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Post by Stix on Apr 11, 2007 19:57:43 GMT -5
(Original Post)
John strides towards the boat, heavily weighed down with all his kit and gear.
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Post by Stix on Apr 11, 2007 20:19:26 GMT -5
On the Taker's way down the hill, four unwashed, stumbling drunkards wearing crowns of leaves, stained togas, and loose, dirty robes come into view -- all human by appearance -- staggering toward John in the best purposeful stride they can manage. Their crooked yellow grins threaten to split their faces in two when they aren't booming slurred laughter or calling out in a song-filled stupor.
"You!" says one of them as they near, eyes wide and wild, his curly, matted black hair clinging to his head as though he's stumbled through the rain for weeks. "Where's your bub?" The others burst into laughter, struggling to stand as they gradually slouch in his direction.
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Post by john on Apr 11, 2007 20:45:29 GMT -5
Reacts instantly, and with severe distaste to the unwashed, stinking, foul-looking exemplars of overindulgence, the One Great Sin of John's world-view. His stance changes instantly to a defensive, prickly sort of stance, the kind you might see when someone has insulted him or called him out to a fight.
"I do not drink to excess. I've no bub this early in the morning. Move along. Now."
He glares at them, doing his best to look menacing from beneath the vulture helm without being overly aggressive. He considers for a moment if he's provoking them, in this rather excessive, indulgent plane, then pushes the thought away with a mental shrug.
"And I thought I was the ugliest one here." He mutters to himself beneath his breath.
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Post by Stix on Apr 11, 2007 20:52:12 GMT -5
"No bub?" says one of them incredulously. "How d'you get by with no bub?"
"Let's see what he's got," mumbles one of them, lurching toward John's belt, followed closely by another.
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Post by john on Apr 11, 2007 20:55:58 GMT -5
John holds out a hand, to forestall him and if the mumbler comes too close, he'll roughly attempt to shove him back into his friends, barking, "I recommend you get out of my way. I have business to attend to and have no time to tarry with fools." He leaves the question of how he gets by with no bub unanswered, primarily because he hasn't really considered it before, and the analytical part of his mind works on the question even as his emotions rule his body and words.
John's language grows more and more formal as his anger at these louts threatens to manifest physically, every muscle clenched and his words clipped and short through a tightened jaw.
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Post by edisoncarter on Apr 12, 2007 11:51:20 GMT -5
As nilou marches towards theboats, she sees what's going on with John and his entourage of Bacchanalians.
Half of her smirks with devilish delight. The other half, groning under the weight of some thing known as a conscience, sighs heavily, knowing that this will be an enourmous pain in the butt.
Fighting the schadenfreude and putting her best performance face on, she smiles broadly and trots--yes, trots--up to the growing conflict.
"Aye, aye, well met, ye merry gentlemen, what be ye about this fine morning? Taking this dour can of stingy sinew for a dance? You should dance with me, as I'm far better on my feet. And daresay I'm prettier, too."
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Post by Stix on Apr 12, 2007 12:14:36 GMT -5
The encroaching revelers jerk their heads back indignantly, sneering, their eyes wild all of a sudden... Nilou's arrival and clear words distract the four of them for at least a moment, completely changing their demeanor once again to happy, laughing drunkards.
"Let's have some music!" calls one of them, clapping. "Mu-sic! Mu-sic!" The bubber next to him nods excitedly, opening a belt pouch and removing what's left of a loaf of bread, biting into it and tearing at it as though he were an animal.
"Daaaance! Let's have a dance!" interrupts another, clumsily trotting in place, flailing his arms and lolling his head from side to side. "We c'n take a roll down the hill if ya fancy it -- ya won' be sorry!"
"Brnnnng ou' y'r bub," says the one nearest John, hanging his tongue out of his mouth obscenely and pawing in the Taker's direction, trying again to get at his belongings. "Wine! L'ss have it!"
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Post by edisoncarter on Apr 12, 2007 14:22:02 GMT -5
The briefest look of fear crosses Nilou's eyes, but it's gone just as fast as she registers that she's never danced with Bacchae before. How many people do that and live to tell the tale?
"Go on, you steelbound clunker!" she says, slapping John on the helmet. "Off with your boring self!" Dumb basher'd only get in the way.
She marks a simple step with her hooves, keeping juuuuuussst enough distance between herself and the drunkards to hopefully keep from gettnig snagged.
"I'll have a red, a port, a pint of stout
--a basher on the hay--
You'll find that I've gone all about
with a few drinks on the way!"
And at every opportunity, she twitches her head to get John to leave, before he makes things more difficult.
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Post by john on Apr 12, 2007 16:44:40 GMT -5
John, ever the opportunist, takes advantage of Nilou's distraction to make his escape if possible, fending off the one pawing him hopefully with a straight-arm that would be more appropriate for American Football or some other anachronism than anything else, heading for the boat.
