Getcher' Bags
- Location: The Thorn and Shadow (Collinsel)
- Participants: Angus, Malcolm, Sandy, Amos, Dangeon, Trace, Darkmane, Drystan, Frigg
The return march to the inn had been solemn and grueling, fraught with ankle-deep mud and regret, as the gang mulled over the harrowing happenings of the previous night. Their blind trust in a stranger had nearly cost them their hides, and the present mood suggests each is well aware of how narrowly that fate was escaped. A long-fingered hand grips the jamb of the cellar door, but Angus lingers in its threshold, mien grim. "He's still hangin' on, but that's about all he's doin', mates," the dragon informs any chums within earshot, rolling a sad glance over his shoulder. "Ye' think they poisoned 'im 'r somethin'? S'bloody bafflin'."
Malcolm is well aware of how close he came to actually dying. And over the trip, he's used every chance he got to remind them of how young he is and how close he came to never actually growing up. But after a while, that of course, got boring. The young lizard had found somewhere to settle into at the inn and hasn't really moved from his seat since, either taking a nap, or just resting with his eyes closed, arms folded as always.
Sandy had kept her promise. The whole way back from the harrowing church-fire, she had not said a single word, even doing her best to not comment on how annoying Malcolm was being. Up to this point, she had kept her mind entirely on the vial, and just who this 'weasel friend' of hers was supposed to be. Once she had arrived at the tavern, she didn't really say much. Just stuck close to the wildcat, not saying a word.
Amos has steared the hare towards the bar, easily of course given that she is a drink happy hare but seems to be mostly care free about the whole almost burning in a chapel to death ordeal. Instead he's already picking up his mug as Angus gives them the latest. The tender meanwhile is asking Dangeon what she wants, Amos having generously left coin on the bar for her to use as she likes. He turns on his stool after a quick sip, grins at the dragon despite being weary, "Don't'cha worry he'll be alright, always is and yeah I suppose it could be poison or somethin', " He shrugs, not seemingly over concerned and confident that they'll pull through in the end once more.
Dangeon is very happy at the bar. "Strongest.." The rest of her sentence lost in the mumble. She's having the strongest something, anyway. The doe can't help but eye the sudden increase in coin allowance with some suspicion, but she's not going to point it out. Her ears turn to keep a focus on the important conversations.
"Down the right tunnel, they said. Oh, it'll just be a few more metres. Just down this way, Trace. It won't take long." The door of the Thorn and Shadow slams open to allow a certain ratmaid entry. Only she doesn't quite enter right away, standing in the doorway as furious eyes look over the group within. Honestly, if anyone had ever had the opportunity to be terrified of Trace, now would be the most opportune time. Her normally immaculate coiffure is tossed about, her normally tidy clothes covered in a certain kind of murk. Her boots look as if she's walked through weeks of mud, and ... well, she stinks. Even from here. And she looks to be in a murderous rage. "The sewers.." she starts, slowly, finally walking in and allowing the door to shut behind her, "Are.. a horribly unpleasant place to spend a night when one is LOST."
Angus quirks a somewhat nettled brow at the feline optimism, but he coaxes a sham grin for his trek to the bar. Looming over Amos, the dragon claps a gregarious paw against his back, grunting, "Oh, aye. That's th' spirit, Amy. What would we ever do without yer' ever sunny outlook?" But the hand soon sloughs from the cat's shoulder; the monitor turns his focus to Trace. To her livid diatribe, he says nothing, but, then again, there is no real need: Angus, at least, still sports the bouquet and the grime of oh so recent events. If the rat is ruffled, the lizard looks like it just wormed its way off a spit, clothing singed and face sooty. He simply stares at Trace, though a mitt stealthily claps Amos' beer; the dragon lifts it, sipping thoughtfully, as he waits for the rat to finish her spiel.
Sandy put a paw in the pocket of her dress, just to make sure... Yup, the vial was still in it. She was starting to think that the beast they had been talking about might be the one... But before she could say anything, the door slammed opem; causing her to jump in surprise, looking startled. Once she saw the rat, she grimaced a bit; it seemed they weren't the only ones to have a night that ruined their clothes and dispositions. She didn't comment though, lest she bring on the wrath of someone she didn't know.
"Wallow and such I suspect, " Amos grins, ribbing the dragon a bit about last winter but soon turning his attention to the rat, "Golly, nice to see you Trace. Have a bit of fun in the sewers eh, ya missed all the danger and such!" The cat though does notice as Angus takes up his drink, looks up at the lizard, "Keep it, we can all use a stiff one, " The wildcat uncharistically generous tonight, perhaps something to do with being thankful that they've escaped with their lives yet again.
