Second Fiance
Chardev Summary (Svarshan): I've never known anyone to be near-punched so many times. o.O; Had some fun with this one, and was able to explore the language barrier a little more. Jibbom was classic in his Sandy harassment, and kicked us off to a good start. Afraid I was fading at the end, though, so apologies all around. :/
Chardev Summary (Emir): Dear Diary. Today I met a truly baffling woman, who seems to hold no regard for Monsieur Steel von Ironblood. Which is a terrible travesty, if you ask me. But she has no appreciation for a man of high society so I suppose that's to be expected. What a travesty!
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* Castle District - Feren Road *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Many of the buildings and towers of this area extend out of the Inner City Walls and there are many criss crossing roadways, bridges and multiple levels as well as mercantile traffic between various places of business and smaller airship docks which in turn keep air-traffic somewhat busy here as well. All in all This is quite obviously a well-heeled part of the city, and the smallest of cutpurses would be a fool to ply his trade here. Constant guard patrols and the presence of lawmen insure that even the most vulnerable looking of individuals can dwell here unmolested. Many of Alexandria's business owners, well-to-do's and nobles make their homes here although the true noble district begins further north -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Jibbom Steel Von Ironblood, Bane of the Night. 0s 5h Emir Mocha-skinned man w/ a daring grin & impeccable taste 55s 1h Svarshan Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon! 5s 9h Sandy The HIPpest elf ever. Practically a HIPpy. 23s 11h -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Myrrish Consulate <MC> Courthouse <CH> Nenesse Avenue <W> Mountain Road <E> Engineer's Row <S> The Skygate <N> -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
It's Eliday, Aestry 29 20:47:24 1014. The full moon is up. The tide is low and ebbing.
Heavy rain drenches you in the dark as it falls from grey-black clouds, driven by a howling east wind.
The rain falling from above has kept most people without business to attend to off the streets. But Jibbom is not 'most people'. The halfling marches towards the courthouse, clutching a piece of parchment which has been rendered nearly unreadable by the rain. He is undaunted by this, head held high as he marches onward.
At the foots of the courthouse, at the very heavy, marble foot of the courthouse, a tired-looking figure rests in the rain. Svarshan rests on the steps, one leg out in front of him and the other holding a (now soaking) lunch that he eats slowly, methodically, out there in the rain. As Jibbom makes his determined approach, he glances up and gives a partial wave. A larger figure stands beside him, standing over ten feet in height. She occasionally glances down at the delicious item he so obviously holds.
And fidgets.
Whether or not Emir's leg has healed by now, it doesn't matter one bit: he's completely used to using his stylish cane now, and it's just such a useful prop, he wouldn't abandon it for the world. In fact, it's useful right now, as he whaps people aside, as he races squealing through the /horrible, terrible rain/ toward the nice safe dry courthouse. "My /hair/!" he wails. "These robes are custom tailored!!" He's going to bowl right past Jibbom.
And Sandy emerges from the Courthouse, actually, steps out of it with an irritated look on her face. "Well. That's *one* more fine paid up," she says, distractedly. "At least they didn't sentence me to jail again."
Before beginning his ascent up the courthouse steps, Jibbom's attention is snagged by the wave. He returns it with a bright grin, undaunted by the cold rain. "Ah, hello there, lizardy fellow and tall lady! You wouldn't happen to be in the business of accepting official petitions on behalf of the courthouse, would you?" That is presumably what the soggy illegible paper in his hands is supposed to be. His attention is quickly snagged by Sandy, who is met with an even brighter grin. "Why, hello there, Backup Fiancee Number Two! Good to see you. You'll sign Steel Von Ironblood's petition for righteous justice, won't you?" He says this with all confidence.
Of course he has completely failed to notice Emir thus far, standing in perfect position to be bowled over.
Fidget. Twitch.
Stare.
As soon as Svarshan jerks, glancing from the distracted Emir to...oh. He relaxes again, but not before Srassha's reached down, and neatly...
Plucked...
The bit of casserole from his hand. The soggy, rain-soaked casserole.
