The Mama

Amos, Trace, Angus, Dangeon, Frigg, Darkmane, Edith (Stubb spoof), Malcolm (Slopnose spoof), Hactor

Location: East Front Street - Collinsel

(Sometimes Club)

The hustling and bustling of a busy city is spring time is long way away from the troubles of winter. Amos stares about bewildered, "Blasted, been following that weasel around too long and went got myself lost, " He sighs, "Could of sworn it was around here somewhere, " He mumbles to himself, wiping his brow in the warm spring sun. He eyes the goods, others pitching up carts to sell their wares.

"I'm pretty sure it was two streets back." Wait, what? Trace pops into Amos' conversation, almost randomly as she wanders along the street and checks out the goods being sold.. just happening to catch sight of the cat. She doesn't even really know what he's talking about, but that's evident in the smirk upon her lips as she waves a paw in greeting. And as if in a big of solidarity, she tosses a wrapped pastry in his general direction. "What is it you're looking for?"

"C'mon, mates. I've had it up t'my skulltop with this walkin' brouhaha." Angus shuffles along the cobbled street, scrutinizing the sundry boutiques that line it. "If we pool our coins, perhaps we kin all pile in a room t'night. Take bed shifts, aye?" He shepherds Malcolm as he walks and gripes. The uncooperative child, electrified by the teeming town, wriggles at the reins of his father's protective grip and points rudely at bystanders. Squawks of amazement pour from youthful lips.

"... We should jus' find some bally inn 'r a gameshouse..." Dangeon pipes up, not too far behind, and for once actually using her own legs. "I could win m'self a hat 'r somethin' off o' somebeast. G't a few drinks bought f'r me."

There's a crazy old lady mouse going from stand to stand, begging for help. She's heading in the general direction of the group, after being pushed and shoved away by vendors, accompanied by shouts of, "If a you not going to buy a dis, go a someplace else-a!" and "Getted out a 'ere, y'old half-corked fraud!" She sees Amos and Dangeon and her eyes go wide, and she runs up to them, "Oh, please! You two, please! Oh, I'm so glad to see familiar faces!" [Frigg]

Darkmane chuckles softly as he walks a step or two behind dangeon "Wouldn't that be a novel idea, you buying your own drinks" his voice playfull and teasing even as he gives some passerbys slight glares to ensure that they keep a distance from him currently "I do quite like the idea of finding an inn and a proper bed to sleep in tho."

Flying pastry! The wildcat quickly snatches it from the air, grinning at Trace as he's quick to scarf it down, "Much obliged, " He turns at the sound of his friends voices, waving to them, "Sounds like a fine idea Angus, Dangeon, " He grins, "Its springs, can sleep out in the streets for all I care."

Amos eyes the mouse wairly, "Oh, you."

Trace has sort of been half-on, half-off with the group, considering she's probably one of the newest additions. And she seems to have scored big time, the small pack normally slung across her shoulder bulging slightly with a few goods she likely bartered in trade. "I, for one, would certainly add to the fund. I don't know how much longer I can do this sleeping on the ground thing." She's a bit used to the royal treatment, after all.

Angus, palms folded over his son's shoulders, glances back to Dangeon. "Oh aye, love. Ye'd look just marvelous in a rose-colored cap. One with a feather!" At least his spirits are high; the comfort of Spring sunshine and the radiant prosperity of the city seem to have curbed his sour temperament. "And what's this, then," he stammers, whistling for his companions' attention as Frigg wobbles into their periphery. "Fancy findin' yer wrinkled rump again." The lizard nods his endorsement: To an inn!

Dangeon smirks. "Well, I didn't mean me t' buy 'em..." She explains, tilting her head back to look toward Darkmane. Then she perks her ears at Angus' comment. "Yes! Rose... and a feather!" She raises one finger, as though for emphasis. "... I shall find such a hat." The hare declares, clearly liking the idea, before she blinks and tilts her head toward the mousemaid. "H'lo again."

Frigg looks indignantly at Angus, but it wears off as she sees Malcolm. "Oh... you found your child! That's... that's wonderfuuuuullllll, uhhhuhuhuh!!!" She breaks down onto her knees on the path, sobbing. "M...M....My son is... is... they're going to... to..." She wipes her eyes and composes herself, still on her knees, "I know you all have been through a lot, some on my account - what a fool I was, not to recognize him..."