"Gah! What sme-... 'ello, Trace..." Dangeon, uh, greets as she turns her head to see the rat. "Glad to see y' bally well made it back t' us." She raises her mug a little, but can't help but wrinkle her nose.
Darkmane wanders down the stairs slowly as he surveys the room, his nose wrinkling slightly at Trace's smell as he makes his way over toward Dangeon "Heya sunshine, and greetings to all the rest of ya as well" each of them given a dip of the head in greeting, and the scent of strawberries seemingly following him as while the others might not might smelling bad he preferes staying clean which is why he was late to join tonights party.
"Oi." Angus wrenches himself from adult matters to rally the bartender. "Kin ye' get a bite fer th' kid, Snip?" There is a genial exchange; after a fortnight of rivalry, the dragon and keep, it would seem, have dropped their beef. Order placed, Angus lowers his rump to stool. This descent is marked by considerable caution, almost dainty. "Thank ye', Amy," he tells the cat, slurping from the mug again. "An' Dark. Looks like alla' toads are at th' pond this fine night, eh?" His eyes surf among the collected crew, then beyond them, to the remainder of the pub: a dull night at the Thorn and Shadow, its commons, barring staff and a palmful of regulars, empty. "Perhaps we should chat, mates." He thumps his thigh with a fist. "Chart our next course."
Malcolm's eyes open, raising his gaze to the crowd for a moment. He looks between everyone carefully before looking to the bar. Slowly, he stands up, and goes to the bar, ordering a drink. He doesn't exchange glances with anyone, snatching his mug when its offered before he starts to slowly return to his seat, settling down again and yawning once.
Sandy gets tired of standing up; she was on her feet for far too long. Taking a seat at the bar, she still doesn't say a word, but instead, pulls the vial out of the pocket of her dress, looking it over again. The badger's words about it come to her mind once again, and she repeats them to herself, though others might have been able to hear her... "You may need that to cure your weasel friend..." Thinking over those words, she looks to the others at the bar, frowning. "Do any of you know a weasel?"
Dangeon smiles as Darkmane arrives. And notes the strawberry smell. "Somebeast smells a lot better than I do..." She grins up at the horse then gestures to the coin and the drink. "Catboss 's payin'. Where've y' been?" She twitches one ear at Sandy and rubs her face... Of course, new to the group and such. "Er. A weasel's kind o'... in charge a lot o' the bally time... 's Stubb."
Darkmane chuckles wryly as he settles down alongside her "well, since you had already left i decided to clean myself up properly, its nice to do at times i think" his gaze turning over toward Sandy as he nods at Dangeon's words "indeed" his voice soft and toughtfull.
Angus's spine stiffens. The dragon swivels in the stool, irritated. "'Course we do, pufftail. Why would we have pursued a wench weasel, if not fer the sake of a worthier weasel in a worser way?" He flits a grim smirk for her impudence, but offers: "Aye. An' he got snatched by this society o' spellcastin' goons. Bled 'im dry and left 'im to rot in the wake o' some wicked rite. Th' strumped who tried t' roast us was, we thought, his lady friend. But shows who ye' kin trust inna' city, eh?"
Sandy smiles weakly. It sounded like she had found the one the badger had mentioned... "Oh." was her only comment to begin with. Before holding the vial up for them to see. "That badger... He told me this would cure 'my weasel friend'. I don't know any weasels... But I'm presuming he means this... 'Stubb' fellow." she replies, before pocketing the vial. "Perhaps I could give him the potion?"
Occupied with drink the wildcat sits quietly as the hare and dragon respond to Sandy's question. Finally putting his mug down the wildcat, closest to Sandy pipes up, "Stubb is our mate, we've been through thick and thin. Hell this is his pack, " He pats the pack recovered from the burning chapel, "Hmm, the badger said that though eh. Could put it to some use then and see if it will."
"Hm. Well. I think I like y' clean quite a bit." The hare comments happily, leaning toward the horse. "Not that y' weren't as good before, but... I agree. Y' smell and feel nice. I think I should do it." She decides. Especially if she can smell like strawberries. "Hm. So. If's a poison... Squirrely there's got an antidote..." Her eyes widening a little with the smile of hearing good news.
