Girl Talk

Log Info

• Title: Girl Talk
• Emitter: Braelnoir
• Characters: Ashes, Braelnoir
• Place: A07: Fernwood Pub
• Time:
  • Thursday, January 07, 2021, 6:44 PM
  • Sunday, February 28, 2021, 10:07 PM,
  • Thursday, April 15, 2021, 9:59 PM
  • Wednesday, October 13, 2021, 6:24 PM
• Summary: Ash reveals that things are quiet on the spiritual side as well, and her Tarot cards keep coming up ominous. Braelnoir asks how she's doing, the Mourner admits not well, and the two go up to her room to talk further.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A07: Fernwood Pub *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The common room of the Fernwood Pub dominates the inn, spacious and airy because of the high, vaulted ceiling. Ornately carved beams of dark, polished wood form a lattice overhead, supporting the arched roof two storeys above the floor. To the right of the double-door entry is a spiral staircase, winding upwards to a balcony that rings and overlooks the main area. Large windows at this level grant an excellent view of the river to the west and colorful market stalls to the north and east. An air of coziness is salvaged by keeping the pub dimly lit; parchment-shrouded mana lanterns hang at intervals from the base of the balcony, nestled amongst lush, magically propagated ivy and ferns that grow over this false demi-ceiling and the struts that support it.

The bar is sleek and simple, comprised of meticulously polished black lacquer. Tables are set under the darker niches formed by the balcony floor as well as on the balcony itself. A few are deliberately sized to accommodate halflings and gnomes, but the majority are meant for human-sized individuals. A large common table is on the main floor, set before a semi-circular stage situated against the western wall. Beside it, with pipes mounted upon the wall and running up past the balcony and almost to the ceiling, is a refurbished pipe organ made to look like the one lost when the Fernwood was destroyed during the Merkabah Siege.

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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Braelnoir    5'11"    146 Lb     Human             Female    A tall, pale Acanian woman, branded in silver.                           
Ashes        5'11"    177 Lb     Hobgoblin         Female    A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

Braelnoir snerks, "C'mon Spooky, let's have us some girl talk." she says, then gets to her feet, turning to regard the bartender, "Yo, Bill! Gonna take it upstairs, yeah?"

Ashlee nods, checking around to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything, then follows Braelnoir. Chippen, happy his mistress is happier, runs a few laps around her throat. She follows the merc like a ghost.

Braelnoir ascends the stair on the balls of her feet for some reason, but no one seems to think it's a bright idea to make any wolfwhistles after the pair. For.... reasons. Instead, as the Korite reaches the top, she's withdrawn her room key and handles the process to invite the Arvek inside, "C'mon in. Bed's comfy." Expecting things to take a while, she sets the scythe blade down against the wall in the corner, then settles on the battered warchest at the foot of the bed. The rest of the room is quite spartan, with weaponry, or the means to repair same, the only things of note on display.

Ashlee follows behind. She's watching Braelnoir move, but not 'watching' in a focused way, more following the shape and drifting along. She has a good hold of her satchel and looks around the room. It's empty of things, which she likes, her own room is rather empty. She sits on the bed and looks at the merc.

Brae watches her for a moment or two, "Miriam should be up here in a couple. Don't usually take long fer orders round here." An elbow props against upraised knee, cheek against the back of that folded wrist, "What's troublin' ya, luv? What's this trial business all about?"

Ashlee looks around the room. There isn't a lot to look at, which makes it a challenge to find something other than Braelnoir to stare at. She keeps looking away, at nothing, and looking back. Finally she takes Carbuncle out of her satchel and holds him close, staring at the little lizard mouth. She clips him onto one of her ears.

"A noblewoman was murdered, and a nobleman knight framed a woman and the trial was a farce of contradictions and twisting of evidence to fit their story. The dead woman's family interfered with her getting justice and claimed it was out of respect for her. She had no voice. I couldn't hear her, and her murder has gone free and the framed woman will die."

"I don't... care about living people problems. This is all a step, and the Fieu of the Tears will gather them all at the end of life and make her judgement. I shouldn't care that people can't do things right. It's expected."

Brae's eyebrows knit at the jewelry husbandry on display, but she shrugs. Maybe it's a Hob thing. Her interest on Ashes is intent as she begins to speak, a shoulder doing a quick rise-fall, "Luv... Ashlee... You ain't dealt with noble politics before I'm gettin'." She straightens a bit from her casual posture, and reaches out for her, to help her feel cared for. It's... a less refined skill than it would be for many, but it's gotten better since the Stride got tripped.

