, Mr. Barkeep! If that is your real name!"

Fladdagast had a chuckle at Visha's antics, but the bald man and his three friends were all serious, glancing and discussing among themselves. The name of the bald man himself, Jonas, came up. Then Jonas turned back to Finnick and Visha and Fladdagast, he and his mates all self-assured in their chances with the four of them and not at all worried that the fight was to be to the death. "Same for us if we win. Seventy-five percent."

Fladdagast agreed.

"And we get the girl."

"FUCK YOU, I'M IN!"

And Jonas smirked, revealing a set of teeth that was missing an incisor on his right side. "Well then, we got ourselves a deal."

The whole tavern erupted into a raucous cheer. What they had thought was going to be a relatively mundane day, Festival or no Festival, was now going to feature a viscerally thrilling bloodsport.

"AH HA! I knew it was a good idea not to burn this place down yet!" Visha said, her words so enclosed by the general clamor of the tavern that only Finnick could really catch them. Her eyes were blazing with excitement. "What's your name? Huh? Whatsyername, whatsyername, whatsyername--NO! Wait! Lemme guess! I love to play guessing games! Give me a hint!"

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

Looked like she didn't mind his hand, which meant this was definitely a shared experience before. Now he just had to try to remember her. Her hands drifted to his bicep and his hand moved to the other side of her chest. Encouragement, or support. Some sort of luck accompanied by a grin.

Flabbergast accepted. Then the salt girls put forth their addition: the girl. She accepted. Poor bastards. They had no idea what they had agreed to. So the bard just smiled. "Then it's settled, ill be making seventy five percent of the winnings, ill get the girl, and your families will pay your funeral expenses. Give them a half hour to say goodbye?" He offered to the owner.

His gaze shifted to the woman and the hand at her breast would drift to stroke her cheek and then tuck some of her fire read hair behind her ear. "Finnick, the Amorous." He added a wink with the last part. "And you?"

Visha Sofka

 

[Visha Sofka]

Fladdagast tipped his hat to Finnick. "Half an hour. You got it." Plenty of time to hype up the bout and squeeze as much coin as he could out of the patrons.

Visha, meanwhile, had herself a big think on the reveal of Finnick's name.

Finnick, the Amorous, huh? Ha! Almost fooled me! There's no way he'd just TELL me his name straightforward like that. Oldest trick in the book, and I ate the book and have all the knowledge and nothing gets by me. BUT WAIT! Oh...clever. Clevvvvvver. What if...yeah...what if he knew that I knew that he wouldn't just tell me his name straightforward, so he told it to me backwards!? Amorous, the Finnick! I've found you out, you dirty dog! BUT WAIT! What if...yeah...what if he knew that I knew that he knew that I knew that he wouldn't just tell me his name straightforward, making me think he must be telling it to me backwards, and so DID tell it to me straightforward!? Now I have you!

Visha, with a half-lidded gaze and lips folded open into a victorious investigator's smirk, said, "I've got you alllll~ figured out, Finnick."

She slapped a hand to her chest just beneath her throat and declared, "And I am VISHA! SOFKA! The College is for LOSERS so here I am! Liadain isn't ready for me and neither is Epressa! I'm the one who covered the magic dragon's corpse in fuel and I LOVED it!"

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

As Finnick turned to the red haired woman, he watched as she experienced a factory reset in real time. Silence upon hearing his name for many long moments then...

"I've got you alllll~ figured out, Finnick."

Fuck. She was onto him. He had no idea what that meant in this moment, but perhaps he was right. A stalker, a slighted love! The list was so long!

Visha. Sofka. College. He did know this girl, it had been awhile. He offered a grin. "My darling Visha, its been awhile since Elbion." He has definitely felt those breasts before. "Ah-haa!! And I have the magic sword!"

A hearty laugh before his hand moved to her lower back and he guided her to the bar, signaling for two drinks. "I should have asked for two hours." He grinned. "Definitely don't have enough time for what I want to do."