"Oh, aye. That's bright." Angus taps a claw against his temple, eyes rolled to the ceiling. "Give 'im a concoction left by a stripedog who aimed t' skin us last night--took a proper chunk outta' Scaith, in fact. Story alleged by some pufftail we picked up inna' waste system below a city we ain't familiar with." He finishes his beer in a single gulp, smacks the mug upon the counter and stomps for the cellar. "Th' last thing Stubb ought t' have is a bloody badger elixir. In fact, we should be poolin' th' last of our coins right now t' drag his arse to a proper *hospital*." After that, the dragon slithers to the basement.
Sandy quirks a brow from the male's reaction, frowning a little bit. Of course, not everyone would believe this, but did they honestly have any other alternative ASIDES a hospital that might not have the cure? "Well, I say we give this a shot anyhow. He didn't seem too intent on killing us." she replies quietly, before slipping off of the barstool she was sitting on, following him down to the cellar.
Angus, Sandy & Drystan slip down into the cellar...
Darkmane muses toughtfully "What we need is somebody familiar with potions and such so they could figure out what is in the vial, tho i doubt its a poison to be honest since it just dosn't seem logical "
Amos is a bit buzzed, and the dragon has a point. Not to mention the whole acting crazy, but he's tired and achy. Thus a bit more agreeable than he'd usually be, as the dragon and then the rat start off towards the cellar he finishes his drink and heads in that direction, "Ya ain't gotta follow us, " He mentions to the hare, "Catch up with Darky, is fine." He disappears halfway up the stairs and leaves Stubb's pack on his stool unprotected.
Dangeon nods a little, but uncertain. "I don't know. It could be a weird, demoralising ploy... Bloomin' unsporting, but it could be... I don' know whether there's e'en a proper hospital t' be found 'round here... Bally less idea if'n it'll be any good. Y're right, we need a healer... or a potions beast... Th'hospitals always seem places o' death more 'n life."
Darkmane dips his head slightly "I'll give the abbey credit for healin most i've seen brought there when i stayed around that place, but overall i agree with ya, most 'hospitals' seems to send as many underground as they send em home healed" his nose wrinkling in distaste "Well, fingers crossed whatever happens that Stubbs will end up well eh"
Dangeon tilts her head and smiles up. "I am sure 't will. We're a bally odd bunch o' different rags, bu' things tend t' work out f'r us. And Stubb's tough." She sags slightly. "We're far from the abbey though."
Sandy stomps out of the cellar, and resumes her original seat, looking positively furious.
Darkmane smiles slightly as he grabs and offers Dangeon her bottle and orders himself one as well "the best medicine tho is in these don't ya think" his gaze then turns toward Sandy as she returns "I take it he was being his usual stubborn self?"
Sandy huffs out of irritation, nodding a confirmation to the horse. "Thinks the potion is poison." she replied, her voice seething with rage. "If there was enough for two, I'd drink some and prove it!"
Dangeon takes her bottle happily, snuggling against the horse with it and grinning as he gets one. "Aye. 'S a true miracle potion. Cheers t' the feline benefactor tonight." The hare then eyes the squirrel. Hrm. No, not getting into that. "I think 'm a-fall 'sleep just here..."
Darkmane smirks slightly as he wraps Dangeon up in his arms and somewhat lap "in that case sunshine, sleep well" his attention turning toward the squirrel as he hugs the doe close to him "I wouldn't worry to much, once he gets some time to think and hopefully relax he might change his mind, and if we find a proper healer then they can likely figure out whats in the vial as well"
Sandy places her face into her paws, propping herself up on the bar. She seemed quite disgusted with how things were turning out for the night... "At least things can't get any worse." she muttered. Surely they couldn't...
Darkmane dips his head slightly "things will likely look up soon enough i agree, would you like a drink while we wait on the others to return?"
Sandy looks back up at the question, and gives a weak smile. "No thanks... I fear drinking is what made me such a cruel beast when I was a slaver."
"Amy! Dang? C'mon, ye' lousy sots. Getcher' bags," Angus yells, emerging from the cellar. A limp form, cloaked by a filthy blanket, hangs over his shoulder, and the dragon is quick to round up the troops. "No time t'tarry, mates." He glides with his spine to the exit, gesturing, as coolly as he can manage, for the others to follow. "C'mon, Mally. Off with us." Pleading eyes dart among the gang, then drift to the stairs, and then to Snip. Angus smiles.