"...it issss a habit," he says to Sandy as she emerges, the words inadequate for what he's trying to say. But he's not so good with words. And as Emir rushes that way, he begins, slowly, to stand and answer Jibbom, though he'll by no means be out of the way in time.
"...You realize, of course, I just got out of the courthouse for murdering someone who asked me to sign a peotition, right?" says Sandy, innocently, to Steel Von Ironblood. That smile on her face is not really a nice smile at all. *At all*.
"Really?" Jibbom frowns a little at Sandy's explanation. "You should have gotten me to defend you! Steel Von Ironblood's skills as orator and advocate are known far and wide. I would charge a backup fiancee only a small fraction of my normal fee." The point is entirely missed.
"I am not your fiancee. Am I going to have to punt oyu across the city? I am going to have to punt you across the city." Sandy seems distracted, a little, and irritable. She mutters something to herself and then casts a glower at Svarshan. He's right there, after all. "Stop me from punting him."
Slurp. Munch, munch, munch. The soggy, sad casserole vanishes into Srassha's jaws, with only a splat or two onto the steps. Svarshan glances from her and back to the sildanyari, to the lucht. ...and opens his muzzle. ...closes it. And then the enormity of what she just asked him to do settles in, and a look of solemn, quiet shock settles over his features.
"No, of course you aren't!" Jibbom agrees with Sandy, laughing brightly. "Backup fiancee. While you are shown spirit, I'm afraid there are a few names on the list ahead of you. But who knows? Luck may come your way. Anyways, sign my petition." The soggy paper mess is held out by the smiling halfling.
Svarshan lashes out and grabs the back of Sandy's shirt.
Sandy is already advancing on Jibbom with clear intent to mangle him. She is grabbed by Svarshan, though, and she simply stops because, you know, the lizard is pretty strong.
Jibbom just holds out the drenches glob of paper towards the rampaging Sandy, blissfully oblivious to the possibility that she might wish anything but the best for him.
Svarshan lets go a slow, slow breath, and then looks straight at Jibbom. His expression is solemn, as quiet as rock. And with all the seriousness in the world, he says, "Run."
In a stroke of luck for all involved, Emir has tripped and fallen flat on his face, and upon getting up, he's pretty much running in circles and wailing, trying to figure out how to find cover when he's dizzy and confused. "ACCURSED RAAAAAIN"
Srassha continues munching on her delicious, soggy bits of casserole. A great drool-bit falls to the earth, and splatters like the frankenraindroplet that it is. Probably right next to Emir.
Jibbom's irrepressable smile slowly turns into a confused frown as he considers the very wise warning from Svarashan. "So... she /doesn't/ want to sign my petition?" He asks with great confusion.
It is perhaps fortunate for Jibbom that Emir is here, because the faboo Emir earns Sandy's attention, distracting her from her desperate need to punt the Tarienite. She stops. Looks at him. Stares.
Svarshan looks over as the sildanyari shifts position, and after a moment, drops his hand. And clears his throat. "Petition?" he asks, with all the words he can muster. He's terrible at them. He holds a hand out to Jibbom.
Jibbom is once again easily distracted. When Svarshan shows some interest in his petition, he hops over and hands it over. The rain has made it basically unreadable. "Yes indeed. It is to address a serious deficency in the state of this otherwise fair nation. May I count on your support?"
"I...petition," the sith'makar echoes. He reaches up to rub at his brow, then looks down at the...blurry, blurry inksplotches. And squints, and tilts his head to the side, and for a person looking at him directly, for just a moment, a real moment, fear shows in the corners of his eyes.
- SLURRRP!* goes Srassha.
Drool.
So Sandy, of course, is now lunging at Jibbom with Svarshan being distracted. She seizes him by his shirt, grabs him, turns him upside down, and begins to shake him. "LET US BE CLEAR HERE. If you call me a fiancee of ANY KIND, EVER, I WILL THROW YOU OFF THE HIGH BRIDGE. I CAN THROW VERY FAR. IS THIS CLEAR?"