 

[Visha Sofka]

Fladdagast was hawking as hard as could be, encouraging the patrons to come on downstairs, no, go and grab a friend or two first, then come on back and enjoy the show! Jonas and his posse didn't look worried at all, and were gleefully chatting it up with any and all of the other regulars of the Farts and Feathers tavern who wanted to share their concern or pump them up.

"Ooooh, the magic sword, huh. I'll be the judge of that! If it doesn't shoot fire from the tip, then I'll boil your teeth! Mwahaha!"

Either the comment about Elbion went right over her head or Visha was concealing a reaction to it.

Free drinks! Yes! Nicholai's generous donations could wait for another time. Another day, another coin. And then when she ran out and ran back into him he could make another unwittingly generous donation to the cause of GREAT MAHO as was only right!

One of Fladdagast's barmaids skipped right along to it, grabbing two freshly cleaned tankards and popping open a new cask of ale on the shelf behind her to pour drink into them.

"Don't have enough time!? Ha!" Visha stabbed herself in the chest with a proud thumb. "I always have enough time! And if time doesn't like it, I'll slap Aionus so hard Astra feels it!" Then, inexplicably, while doodling some intricate design on Finnick's chest with a finger, "Shh! Shhh-shhh-shhh, just go with it."

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

"Oh trust me, my dear, it shoots supa hot fire." He said with a smirk. "Teeth boiling, that sounds.. impressive to say the least." The girl was just as nuts as he remembered, and he was with it. Who better to break her off then the Amorous?

That was rhetorical, nobody was better than he. For anyone. He leaned against the counter casually, setting down payment for the drinks and slid one tankard over to Visha. "Hear that, love?" He asked the barmaid with a grin. "Time is of no matter to her. What do you say?" His gaze shifted back to Visha, as his hand caressed her face. "Why don't you show us how that works, eh?"

Visha Sofka

 

[Visha Sofka]

Visha took a big pull of her drink as soon as it was slid over. She wasn't a drinker, but she loved being drunk! See? See how that worked? Now if only she could devise a way to skip the first part and prance at will into being drunk or not drunk, then she'd be even better! Her pyromancy was ten percent hotter when she was drunk, and she just made that number up! Imagine how high it would really be if she cut the bullshit!

Speaking of hot, her cheeks were quite warm to the touch. Something Finnick's hand wouldn't miss.

"C'mere!" Visha said, this in her best attempt at a conspiratorial whisper. She twirled a hand to entice him to lean down so she could speak into his ear. "C'mere, c'mere!"

Then she said, "If you win, we're going to do something with our clothes off!"

A girlish, only vaguely sinister giggle followed.

"And if you don't, we won't! Because you'll be dead!"

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

And boy were those cheeks warm. It was as if she had motorboated a trio of big breasted orcs from the Blightlands. Huh.. the Firebreather and the busty Orcettes. That had all the makings of a great song. Hed give that a mental notation.

The hand at her cheek would trail down her body, teasing her breast before finally coming to a stop at her waist as she told him to come closer. She 'whispered' and he was intrigued. He was always intrigued, thats how he got in trouble so much.

Naked things were his favorite things. Even if they weren't directly tied to sex. The fact he had to wear clothes all the time was a gross abuse of his rights. "Death or naked things. You got a goddamn deal." He said with a grin.


Visha Sofka

 

[Visha Sofka]

Mr. Handsy here! But here's a little secret: not all fires were the ones that could burn houses down! Visha wasn't a stranger to the fires that could get kindled between her thighs and in her belly, ohhh no. All of the things Finnick was doing with her breasts she'd done HERSELF! Yeah, you heard that right! How were you going to know if somebody else was any good at it if YOU weren't any good at it? There was an "X" in "dexterous fingers" for a reason! Ha, ha, gotcha!