While one wrinkled rump is protrating itself before the group, another rump is coming into view. Its owner, a rather lumpy old female wildcat with unkempt fur knotted into semblances of graying spikes, is arguing heatedly with the newt proprietor of a booth selling medicines and draughts of a dubious nature. She is short and rather plump, and her hair is a wild mane of radiating gray flagella that lag behind her angry movements by a few moments. [Edith]

Darkmane simply snorts slightly and chuckles at Dangeon's comment before offering a respectfull dip of his head in greeting to Frigg

The wildcat seems to be quiet uneasy with the sight of Frigg, moving away from the mouse and seeming to leave Angus with her as he grins at the rat, "So ya got lots of nice things there eh, and is everyone agreed on the Inn?" he shrugs, "Split the fee evenly and such, " He says this even as his glaze shifts towards the other wildcat as he notices her, "Nah, " He mutters.

The old gray wildcat makes a rude gesture to the apothecary, then after turning to go, she makes a follow-up gesture--presumably rump-related. She mutters to herself as she storms away.

Trace watches the mouse out of the corner of her eye, a brow quirking in.. well, either interest or a lack thereof. The old woman seems random enough, and Trace really has better things to do than to deal with random crazies. "There's plenty of herbs that people can't get down in these parts," the rat states with a little shrug of her shoulders. Though her lips curl back into a faint grin. "I'll toss in a bit extra to get a nicer room.." Her own words trail off at the sight of the angry wildcat and she just tips her head to the side, mouth slightly agape. ".. Are.. all people this odd in this town?"

A otter with two eyepatches rides by on a unicycle, pursued by angry cries from beasts he's nearly run into.

The monitor's eyes are only half-open, lids heavy with the enervating weight of midday light; this is the lounging hour. But, in spite of his sunbathed stupor, thin lips afford a smile, kindled by the picture of a flamboyantly accessorized Dangeon. All of this much-deserved tranquility is soon dashed, as Frigg collapses into a bawling lump. "Er, wait .. what, m'lady?" he quirks, reflexively tugging Malcolm closer. The wormy tot protests, of course, so Angus does what he can to sustain equanimity, for the curmudgeon's sake. "Who's got yer kin now? Have a scrap a' dignity, ma'am." A look of mild despair is cast to Trace. "We gotta' knack fer collectin' oddities, love .." He trails off as the otter wheels by. "Yup."

Frigg looks at Trace and frowns, "Please, have pity... these others can tell you who I am, don't assume I--" She stares as the otter passes... "I... lost my train of thought, sorry... will you all leave me, then?" She looks at Angus, "The rest of that awful king's squirrels. They threatened my life if he wouldn't go with them, and that stubborn mouse accepted their terms. Now... well, I found him, but I've lost him all over again. I had to find the nearest sign of civilization, so here I am."

Dangeon sidesteps the unicycling otter, then looks to Frigg. Erm. She twitches her nose, and backs up a little. "Maney? Can I come up. The locals are... a mite perturbing f'r eyes that are too bally sober... HEY!" She looks to Amos. "Did I jus' see who I thought I saw 'r was I mistaken?"

Amos rubs his maw with his paw, grimily nodding, "Aye, that's my mum. Ya ain't met her before, but yeah that's my mum alright, "

Dangeon smirks. "She looks jus' like ya."

It was only a matter of time until Malcolm twisted free. The miniature monster, ducking his father's grip, charges Frigg for no particular reason; a gifted killing machine, perhaps, instinctively aware of the weakest lamb in the flock. His eyes feral and fangs glinting in the sun's sublime rays, the youth pounces the antiquated maiden. "Mal!" Angus shrieks, utterly mortified. "Mal? Mal-*colm*." Apart from his bellowing, the architect does little to hamper his opus' attack; inhibited by a vague curiosity, pride

.

Amos mews, "Yeah yeah, think I told ya how she used ta put me in a cage while she got her drink on or yelled at me when I was crying too much, " He sniffles. "

Through the milling crowd, the only evidence of the retreating mother is her bristly old tail. A tattered length of ribbon is tied rounds it a short length from its tip.

Frigg falls on her back and is completely at the mercy of the young lizard, his foul reptilian breath beating down upon her. "No!!! Please!" She flings off her white smock and the kid grabs it in his jaws, tearing it to shreds just long enough for her to scamper out from beneath him. "My... my word! Oh..." She tears up when she sees the smock go to bits, but she's not out of danger yet...