Jibbom goes wide-eyed with surprise and fear as he finds himself hoisted up. His limbs flail in a desperate and fruitless attempt to free himself from the shaking. "Wait a minute..." He looks even more terrified. "The courthouse... oh no! I see what happened here!" Has Jibbom finally realized the obvious? "... You were getting a marriage license? No! Steel Von Ironblood isn't ready to be tied down!" Of course not.
Svarshan's claws tighten against the paper. And that yell? That yell is all it takes. The tension along his shoulders snaps, and the heavy creature begins to pace back and forth, and up and down the steps. His tail lashes behind him before...something.
He makes up his mind, or appears to, and stomps right over and shoves the paper between the struggling, yelling pair. And, "Read," he rasps. "What doessss this sssay?"
So Sandy looks around for a moment. It takes a little time, but she marches with Jibbom over to a cart going by and stops the cart. She pulls a barrel off the back, tears it open with one hand (really), ripping the nails right out, drops him into the barrel of pickles head first.
"Gwaabgh!" That's the sound a halfling makes when getting stuffed into a pickle barrel. His legs flail in a comical sight which is becoming far too common as he ineffectively attempts to escape the barrel.
Svarshan yanks the paper back, still tense. He doesn't really /register/ then that Sandy's shoving the flailing Jibbom into the pickle barrel. What he registers is there is something Bad, right in front of him. He glances down at the paper and after a moment..."Sssandy, can you..." And then.
Okay. The rest of it filters through.
"What are you. Doing?"
"...I am pickling Jibbom." She pulls him out of the barrel, then, and adds, "Okay. Now you're soaked with pickle juice." She sets him back down on the ground. "I need to let you go before the paladins yell at me and make me go back to jail."
Svarshan just stares at her mutely. And then Jibbom.
Jibbom coughs and sputters, spitting a glob of pickle brine onto the ground. It takes him a moment to regain his breath and look up at the much taller people around him. "... Well, at least the rain will clean my robes!" It takes a lot to dampen the halfling's optimism. "... So, is this some Alexandrian wedding custom I'm unfamiliar with, or...?"
And then the paladin sucks in his breath. He folds the paper roughly and puts it under his arm.
...and walks towards Srassha.
"...I hate you," is what Sandy says to Jibbom, defeated by the halfling's optimism. Temporarily. She sets him down.
Jibbom pouts at Sandy's response. "... My father told me that newlywed bliss always lasts at /least/ a year before resentment and loathing sets in. Things move quicker in Alexandria." He waves his arms when set down, invoking magic to cleanse the pickle brine from his clothes and hair.
At a thump to her shoulder, Srassha grumbles, then hunkers down. Except, well, he's stopped again. And this time the sith'makar's silence carries volumes. Heavy volumes. Because?
Just as he'd been about to put his foot in the stirrup, he'd looked down, and seen his saddlebags.
The empty. Saddle. Bags.
He looks from the saddle bags to Srassha.
Sometimes. You don't need to be able to say a thing.
"We are NOT GETTING MARRIED, HALFLING!" Sandy yells at Jibbom. Then she glares at Svarshan. Just glares at him. Somehow, this is all HIS FAULT. "Did you cosnpire to do this? Filthy paladins,"S he sniffs. "Always causing trouble. *Always*."
"Married?"
Bedraggled, soaked, miserable Emir has stumbled that-a-way and winds up beside Svarshan and Srassha. "I've never heard of a halfling marrying an elf. That'd make quite a story." And yet, even the prospect of a ~story~ can't lift the poor bard's spirits. Sniff. He looks to Srassha. "Hello, clever girl," he greets in mourning.
Jibbom continues to peer at Sandy with an utterly uncomprehending expression. "... So you're saying the marriage is already official? Alexandrian law is so strange. I would've figured they'd at least make me sign something..."
Svarshan clears his throat, after a time of looking at Srassha. "We are going to the Felwood," he says after a moment, voice Very Grumpy. "And then I will sslaughter demons until morale improvesss. And when it improves, I am getting very drunk." Pause, pause, as he yanks the stirrup, and then snaps up into the saddle. "You are welcome to join me."