Visha smiled broadly, not bothering to remove Finnick's hands. She reached over for her ale and took another big gulp and slammed it back down on the counter. Whoooo...if there was a line between tipsy and drunk Visha faceplanted right on it.

"Hey," she said, "hey, hey. Shh! Listen. If you die, can I cremate you? And if you don't die, can I still cremate you?"

She hiccupped. And giggled.

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

Finnick would watch her reaction to those wandering hands and given her little regard for them, he would be the gentleman and continue to grace her body with the compliments it had earned.

"If I die, you can cremate me and the guys who won. I lose, you can cremate them and smother me with these." He would say gesturing to her breasts. He thought it was a fair deal.

He would return the laugh before withdrawing his hands, and taking a long pull from his tankard, draining his glass. "I'll try to melt at least one face for you."

Visha Sofka

 

[Visha Sofka]

"You know what? You have a deal!" Visha said, making a big show of thumping her fists to her hips and puffing up her chest with pride, swishing her shoulders from side to side. "And I'm the most honest person on Arethil! I never go back on a deal! Except when I do! Will I do it this time? SHH! Shh..." She pressed a finger to his lips briefly. "That's the fun part! You won't know until you find out!"

She finished what was left of her ale in the tankard, tossing it carelessly over the counter with an upward flick of her hand.

"Let's go downstairs! You need to get nice and loose for the fight. And I know just how to do it. Trust me, I'm a physician!"

She was! She only slept in apothecary class every other day she had to take it. Therefore, it was only fifty percent boring!

Finnick

 

[Finnick]

A surprise deal with surprise twists and turns?! Sign him up! He was ready and willing to put his body on the line for some potential freakiness. I mean, who wouldn't be? All redheads were crazy and that was half the fun. Add some fire into the mix and you have the potential for a chardrake, one of the few lusty positions he had yet to attain.

"Oh-ho, a lady as bound to the truth as I. Color me.. intrigued." He was definitely going to cheat in the fight and likely cheat the deal with her. "An-" he was cut off by her finger against his lips. Her mistake. He licked the appendage then bit it, giving her a bit of a growl in the process.

He drained his tankard and tossed it to his favorite wench, the one he couldn't remember the name of.

"Downstairs we go. Can't wait to see how a trained physician limbers me up." Was she an actual physician? Eleven out of ten physicians would say no, but six out of two mathematicians would say he was bad at the maths. "Lead on, my feisty feline."

So, down the steps they went! To limber up... and to kill! At least he was.

Visha Sofka

 

[Visha Sofka]

"Right this way!" Visha said. She tripped over a barstool, arms flailing madly, but saved her balance in the nick of time and froze. Ah ha! Defeated her old nemesis again! No barstool could foil her now!

Down into the fight club. And like a lot of underground, hush-hush places, it was grungy. Grimy. The most powerful light in the room was in the center, a lantern hanging right over the fighting square, and the square itself was a collection of wooden planks most carpenters probably turned their noses up to haphazardly nailed down to the floor. Dark stains from old blood having seeped into the wood spotted the square.

There was a crowd already down there, of course, and Finnick and Visha came down right at the tail end of a fight, the loser being dragged off of the square by his mates. Coins were changing hands from disappointed faces to satisfied faces. A tall, burly, old orc with a long white beard fit for an ancient wizard seemed to be overseeing the whole affair, thick arms crossed and stern face studying everyone to make sure there was proper order to the illicit activities.

A few people saw Visha and Finnick reach the bottom of the stairs, and murmurs of "Oh, is that him?" and "The bard!" and "The deathmatch, he's in the deathmatch!" started up.

Visha surveyed each of the four corners of the square. She seemed to be in excessively deep thought, finger and thumb rubbing her chin as if she were (perhaps fittingly) trying to spark a fire.

"That one!" she exclaimed, pointing to the farthest corner from them. "That's the lucky one! You know how I know? HA! Silly question! The best part about being me is that I'm never wrong and I'm always right!"

Finnick