Dangeon leaves Amos's group and wanders off on her own.

Angus, all though distracted by his unruly son, floats a quick glance for the others, but they seem to have collectively vanished among the commercial maelstrom. "Er .." he grunts, jogging to collect the gnashing youngster. "C'mon, Mal. Yer gonna' get us lost from th' others," he scolds. "All ready ain't no sign of th' weasel fer two days now." The monitor burns a reflective pause on that thought, which gradually gives way to captivation as he watches Malcolm turn Frigg's smock into confetti. "Enough!" Snatching the saurian shredder by the scruff of his neck, Angus plucks the youth off the ground. "I dunno' what ye'r yammerin' about still, m'lady, and we ain't owe ye' no favors, if that's what ye'r askin' fer."

Angus says, "Except maybe a new .." He pauses to prod bits of her fragmented smock with a toe. "One a' those."

Compelled to follow his mother Amos doesn't give Dangeon a chance to answer, oblivious to his friends as he goes stumbling into the crowd, "Ma!" He shouts after her.

Trace was distracted by another booth, and she returns back toward where the group was, muttering to herself about people and making deals and how no one seems to know how to do anything in this town. And the rat blinks as she realizes half the group has split up. "Um." There goes Amos, calling after his mother. And the mouse is still going on about something and.. Trace rubs her forehead, as if trying to make sense of all this. "It was probably that way before the little one chewed it up," she states randomly, about the smock. This group is so.. random.

The mousemaid can only watch them leave. "Who... who would help me if you won't..." She trails off, the question barely audible to any of them. The otter on the unicycle passes by in the other direction, but the second time she ignores it. He circles her a few times, but gets bored when he suspects she isn't paying attention. Off he goes. "Mayeul... why..." She stares towards the sun, a crisp spring breeze carrying her tears off into oblivion. Robbed of even that, the mousemaid walks off in the opposite direction.

"Good point, love." Angus' grin betrays a few too many teeth. He tucks them from sight and, clearing his throat, wags his unoccupied hand at the shrinking silhouette of the mouse. "Feh .. a particularly odd one, that creature," he absently states. Malcolm is still suspended in mid-air, and kicks violently in protest. "Simmer down, Mal." The child is, with a bit of hesitation on his father's part, returned to his feet. "Er, didja' see where th' others went?"

Darkmane after having rented a room for himself and dangeon at the inn returns to the earlier gathering point and looks around toughtfully "So what did Frigg need help with before I had to go put Dangeon to bed?" his head tilting slightly as he looks after the slowly departing mouses form,

"Looks like they all wandered off that way.." Trace says, pointing with a paw and, for lack of better else to do, heading off in the general direction of the others.

Angus's apprehension dwindles as the horse clops to their company; the group has not completely dispersed, at least. "Ah, thank ye' fer findin' lodgin', Dark. Ye'r so damned reliable. Can't say as much fer th' rest of th' rabble, unfortunately." His eyes flick from one darting, anonymous figure to the next, soliciting sight of the others. "Th' ole' maid was bleatin' about her son or somethin'," he absently details, but swiftly pivots as the rat, too, skitters off. "Over there?" Scooping Malcolm up, the dragon trots off after Trace.

They head to…

North East Square - Collinsel

As Amos darts into North East Square, his mother is just slipping into the front entrance of a tavern. Her pace has slackened a bit, in proportion to an evident cooling of her temper, and she begins to slip the shawl from around her shoulders.

Amos rushes past various beasts heading in the oposite direction, almost knocking over a shrew before he apologizes he searches in the direction of the older cat. The tavern! He slows his pace and approaches only to hesitantly linger as he watches her. Though convincing himself the next moment to approach her and smile, "Ma!"

Angus maneuvers through the throng. His path is mostly cleared by the flails of Malcolm, safely lodged in the crook of an arm. The locals are unambiguously keen to avoid the compass of the youngster's kicks, but not so courteous as to avert their stares; and gawk they do, and murmur among themselves, and jut impolite fingers at the squamous megalith and his squirming scion. The elder monitor, having cultivated an emotional bulwark to the child's sobs, just trots along, using brief glimpses of Trace to chart his course.

A long pause elapses, during which it seems that the old cat didn't hear her son. The door does not stir, and not a single sign of the estranged mother disturbs its frame. Then: "Oh. You, then, is it?" The darkness slides back from Edith's face as she reemerges from the tavern. A faint irritation presses her lips into a line. Her tail sweeps in long strokes back and forth, occasionally striking the jamb with a hollow noise. "It's money you want, I expect!"