And, of course, the whole, dramatic speech is ruined by Srassha shoving her muzzle lovingly into Emir's hands. Someone. UNDERSTANDS ME.
"...no! We are NOT MARRIED," says Sandy, loudly, pointing a finger at Jibbom. She ssays this loudly. VERY loudly. And irritably. "NOT AT ALL. DO YOU HEAR ME?" She's getting icnreasingly agitated.
Jibbom scratches his head, looking up at Sandy with a glum, confused expression. "... So you're staying we're still just engaged? I'm getting some mixed messages here."
"..RAAUUUUGH." Sandy throws her hands up in sheer frustration. "GOD. DAMN. TARIENITES!"
Svarshan eyes the two of them as he makes his way around. Like two dangerous, lit pieces of TNT.
Wide. Berth.
Like Sandy's Hips.
Emir manages to get a bedraggled smile out as he ruffles the raptor. "Aw, what a good girl you are, Raptor Queen." Beam! But he watches this with confusion. "Now I'm confused. When did you get engaged?"
Jibbom just looks at Sandy with an utterly stupefied expression. "... I suppose a little hysteria is to be expected under the circumstances. I should get my petition submitted before the courthouse ceases business for the day. Steel Von Ironblood, away!" Reclaiming his soggy, illegible paper, he charges through the courthouse doors.
Sandy then turns and stomps herself off as well, angrily. Towards Emir, actually. "We didn't get engaged." She grabs him by the shirt. "Do you understnad?" She lifts him. Right. Like that.
Yelp! Emir's eyes widen as he stares at Sandy. "You didn't get engaged," he repeats hurriedly. "Civil marriage, then?" Blink blink. D: "NO!" Sandy all but yells. She clenches her teeth, jaw twitching slightly. "We are not engaged, married, or in any other way a couple. AT ALL."
"...Then why did he think you were?" The bedraggled little man asks in utter confusion. Whaaaa? "because he's a mad little Tarienite, THAT'S WHY," says Sandy, still shaking Emir. She is practically frothing.
Aggle aggle aggle! Emir's little brain is rattled around his skull. "Ironblood?" he stammers. "B-but he's so wise in the way of... of /everything/!"
"...you think he's WISE?" says Sandy, shrilly. "WISE?!?!" She now has her other hand grabbing Emir's shirt. She's nearly frothing here, really. And who can blame her?
"W-well, certainly!" Emir stammers. He's practically wilting in her hands. "He knows of-- of quarry nymphs and... and proper herbology and-- and he's gone on all sorts of adventures, and-- and I feel he's a fine, upstanding man and I think you'd be /quite/ lucky to marry Mr. Ironblood!"
"...I WOULD NOT!" Sandy all but bellows that out now. "Gods. What is WITH people? I am not marrying anyone! I am not screwing anyone and, least of all, I am not going to marry a god damn halfling!!"
Emir squeaks and quails in her grip. Um!! "I-- I think you would be. And...and as I understand it, halflings such as Mister I--Ironblood are quite skilled in the ways of love. It's in their culture--"
"...quarry nymphs? What the fuck is a quarry nymph?" asks Sandy, demanding an explanation.
"A horrible monster!" Emir squeaks. "Huge, eel-like, a thousand eyes, a million mouths, teeth in rows like a shark! They live in quarries and they eat hapless travelers, and if it weren't for Mister Ironblood, we'd never have known of them, and when we faced one we would have been /obliterated/."
"...seriously. You expect me to believe that? That doesn't sound like any kind of nymph," says Sandy with a sniff. "Obliterated. Without JIBBOM? You're kidding, right?" She rolls her eyes.
"Of course," Emir replies, blinking with unerring assurance. He totally believes it. "I mean it. He was invaluable. We would have been done for! /I/ might even consider marrying the little guy. He's quite fantastic, if I do say so myself." Sandy pokes Emir in the chest. "You don't seem to have breasts. I'm fairly sure that wouldm't make sense. You not secretly just PRETENDING to be a man? Because you're sort of girly."