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Post by Stix on Apr 12, 2007 16:57:29 GMT -5
As he is shoved away again, the bubber interrupts Nilou's song, snarling and flinging himself at John with a shout, ripping at his armor with bare fingers and gnashing his teeth like a rabid animal.
The others appear quite happy to go on dancing and singing for as long as Nilou will do the same.
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Post by john on Apr 13, 2007 21:38:17 GMT -5
The bubber hammers john to the ground, tearing at his flesh and battering him down to the ground, provoking two body-blows from the little ball of muscle, gristle, and cruelty, a left-right combination punctuated by the wet thump/smack of fist on flesh.
John manages to halfway rise, bellowing in anger as the drunkard continues to try to rip at him, inadvertently arm-barring john's left hand as the right hooks around as he rises with the bubber atop him, jarring the lout backwards and causing a momentarily pause in the rhythm of the brawl, as his hands scramble for purchase on the squat little brute and manage to snatch at his knife-belt.
The now much abused bubber stumbles back, gnawing ferally on the now-purloined knife sheath as John snarls, doubling him over with a stunning haymaker to the midsection, then felling him for good with a headbutt that resounds with the unmistakable crunch of metal on bone. It's only then, at the end of this, that he realizes the other two haven't swarmed him, and he grumbles a no-doubt unheard word of thanks to Nilou before looking for the boats, eager to pull a runner before the local law comes and has a word with him for thrashing, rather soundly, one of the locals.
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Post by edisoncarter on Apr 14, 2007 12:00:33 GMT -5
While John is entangled with one of the drunkards, the other three are quite happy to watch Nilou sing and dance her way backwards, capering (as much as anyone can with a backpack), back bent, smiling almost devilishly, crooking a finger at two of her three admirers.
"So it's in the minds of all you lot
that you can keep with likes of me!
Well I'll prove you that you're wrong in thought
right pair of fools you be!"
The dancing drunkards take it as a challenge and lurch leeringly towards her, getting alarmingly close to that outstretched finger. Nilou lets out a bark of a laugh, the kind of sound that would come if a terrified yelp were being covered up in forced mirth.
"You'll have to move faster than that!" she cries, using the imbalance of her pack to her advantage, lurching just a little drunkenly, just like them.
"So? What? Devil's got your tongues? Call back, my good friends, this is a two-way street!"
One lurches again, in time with Nilou's steps. The other belches as a prelude to song:
"I'll have a red, a port, a pint of stout
--this basher on the hay--
You'll find that I've gone all about
with a few drinks on the way!"
Nilou cheers at the line and scamperes backwards again, as the drunkards follow.
"Well done, well done!"
Out of the corner of her eye she sees where a street meets a street, and where that happens, there's a corner, and where those are she can put a building between these two Bacchae and John's one opponent. Fair enough.
"Double time, now!" Nilou laughs, hoping that her mind will move fast enough to give her a way to run when she's dragged her three admirers out of sight.
"There's nothing like the balmy air
of an Arborean summer's day--
'cept the sweetest breath of maiden fair
When her father's off and away!"
And around the corner she goes, with her three admirers in tow...
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Post by Stix on Apr 14, 2007 21:15:17 GMT -5
The three diverted Bacchae follow along happily, clapping, skipping, shouting, dancing and singing like the drunken boors they are. "Wonderful! Have the last of my wine, lady," says the first, sloshing forward a dirty, half-empty wineskin with a lascivious leer in his eye.
"More song!" says an unfamiliar voice. Nilou turns in surprise to see that the number of Dionysian petitioners following her is up to a full dozen.
"MORE!" calls the chorus of voices, their demand threatening to whip them into a murderous frenzy.
Nilou isn't yet surrounded by any means -- there's plenty of open ground -- but if this continues, Thrassos could be swarming with Bacchae in a matter of minutes.
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Post by john on Apr 15, 2007 0:16:19 GMT -5
John, being quick to know when to cut and run, bolts for the boat after picking up his chewed knife-sheath, and runs. Not out of cowardice, but simply to inform the others of a possible legal entanglement. He doesn't see NIlou's bevy of newly won admirers, but he is concerned about the possible local law being a bit harsh on thus who thrash drunks, even ones as fiercely deserving of it as the fool he just laid out. And so he's heading for the boats, huffing, puffing and creaking in his brutally heavy armor, pack, and kit. Eager to make himself scarce from the scene of the possible crime.
He does, however, pause to give a swift kick to the side of the downed Bacchae, who he still assumes is just a human drunkard. A parting shot of cruelty, and says, "It'll take more than bub to drown your memories of me, I'll warrant. I engraved them upon you with my fists." A gleam has lit in his dull eyes as he barrels down the hill, heading for the boats.