A short spell after the monitor emerges from the cellar door, a scrawny old weasel follows suit. His little eyes, enlarged by the spectacles perched upon his nose, peer intensely after Angus. His lips form a thin line of silent disapproval. His attention then flickers to the others: the group at the bar, the perpetually drunk doe, the perpetually enabling wildcat. "You're a popular lot," he says venomously. His strained voice creaks as he speaks. "A group came by here while you was out collecting mud to drag through my inn."
Sandy huffs a little bit, and looks back down to the bar. Evidently she wasn't that important, so she didn't comment whatsoever. Instead, she just stared at the bar, wondering if following was a good idea, or if she'd just get killed trying...
Malcolm is still in the corner, his drink now finished. "Not goin' anywhere." he grumbles out defiantly to his father, making himself even more comfortable in his seat. He's not about to be dragged off in some adventure again nor is he about to leave himself sleeping in the streets.
Darkmane lifts his gaze as he holds the sleeping Dangeon in his arms "where exactly are we going and why, and which ones of us do ya want with ya"
Angus balks at his willful child. Parental lava threatens to erupt from his gaping mouth, but the dragon extinguishes this initial urge. "Fine, Mal. Ye'r almost grown. Ye' kin stay here an' work off our debt t' this fine gentleman." This is a ruse, of course. The dragon is confident that his son not readily resign to a fate worse than urchin: indentured janitor at a dive bar. "Just time t' go, Dark," he amicably chimes for the horse, then skips a glance off Sandy, before his attention is locked on the proprietor again. "Another gang ye' say, sir? Golly gee. Ruffians in a pub. Who'd have thunk it?" As he draw close to the bar, Angus plucks up Stubb's unprotected pack, and slings it over the shoulder opposite its insentient owner.
Malcolm blinks a little bit at the prospect of having to work off a debt. That makes him roll his eyes and stand. He doesn't have anything to take with him, so he slowly moves over and stands by Angus. "You pay off your own debts, Angus." he grumbles. And not once has he managed to actually call the older dragon dad. Something they'll obviously have to work on eventually.
"Practically tore up the place, they did," the proprietor continues, slinking across the room with his ledger clutched against his chest. "Said they was lookin' for you lot. Didn' surprise me, not a bit." He clicks his tongue. "Moved your friend around. Tried to wake him up. Threatened me. Beastly lot." He seems unperturbed by the fact that they're all conversing over him. He continues: "And that lady friend of yours. Caught her stealin' my beetle paste."
Sandy, without saying a word, gets off of her stool, and marches upstairs. She decided she was going to risk it... But she wasn't doing it alone - she was going to get Frigg and bring the old mousemaid with her. Perhaps she could even help the poor old girl get to her home...
"Temperamental little thing, that one," Drystan notes from his seat at the bar, a mug of ale clutched in one paw. Might as well enjoy the place before they move out, hey?
"Th' tart ain't a friend o' ours. What she wanted with yer beetle paste ain't our concern, sir." Angus severs eye contact with the proprietor, but only to glance, a bit hurt, at Malcolm. "Oh, right. Just 'coz I fathered ye' don't make me a 'dad'," he grunts, wanted, out of habit, to rub at his eyes. But the dragon's hands are quite full; he is only able to glance about, frantic.
Malcolm rolls his eyes and shakes his head a little, heading towards the door. "You ain't my dad till y'start acting like it." he grumbles as he vanishes outside.
Darkmane smirks slightly as he heads after the rest of the group, considering his habit he will return within a day or two for their gear anyhow
The hectoring old weasel pursues the departing crowd at a distance, throwing aspersions after them.
Angus blasts a final warning to the troupe: "I ain't teasin', mates. Buckle yer blasted boots, grab yer tanked rabbits--" He heaves an exasperated sign, readjusts his cargo and rushes the dusky streets.
Angus does stop to bow, however, and tell the Thorn and Shadow staff, "Thank ye' fer all yer hospitality, chums," before he makes a flourishing exit.
Sandy finally returns from the upper half of the building, holding up the elderly mousemaid. She seemed to be calmer around her, as she was smiling. "You guys aren't leaving without us." she stated, firmly.
The mousemaid manages a weak smile, although she looks a little off-balanced on her footpaws. She wobbles a few times between the stairs and the trip over to the group, though always looking gratefully up at Sandy after every save... "That's for damn sure - I'll be glad to be finally out of this place, too... hopefully with those monsters who attacked us well behind.." (Frigg)
"Well, party's over," Drystan comments, with a wink to a nearby barmaid. After a last slug of ale, the todd thumps his tankard back down on the bar, hopping up off his stool to follow the gang.