Emir blinks again, and musters up quite the indignant expression as he brushes off her poke with a sniff. "You don't have to be a lady to marry a man. Or a man to marry a lady, for that matter. And I am /quite/ manly. I don't know of what you speak, Frightening Elf Woman." HMPH.
"Funny, I thought that was the case last time I checked," sniffs Sandy. How RETROGRADE of her! She pokes at Emir a bit more, "Yep. Not a woman. Just with a definite fanciful sense of fsahion, though, to be sure." She sniffs.
"I daresay there's nothing wrong with a man having an eye for style," Emir replies, echoing that sniff. "You know how male animals attract mates? With /fashion/, my dear lady. A properly coiffed male is the epitome of its species." Though he's still pretty much suspended in her grip, he manages to fold his arms, tipping his chin up. SO THERE.
"...well, yes. That also gets them killed, though," says Sandy, "Peaccock with the color faul? Yeah, it gets shot *first*." She nods her head up and down. "You can enjoy being a walking target, though!" She beams.
"That is why Ceinara invented charm," Emir huffs. "And /diplomacy/. Adventuring is all well and good and necessary in the pursuit of destroying evil creatures, and absolutely a worthy endeavor. But bloodshed is not the only way, my friend. Have you ever dined with a family of kobolds? Fantastic experience, I daresay." Of course, he may be confusing being a captive with being a guest, but hey... you never know! "...no. I have not. And hope I never have to do. The day I dine with Kobolds is probably the same day that Jibbom isn't an idiot." Sandy huffs irritably, scratches an ear. Scratches it again. Grimaces.
"/Mister Ironblood/ isn't an idiot. He's a /visionary/," hmphs Emir. HARUMPH. "And if you dined with kobolds you might just learn something of import. Such as the fact that they pass down trophies from generation to generation."
"...wonder if kobolds make good moth traps. Fucking moths," says Sandy, irritably, under her breath. It's like she's not even aware of Emir for a moment when she mutters that. Then she peers at him and adds, "Really. *Really*. That's what you discern as of import about them?"
"Well, of course. Because they pass trophies down to their successors, they've created a frankly ingenious way to preserve and almost lacquer flesh and tissue in order to preserve their triumphs. If you ask a kobold about their family victories, you're sure to get some /fascinating/ tales -- and with absolutely stunning props." Emir lifts a brow, and adds, "I'm not certain how you'd consider an entire race of creatures to be a moth trap? Certainly no better than you or I, I would imagine."
"More like, whether or not they're good at making them. Might have to find that out. Moth problem at the estate," she explains. Then she reaches over and ruffles Emir's hair. She even knocks his hat off of him to do it. "You're *adorable*," she says, in the kind of tone that's deeply condescending.
"My /hair/," Emir whines, reaching up to try and fix it -- but there's no fixing the drenched, moppy curls. He straightens and curls his fists, tipping his chin up fiercely. "I am not /adorable/. I am a cultural /visionary/. And you'd do well to remember it, brutish woman!" He even shakes a finger! An angry finger!
"Brutish? I'm not trying hard enough. Typically, people call me shrew, venomous harpy, and assorted other names. But brutish? Losing my touch, I am." Still more ruffling.
Emir swats at her hand and draws himself up as dignified as he can. "Well you're headed in that direction so I assure you you're on the right track! But if you insult my cultural mentor and disregard the importance of style, and then you /mess up my hair/... Well. I bid you /good day/." He practically spits that last one, and with all the grace and kerfuffle he can manage, he stalks gracefully into the rain with the assistance of his lovely cane. Harumph!
"Yeah. Good DAY. Only it's NIGHT TIME. Pay attention, you unctious snob!" Sandy says that in entirely a cheerful tone. Mostly because she knows it'll BUG EMIR TO PIECES.
The retreating man's shoulders hunch in that 'why did you just sling that rock at me' sort of way, and he glares over his shoulder at her. "IT'S AN EXPRESSION, YOU OBLIVIOUS HARPY," he snaps. And with a graceful twirl and a toss of his wet hair, he sniffs and stump-tap stump-taps his way down the street. Hmph! Harumph! Hrmhrmph!!