Lying Low
Setting:
Halyard Village: Fishery
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Halyard Village ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The fishery of Halyard Village... smells like fish! Connected to the dock,
the fishery has an open-air market feel to it. Wooden planking beneath your
feet creates the floor and the sky the ceiling. The preparation area, where
the ifsh are gutted and prepared and packaged for sale, is littered with
Various carts and sorting tables, which have various implements setting on
top of them or stabbed into them, in the case of the gutting knives.
Meanwhile, the area of the fishery where the fish is actually sold is a good
deal cleaner, but no less fishy. This is the area furthest from the water, a
covered strip of wooden planking where tables are set up. During peak hours
each day, the tables are covered in pounds and pounds of fish, just waiting
to be spirited away by some lucky buyer.
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Characters:
Castus, wandering warrior
Lutea, runaway Taggerung
For Context:
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Is it... /creepy/ that Castus is going to where Lutea works now? He should think not. They're bros. Best bros. Very, /very/ best bros when the mind takes them. But mostly he's heard about commotions in Haylard and he's tracking Lutea down to get to the bottom of it. Yes, he's slogging through the stink and slime of fish to find you Lutea. You should be flattered.
Commtion seems to just follow the otter around. Pushing and shoving her way through the crowd, Lutea bursts onto the beach, scrambles through the docks, and winds up at the Fishery - because she sure as hell doesn't want to lead any whack jobs /home/. Her day job is a sufficiently repelling place to most, so she hopes to lose her pursuers in the maze of stalls, fish, upturned vessels and… Castus? Lutea comes crashing through a stack of crates, scrambling on all fours as she races towards the opposite side of the dock, and spies the squirrel out of the corner of her eye. "Castus?" She blinks, skidding to a halt. Oh, crap, no time! She just...takes off again.
"I see you," Castus mutters to himself when he hears the crash of crates. He sighs as she goes running - what kind of insanity is going on? Not that he's complaining. He likes a good chase. He takes to all fours himself and immediately leaps onto the nearest stack of crates, vaulting over several tables slick with fish and coveted by screaming dock workers as a crazy squirrel goes parkouring after a crazy otter. "Hey! /Pretty/ sure I'm the only one chasing you!" He does a neat flip over two workers carrying an extra-large bass. "So seeing you run!" Hop-skip over a pallet of shrimp. "Is just a /bit/ insulting!"
"Get used to it!" She calls, sliding to a halt near a collection of canoes, pulled ashore for the night. Seems safe enough, right? And if they catch up? Well...She can try to make a dramatic get away, in the dark, in a canoe.... Sure. She ducks behind the stack and, finally, collapses to the ground in a panting, gasping heap. "So - remember how - crazy - beasts - think I'm - magic?" She huffs, casting nervous glances back the way she came. "I need... t'...lie low awhile."
Castus comes vaulting over the stack of canoes and crouches down next to her. "In Halyard?" he wonders. "You won't last a week. Listen, I have friends in the Patrol - I could ask them to give you shelter. In the mountain, you know?" He takes a moment to catch his breath and holds up his paws. "Okay, but /first./ Are you hurt?"
"I'm not going t'hole up in th'bloody /Mountain/." The otter scoffs. "I was just plannin' on roughin' it in the swamp for a bit - just like th'good old days." As he just...concern-faces all over the place, she chuckles again. She's playing this off, but the otter is obviously freaked - a huge part of her past just tried to kill her /in front of an audience/. She pats his cheek. "I'm fine, mum. See?" She holds her own paws up, just to prove that she's fine, and instead shows off the bloody mess of her left paw. "Oh, right, I 'ad t'punch a window. Saw some ol' rat in 'er skivvies, by th'way." She winks, making an 'OK' with her free paw. "I jus'...Do y'ave a cloak hidden on you or...somethin'?" She gestures to herself - she literally just wears a vest (because: otter), but that obviously needs to change.