Trace meanders down the path toward where the others went, keeping her distance from the most part as it seems there's some kind of reunion in place. The ratmaid pauses several yards away from the group, watching with that same quirked brow that seems to have defined her existance with this ramshackle group. "Awk...ward..." she murmurs aloud, glancing over her shoudler upon hearing Angus and his kid following after.

Hactor who untill this moment has been out begging, and drinking came apon the group. One of the pouches in his belt jinngles merrily as he aproaches the group, looking very pleased with himself. Onle as he gets closer his haapy looke is replased with one fo confusion. There is Frigg of all people, (surprisingly not eatin) and a old female cate that looked strangly like Amos. Needles to say the fox now aproaches with a certain amount of causion.

Amos stares dumbfounded at the older wildcat, a rush of childhood memories bringing him to this point and he turns to see that his friends have followed him. He balls his paws into fists, raging and hissing, "No, it ain't about money. Ya left, just like that and ya got nutin' to say about it!" He hisses and stares nastily at her.

Edith waves her paw dismissively. "Bloo-dy /men/. All alike, you are. Look at you, getting yourself into a little rage. Well, if you think I'm gonna sit here apologizin' for leavin' a little hellian like yourself with his uncle, well you'll just have to find another mother!" Her paws have drifted to her hips, and her wispy tendrils of hair continue to bob about in ways counter to her head. She tsks. "I just know this is about money! Bloo-dy /men/. All the same!" She repeats herself, her voice flying into its upper registers as she sings this hard-gotten wisdom to the heavens.

"What's the word, love?" the monitor chirps as he arrives beside Trace, mindful to angle Malcolm's tireless assault in a not-so rattish direction. He cranes to share in her stare, and his scaly brows kit. "Old fling?" Uncomfortable is an understatement; this rendezvous boasts no hint of familial redemption. These are not shouts of reunited jubilation, nor those of a lovelorn feline heart. "Oh .. oh toads," Angus mutters, shifting on his feet. "Aye, awk .."

Mal struggles gamely against his squamous restraints but doesn't make a lot of headway. The afternoon sun has taken its toll on him, making him tired and grumpy. And hungry. And bored. "I WANNA GO HOME!" he bellows.

"Like you were any kind of a mother, having me fetch ya bottles and do all the cleaning while ya just sat around getting drunk all day!" Amos voice thunders, "I wouldn't want your money even if ya had any, ain't look like ya made much of yourself!" He glares.

"I'de want it," grummbles Hactor as he goes over to Angus and Trace. Once standing with them he offers a slight nod, but thats about as warm a greeting they'll get from him at the moment. At the moment he's eying the literal cat-fight unravaling in front of them.

"I don't think it's a lost love.. I think it's a..." Trace eyes the pair, wrinkling her nose in distaste a bit at the conversation. "I never imagined Amos as the type to be neglected as a child. It explains a lot." She offers a paw-wave in greeting to Hactor, before shifting her gaze back to the argument ahead. It's like a soap opera drama. But real!! :O

Angus attempts to shush the writhing child, to little avail. "We ain't got no home, Mal," he tells the youth, irritated, as if they had been over this repeatedly. "Lotta' good a 'home' ever did for any of us." This addition is breathy and quiet, suffocated by the spiteful yowling of the wildcat duo. As the threadbare tyrant ambles up, the monitor returns the short nod with a dip of his own. "Oh c'mon, love," the behemoth nearly pshaws, "Lookit' him! A bachelor, a drunk, latchin' on to every bunny willin' t' ride on his back. Telltale symptoms of a hateful mother, if ye' ask me."

The wildcat's wrinkled mother floats forward into the street. A twitch of her tail brings it into glancing contact with the edge of the doorway, but she doesn't seem to mind. Her face looks stricken, almost, for a few moments. Then she gives another wave of the paw, and her mouth curves into a guarded sort of smile, as if to say 'Isn't this nasty little game of ours such a /treat/?' "Well, ya always seemed to have such fun, playin' with them bottles! Drove me to the end of my rope, you did, bangin' about. Didn't complain, though. Even when you scared off my man. You little hellian!" The insult is milder now, meant perhaps as a bit of a joke.