She scoots a little closer, wincing a little as she picks up a plant-based passenger in her sitting meats. Ow. A little huff in her nose and she pushes on, "When I's a merc, I done more work for this noble 'gainst that noble than -any- grandiose aims. Least two gigs were brothers pissin' in each other's stew. Th'peerage is the only thing that means anything t'fuckin' cake eaters, luv." Her brows knit again, and she now asks, "But... whattaya mean 'ya couldn't hear her'?"

Ashlee focuses on Braelnoir's face. "The dead speak to me. I hoped she would. I thought she would need someone who would listen. They kept me from sitting with her body. Guards!" Her monotone breaks on the last word, into anger. Or contempt. An exhale later, and her words are flat once more. "As if they have more respect for the dead than a Mourner. As if civic authority has any in a place of worship. It wouldn't have been tolerated in Blar, and we're the monsters."

She blinks. Her centipede uncurls from her neck and climbs halfway up her face. She seems oblivious to a huge bug on her cheek, in her hairline. He holds himself up on her piercings, taps at her face with some other legs. "I couldn't help Bethany. She might have been a noble in life but in death she deserved all the ministrations she might need. They stopped me preparing her, anyone preparing her, properly to meet the Grey Lady. It's wrong, but there was no Chord to tell them so."

Brae settles back into her former posture, though her gaze is more introspective as Ashes shows a spark of raw emotion, "I remember... when I's snakey, in that ruined house." she says quietly. Hmmm, "I... just figgered ya could just do it, wherever. Like Ghisha." Now there's a word laced with venom, but she continues calmly, trying to be comforting, "We cain't always be where we most want.... most need ta be, luv. I know that better'n most. I know how't must be eatin' atcha... What about their patsy?"

Ashlee looks down at her hands, "It's when they want to talk. I can't make them. Their patsy is going to be executed, very soon. I want to break her out, the other think more evidence will somehow save her. That improper laws must be upheld."

Her lips tighten, "I don't know her. I shouldn't care. It's more irritating than I thought, thes things out of place." A nod, the 'it's bothering me when it normally doesn't' is a familiar story.

She rises at a knock, and moves over to the door, and, hand on dagger hilt, answers the door. As it's Miriam, the merc is all smiles, and 'luvs' once more as they handle the transactions for the drinks and food. Soon enough, she turns back, arms laden with consumables and approaches Ashes, "Here, may make this go smoother."

She'll wait until they're properly situated again before going into it.

The ashen Arvec waits for the food to transfer, and then takes some of it. She holds the bowl of gunpowder chili in her lap, feels the heat of it with her hands. She concentrates on that, reminds herself she is alive and feeling things is normal. Even if she doesn't like it. She takes a spoon, then eats a spoonful and chews silently.

{{LineFancy01|300px)) Sunday, February 28, 2021, 10:07 PM

Braelnoir settles back on the edge of her chest, one knee draped over the other ankle as she considers the Arvek. Her eyes track the woman's motions as she brings food to her face, "Ya know anythin' about Merkabah, luv...?" she asks softly. the Korite looks into her tankard, swirling it a little, then takes a sip, "Spent me a long time at war fer this'r that reason that weren't mine. Merkabah's where... i saw shit that bothered me.... stuff made me think more'n what was going on past victory...."

"The other goblins talked about it. I was in the the shanty town that sprung up." Ash says, setting the spoon down in her bowl. She blinks slowly, "Kulthian. Destroyed by the Spell Canon. Lots of dangerous monsters and dark tech."

Her attention is entirely on Braelnoir, watching her face. "What did you see there?"

Braelnoir 's eyes lid partway and she stares into the ripples of her beer for a moment or two. A subtle ripple along her jaw muscles, then, "Saw an' old merc ghost story called a Corpse Wagon... Merkabah spook tech..." a sigh, "Flyin' ship... story was, it took the fallen... stuffed in heavy armor and... reanimated them. Made'm move, kept'm aware, in a way that wasn't undead... slaved ta fightin' fer the city." She sips the beer again and, "I's on a mission fer the guild. We run inta the Wagon... all the scholars an' histry buffs o'Alexandria thought the Corpse Wagons were stories. Moon juice an' bullshit fer Mercs ta keep newbies up at night."

The ashen Arvec nods, slowly exhaling. Her words are flat, she sounds too much like a golem sometimes, "And it wasn't. Sometimes the ghost stories are real."