Okay good, she's fine. Castus was worried for a second there. But then his eyes widen at the sight of her really messed up paw. "Thaaaaaat needs to be looked at," he says, pointing at the bloody mess. "Forget a /cloak,/ we need a bandage." He reaches down and pulls out a length of cloth from his knapsack, tutting as he takes her paw and wraps it. "Also some stitches. But yes, I /do/ have cloaks." Pause. "Several. I keep different colors for different occasions."
"Fancy." She raises an eyebrow as he wraps her paw - that all happened very fast. "Got a plain black one I could borrow?" Now it's a blood soaked cloth on her. "Just t'go get some...Y'know. Real clothes. Or somethin'." Grumble grumble. It gets /hot/ here, and when you spend the majority of the scorching daylight hours tumbling about the ocean on a boat? Then, yeah, your attire is going to reflect that. "But don' let me derail the conversation - 'ow're you? 'Ows life? Meet a nice girl, yet?" It's an ill-timed joke, which serves only to convince Lutea that it's /actually/ funny.
"Oh yeah, I met one," Castus says, daintily tugging the ends of the cloth to tighten the knot. "She's a little crazy, but it's the kind of crazy I get along with. Was /really/ hoping to go dress shopping with her, but life's gotten in the way." He gently pats her paw and smiles. "But I found a place that /isn't/ a swamp, and I was thinking of inviting her over."
The otter laughs, her eyes rolling upwards. "Alrigh', 'ave it your way. Swamp is lovely this time of year, though, so y'missin' out." As an after thought, she adds. "An' I said a /nice/ girl - we should go find y'one of /those/, sometime. I'm pretty much th'best wingman in existence." She nods. Lutea is the truest bro that ever bro'd - really, bro. Or, maybe, she's just trying to rope him into buying her drinks - because the bro doesn't fall far from the bro-tree. "Where we goin', then?"
"... Pretty near the swamp," Castus admits, poking his head over the canoes. "Iiiii kinda found a place that wasn't really renovated in a while and fixed it up. Moved it partially into a tree?" Because, squirrel. Apparently he can't get away from some instincts. "Coast looks clear. No tattooed horrors around. Anyway, it's very comfy. I got all the dust out at least."
"Knew I'd end up in th'swamp sooner or later. Well, lead th'way, then. Figure I should avoid m'room a bit...I'm sure 'Annah would flay me alive if I brought a bunch'a crazy, tribal beasts into 'er Tavern." She laughs, planting her palms against the canoe and shoving herself upright. She isn't even bothering to avoid banging that glass-filled slice of a paw around. This otter is solid to a self-destructive fault. "Was an old friend who came after me." She admits, suddenly. "Broke m'heart a sight more than I thought it would."
"Mm. I feel you," Castus says with no small sympathy. "Really, I do. I... have had experience with old friends coming back to haunt me." He suddenly snatches his paw out to grab Lutea's wrist. "Please stop clutching things with that. It makes my hand hurt just looking at it. I already have /one/ friend who has more than enough scars for /several/ beasts' lifetimes, it'll start making me feel left out if I get another." He gives her a mild wink before taking the long way around the darks, aiming for the edge of town and the treeline beyond.
"Sorry." Lutea mumbles "Doesn' 'urt." She whines, even as it's just... Oozing everywhere. She's so gross. "See? All th'cool kids are doin' it." It's like the tattoos that criss-cross the otter's form: scars can be accessories, too! She follows, dutifully, already trying to fuss with the wrapping around her paw - she's like a dibbun with an injury. All she wants to do is pick the scabs.
Swamp Shack: Second Floor
The only purpose of this area is so beasts entering the village can enter it without having to undergo a steep upward climb so the bridge connecting the entrance building and the actual village. All that is up here is a dusty expanse of wooden flooring criss-crossed by pawmarks and an open section of the south wall leading you to the bridge. A dusty mirror with a large crack running through the middle hangs on the wall opposite the bridge.