Amos grins at his mother, his eyes still flickering with rage, "Yeah I suppose it was fun when ya had me steal for ya as ya charmed the coustomers before ya thought it was a good idea to run off, " He hisses, "As for da', he left because you were a drunken floozy!"

Hactor flenshes,a nd his ears go back at the harsh feline argument. Cat's have a habbiteof yowling their arguments, without even relizing it. He then turns his attention to Angus' attempts with his son. He chuckles a bit at this before looking back to the fighting felines.

Edith gasps. "I'd've thieved 'em myself, but you had littler paws 'n me! Stopped bein' much useful when you went and got big on me..." She shakes herself. "And nevermind that! I suppose you've made something of yourself, comin' around to tell off your dear old mum, who fed you and gave you bottles and let you have free run of the city when you was just a babe! Think of it! The freedoms I gave you, and now /I'm/ the bad one!" Her paw flutters to her chest.

Angus croaks, all though it is more than likely an attempt to chortle, as the debacle plays out. "Too bad Stubb ain't here t'glimpse this sorry scene; he'd get a real kick outta' it, I bet," he laments, lopsidedly forcing a grin. The monitor winces as Edith roars, mesmerized by the autonomous tremble of her mane, a new sprig out of place with each poignant word. "Reminds me a' m'wife." At that, he flits a solemn gaze to Malcolm, and spontaneously tightens his grip on the youngster's waist.

Amos mews, "Ya the freedoms of being left in taverns and the likes while you went off who knows where, " He shouts, "Ya know it isn't worth it, I did make something of myself. Ya brothers who disowned ya, they took me in and raised me right. Ain't have to worry about eating crackers or ale for a meal if that, and what about that time ya tried to barter me for a drink!" "

Mal half-stands and half just hangs there uncomfortably in his father's grasp. He's finally silent and no longer struggling, just stewing in black anger.

"Well then," growles Hactor from where he stands, "I say we all jast shove off and ferget bout one another. Yer mowlin an' howlins given me a headache!" If he had two arms he would cross them, but instead he settles with glowering at the two with his good eye.

Edith's eyes don't even acknowledge Hactor's outburst. She continues to look at her son and snorts. "An just /what/ is wrong with crackers and ale? I'd've killed t' have my mum give me as much! Besides, them regulars, they'd feed you treats now and then. Don't deny it! You little prince, thinkin' you had it so rough! Well!" She huffs. "Glad your uncles took you off me, little hellian that you were." She looks him up and down, then shifts her gaze to the broken-down warlord, then back once again. "Made something of yourself, did ya? Goin' about with semi-foxes, your idea a makin' something of yourself?"

Angus balks at the assertive tod. "Whoa now, hell hound, give 'em a tick." Satisfied that Malcolm is tuckered, the monitor stoops, planting the youth on the ground beside him. While still bent and cooing to his child, he gathers that the feline femme has advanced her wrath upon the derelict warlord. "Now just hang on there, madame," he sharply chides, rising. "Yer son here's done the right best he could, given the lot he's been dealt. Crumby lot, from the look of it." The dragon gives Edith a cold once-over. "One a' the noblest blokes I've ever had th' privilege of patrolin' with, in fact. An' what gives yew the right t'dig at my miserable mate here? Hasn't he obviously caught enough flak in his time? I mean, madame, please, *lookit* him." He gestures at what remains of Hactor.

Having lost himself in his anger he half forgot his friends and just now the rediscovery of them standing there gawking at him and his mother as they make a scene quiets him. His train of thought lost momentarily until Angus speaks up and his anger reignited, "Yeah, these here are my friends, " He gestures widely to them, "Ain't gonna have you insulting them, ya good for nothing mother of mine! "

Hactor huphs a bit and replies, "Still enough o'me ta kick yer arse ya rake." He then dares to step a little closer, almost arms length from Edith. He then continues, "My business woman, was conqouring abby's and tha loike. So show some raspect aye?"

Mal stomps his foot down on the ground, kicking up dust and small stones, entertaining himself with the effects.

The old wildcat looks suddenly besieged, as her son's friends seem to pop up in the square around her--and as Angus, in particular, comes to Amos' defense. "Well," Edith says crisply. "As long as y're here, I... suppose you can treat your old mum to a drink." Her smile reveals the few teeth she's managed to retain. "Let's put the past where it belongs? I... I did the best I knew how, Amos. I done worse with your brothers, don't I know." She shakes her head as the burden of the memories comes tumbling down on her doughy old frame. "And. I must say, you wasn't... You wasn't half as bad as them." Apr 17, 2011 at 8:01 p.m.