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Post by edisoncarter on Apr 15, 2007 21:51:17 GMT -5
Three--three?!
"Hells!" she hisses. There are even more trailing behind her. "Where do they come from?!"
She sees it can only get worse. So she does what any good songstress does at teh end of a whow, to wind down the crowds: she slows the tempo down.
"Good, my lads! Let me share with you some more music--but you've got to lend me a good ear, mind you all!"
She starts up a waltz that begins at her rate of travel, then slows down as she moves:
"Oh I'd follow...you...to the river
that washes...out...to the sea...
through the wind...through the rain...of a cold, black night
that's where...I'll...be..."
Singing[dice=20+8][rand=077996133940193119433124893044381195561548212764514617487350657032]
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Apr 15, 2007 22:27:36 GMT -5
Hands full of his morning's fare, the tall, dark-skinned elf exits the inn and languidly picks his way among the distinctly shorter crowd. After nearly inhaling the handful of olives, Nuuko double-checks all of his swords and pouches; ensuring that all is where it should be and secure. As he meanders through the streets in the general direction of the docks, he keeps his eyes peeled for a less busy alehouse to procure some wine.
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Post by Stix on Apr 16, 2007 14:08:52 GMT -5
Nuuko spies a dirty bubber passed out on the grass ahead -- and, it appears, a few of them congregating behind a nearby house. A few long strides closer show that the drunkard was obviously beaten unconscious, left with all his possessions and a torn piece of hard, stitched leather between his teeth. From behind the house comes Nilou's voice, raised in a slow, precise alto...
...And the instant it becomes clear to the Bacchae that they'll have to sit through a slow song, they begin to make noises of churlish disgust. One tears free the sole of his sandal and hurls it in Nilou's direction, wineskin to his lips all the while. It becomes rapidly apparent that they won't settle for anything less than boisterous, drunken revelry -- now.[rand=475560024298415696802158598639990277219884121341354505811846517038]
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Post by edisoncarter on Apr 16, 2007 20:29:10 GMT -5
With no hesitation she picks the tempo back up, a happy tune, and keeps moving (for the love of all that protects an unwise fiddler, she keeps on moving) away from the drunken bashers. It doesn't take long before she understands the implications of what she's done. "Well. Shit." She starts capering out towards the sea, playing a shanty--and calls up that spirit in her, that little flicker of the magic of stories, of the wonder of universe's imagination, and wills it into her voice, into her strings, into her spinning gait as she draws the drunkards further out towards the water... (OOG: Don't rightly know how to activate Fascinate, but I'd sure like to try it out now.) (OOC: Pretty much like that, actually.  Perform (Sing) [dice=20+8][rand=7875713122905401057805040870241964840191099300019201397463627561546] |
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Apr 16, 2007 21:59:44 GMT -5
Nuuko spies a dirty bubber passed out on the grass ahead -- and, it appears, a few of them congregating behind a nearby house. A few long strides closer show that the drunkard was obviously beaten unconscious, left with all his possessions and a torn piece of hard, stitched leather between his teeth. From behind the house comes Nilou's voice, raised in a slow, precise alto... ...And the instant it becomes clear to the Bacchae that they'll have to sit through a slow song, they begin to make noises of churlish disgust. One tears free the sole of his sandal and hurls it in Nilou's direction, wineskin to his lips all the while. It becomes rapidly apparent that they won't settle for anything less than boisterous, drunken revelry -- now. She starts capering out towards the sea, playing a shanty--and calls up that spirit in her, that little flicker of the magic of stories, of the wonder of universe's imagination, and wills it into her voice, into her strings, into her spinning gait as she draws the drunkards further out towards the water... Seeing the revelers on the brink of assaulting the tiefling woman, Nuuko turns his long gait in the direction of the amassing problem while greedily shoving the last of the olives into his mouth. Keeping alert for any more drunkards showing up from side streets, the dark elf's right hand falls to a sword hilt. He hastily stashes the rest of his breakfast in a belt pouch. His now-empty left hand casually and gracefully produces a strange flat crystal with a hole in the middle and tapered edges. Palming the unusual item, Nuuko follows a safe distance behind the barely-enamoured group of rabble-rousers. |
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Post by feq on Apr 20, 2007 14:45:15 GMT -5
As the boats pulled from the shore under the direction of the workers, Vatndir advanced with John towards the Fray. "John, I imagine our top priority will be retreiving Nilou, and insuring her safety. I can't imagine how upset I'd be if I thought anything bad having happened to her."
Staying firmly behind John, Vatndir kept a fraction of his attention on the boats, imagining how long it would take him to run, swim to a boat, and bring one back for the others if his mind turned dark in this instance.
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