Trace seems to have just been staring the whole time, listening and not really sure how to even pop in at this point. She clears her throat slightly, looking between the others and offering a quiet, "I agree. Amos should treat us all to a drink. Heaven knows we deserve it.." with a little smirk tugging at her lips. There. Brilliance from Trace.

Angus, after a hesitant glance, ditches his watch over the tiny dragon and steps to Amos' aid. "Aye, ye' gnarly, mouse-munchin' sourpuss. This bold tod done nearly took th' most impenetrable citadel in th' la--" He halts his derision as the wildcat becomes mildly penitent. "Er, right. Ain't half as bad as *most* kittehs," the lizard adds, clapping Amos between the shoulders. This gesture evokes a vague sting, and the dragon hastily peeps at his hand. But to err is feline. The pain in his barely healed fist just paints Angus' features in a grim smile, which he turns to Edith. "M'lady, I'll personally treat ye' t' an ale, if ye' promise not t' further berate m' favorite cat-cat .. or th' quasi-dog or--well, ye' get the point, aye, madame?"

Malcolm scavenges around for bigger stones to kick, aiming them at various Collinsel citizens. Fortunately for them, his aim is not very good and he manages to mostly kick up large clouds of dust rather than send his missiles very far or in the proper direction.

Hactor chuckles at the many nicknames he aparrently has before saying, "Here here! Let bygones be bygones eh? Now er.....someone said something about ale?" He grins widley at Edith before being clocked in the back of the head by a stone.

Still thirsty and tired of arguing Amos seems to leave the past in the past, smirking as Angus clapse him on the shoulder, "Alright, drinks sounds good what'cha say mum?" He grins, shrugging, "Can ya still hold ya drink?"

Malcolm is unable to repress a satisfied snigger. He didn't hit his intended target, but nailing any target of opportunity is a triumph for any apprentice artillerybeast. He gathers more small stones with his feet, shifting his target to his father's group, who are closer by and fatter than the average Collinsel citizen and thus offered easier target practice.

Edith is hesitant to slip immediately into fraternal antics, so she remains standing where she is. Her thoughts seem inflected by recent events; her expression is bemused, almost chastened. After a spell, she rummages up a smile, but, with its meager and stunted population on full display, even this is oddly pathetic. "Bet I can still drink ya under the table. Just like when you had four seasons. You couldn't barely keep it down, you couldn't!"

"Come along, Mal," the lizard calls to his contrary son. He is somewhat aware that Hactor has been struck by a projectile, but is, at first, oblivious to its source. Extending a mannerly palm to Edith, the lizard invites her into his squamous guidance. "Shall we, madame?" The suave proposition is hindered as they are made the subject of a cantankerous stoning attempt. "Malcolm!" he snarls. "Stoppit, boy! What in hell's yellowed teeth is wrong with ye', actin' such a fool? Don't clobber th' hand that feeds, ye' lil' hellio--." He clears his throat, glancing back to the cat marm.

Hactor rubbs the back of his head, restraining a curse that he was about to shoot at the reptile. But apon hearing a chalenge of drink he boasts, "I'de drink all of ye under tha table! Angus has seen ma drinking. Aye Guss!" He chuckled a bit, warming up to their new company.

Mal reluctantly abandons his artillery drills, ending by scattering the rest of his ammunition away in a big clattering keep with oen final kick toward the center of the square. He follows his father's gesture, though careful to maintain the maximum distance possible away from the new acquaintances.

"She seems like a gritty li'l thing," Trace remarks under her breath, as Amos questions his mom's drinking ability. But the rat steps forward, ready to sit down and have a drink or at least just stop /wandering aimlessly/. "I'll drink all of you blokes under the table," she remarks, tossing her braid back over her shoulder with a little laugh.. that gets cut off in a sharp, "YOW" as a rock clocks her in the knee. "Bloody little scaled-up-.... Angus. Your kid is great. Really. But next time I'm kicking one back!" she remarks with a twitch.

"Guess I'll rustle up some tables, then!" Edith's dumpy figure lopes into the tavern, disappearing from the square.

Angus tries to drum up a memory of Hactor and strong drink, but, for all his effort, there is only hazy glimmer of events past. His eyes betray this, but he regards the tod with a confident smile. "Aye, ole' dog, yer a real fish." Avoiding the others' respectively vexed glares, he flits an uneasy smile and jaunts after the vanishing gray tailtip. "C'mon Mal, before ye' get yerself skinned."

Hactor cackles at this, complety oblivious of the past. He continues to chuckles all the way to the door. Following the dragon and his son.

Amos moses along after the rest of them.

The Thorn And Shadow (Collinsel)

Mal is grumpy from walking around so much, "Why didn't we just eat at that place? It smelled good."

Angus swats at the child. "Shush, you," he grunts. "This's fine." His eyes scan the dimly lit room. "Cheap."

The bartender looks up from his work and says, "We don't serve their kind here!"

Malcolm eyes the decidedly not family-friendly ambience of this new proposed dining location.

"Aye," begins Hactor looking about. "Cheap's good." He then growls to the bartender and says, "I say ya /will/ be surv'n are koind, bafore my fist surves yer face!"

"Oh, this is a fine establishment." Trace's words echo as she walks in the door, letting it close lightly behind her and wrinkling her nose in distaste. Honestly. Is there nowhere in this world as remotely upper class as Ruingate had once been? She sniffs lightly, curling her tail a bit around one of her legs as she heads in.

Amos yowls, "Yeah, unless ya wanna get hurt I suggest ya do!"

Edith, already situated at the bar, indeed, already halfway through her first drink, swats playfully at the bartender. "Oh, Let him be, Snip!" She then looks peevishly up at Hactor. "I guess you're as daft as you look. He meant the boy, of course. Bloo-dy fools, you and your friends, Amos." She submerges her face in her drink.

Edith faceplants.

Angus loses track of Malcolm among the mellow bustle of the tavern, but figures, if nothing else, the keep has a close eye on the youngster. He offers Snip a grateful smirk, planting his colossal posterior on the stool beside her. "Oh, er. I'll take one a' those," he orders, pointing at Edith's enthusiasm for her nightcap. "An', eh .. y'all got any foods? M'son could use a bite, prolly'."

Hactor ignorins the wildcat makes himself comfortable (or as comfortable as an old fox can) in a near by chair. He sudennly become much more placid as he sits back and rests his eye.

The bartender fixes Angus with a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look. He shakes his head and goes to a shelf behind the bar. "Dere. On tha house." He dumps a pawful of crackers on the bartop, then goes to get the lizard's drink.

Malcolm eyes the crackers dubiously but reluctantly begins to munching at them, hunger overcoming better judgment. His nostrils flare at the smell of roasting meat cooking in the tavern's kitchens and his eyes dart around at the remains of other patrons' meals enviously. However, he sticks close to his father, afraid of getting lost in the inn.

Amos hangs around watching the entertainers for a bit before finally moving to sit at the bar, "Ya frequent this joint often ma?"

"Crackers, mate? Nah nah--the lad needs meat, lest he remain meek and ornery ferever." Angus roots around in a pant pocket, producing a meager palmful of coins. He distributes them evenly on the counter, calculating the value as he goes. "Should be good fer a plate a' fish or pheasant, right? An' a couple o' brews for papa." With a satisfied nod, the monitor slides the dough to Snip, roughly when his drink arrives. He contemplates the mug for a moment, then grasps it and lifts the thing high. "T'seasons best fergot," he salutes, and promptly downs the fierce hooch.

Hactor could be heard begining to snore from his sear, a look of contentment across his usually rough features. The only movement coming from him was a flick of the ear, or the rising and falling of his chest. Indeed the todd hadn't felt this relaxed in ages.

Edith's head rises from the dead to peer nystagmically at her son. "When I got a bit of coin. Why? Is that a sin? Can't a mum enjoy a bit of relaxation after workin' hard all those years?"

Malcolm looks meekly grateful and much relieved at hearing his father's actual dinner order: Resolving to behave himself forever more henceforth, he sits quietly at his stool to wait for his food.

"Ha ha, working hard, that's a good one mum, " Amos smirks, shrugging, "Nah, ain't no sin or anything. Ya welcome to do as ya wish with ya life I suppose, just asking a question!"

Angus is certainly content now, bulk melting in his seat. He sinks to the bar, tracing an idle finger along the contour of his mug. Eyes ponder the distorted reflections in its surface: the lizard youth, with his uncharacteristic restraint, the grizzled old cat, the dozing warlord. Ah, bliss.