Her eyes roam, looking down at Brealnoir's beer, watching the ripples in the surface and the foam bubbles pop. "Necromancy is terrible, and that sounds like it even if it found a way around the banned spells."

Not that Kulthians accepted those bans either.

"What happened to it?"

Braelnoir smiles grimly, a short bark of laughter from the gallows, "Yeah..." sip, "We run inta one o'the Corpse Armors, the slaves." She finally looks into her eyes, something in the back of them, "After a couple sorties... after a few of us almost ended up slaves, too, includin' me, we ultimately destroyed it." She frowns, "Then Eezee... Ezil, recognized one o'the stiffs we'd dropped... realized she wasn't dead, after all, but still, aware, but enslaved ta the ship. Either way... forced ta fight fer yer enemy... kept outta the Hall ferever... that...." Her eyes lower again, "That got me deep... deep down." She looks up into the arvek's face again, "Sometimes... we're gonna run inta things's gonna get us twisted up'n ways we wouldn't expect... that's.... kinda where I's going, but I ain't no story teller. Never got me much knack fer't it anyay, not like m'sister."

"Your sister?" Ashlee asks, her thoughts immediately going to the sisters she's involved with. The one who will be executed and the one planning to stop that. Her eyes drift to Braelnoir's hair, "is hers dark?"

She looks down at her chili, back up. "The Feiu of the Tears will find a way. To collect her own. You were her help, this time. It hurts, comforting the dead. It always hurts."

"I'm not dealing with the dead this time." It still hurts. It's in her eyes. "I don't know why."

Braelnoir gives another laugh, this one good humored, "Not that kinda..." She pauses, thinks about it, then, "Sworn sister. A Sith Makar named Cryosanthia." The glance to her hair didn't go unnoticed, "Mine was black, before, well, all that happened when ya first met me. Long story..." She looks into her eyes and reaches out to lightly touch the other woman's hand, "Becuz sometimes.... th'wrong folk have too much say in shit they shouln't. i'm sorry luv."

Ashlee listens, mostly by intently staring. She looks down at the touch on her hand. "Most of the people involved in this shouldn't have any. They're ... simply terrible."

She takes a spoonful of her chili and chews it slowly, closes her eyes and shakes her head. "The courtroom was a mess. They didn't listen. I'd rather..." There's a small shrug of her shoulder. "... not feel or care at all."

Braelnoir nods and gives a sigh. "Yeah... them's usually the ones that get't, though." Brae replies softly, reaching up as she leans in, setting her cup down beside her, to try and kind of touch her shoulder, "There's plenty o'hurts.... that's true. Sometimes feelin's can muss up a solid decision..." She gazes searchingly into the Arvek's eyes, "Feelin's... that comes from the core of us... past ego, down inta th'heart o'things. Unique, an' personal ta each'v us. Gift a'the Gods if ya like, but how ya feel is yers alone an no one else's. Th'other side o'that's empty routine. gridin' wheel at the base of a windmill. More complex sometimes, got a choice here'n there, sure, but not free, not -alive-... savvy?"

{{LineFancy01|300px)) Thursday, April 15, 2021, 9:59 PM

"I savy," the ashen Arvec says, looking around for a place to set down her chili. She finally decides on the war trunk. She ensures the spoon is tucked in the bowl, not going anywhere. Not about to fall on the floor and throw food about. Perhaps some spoon has betrayed her in the past.

Ashlee clasps her hands, letting her forearms rest on her thighs, her hands hanging down, "I liked being the cog, having a route to go around and around. No one telling me, no one interfering. I knew what to do. Listen."

"None of them listened. To me. To Merek, to the others. To Bethany." She looks up, stares, dark eyes in a white skull, "there are ways of making a corpse talk. Not magical ways. Observing. They didn't want even that. Her last moments they shut her up, then shut up the rest of us."

"It's best we're free ta go our way." Brae agrees softly, taking in a bit of her dinner, then setting things down next to her, "Some folk are fine followin' th'path they know. No naggin', no bitchin', just certainty ya know what yer doin'. Some folks need leadin'. Takes... weight offa them." She shakes her head, shrugging, but ends the speculating about social needs of the individual.

The talk of the dead woman, the language of carrion, makes the Korite nod, "Yeah..." she says thoughtfully, "Sometimes, we made th'dead say things. Rattle th'enemy, shake'm up, easier ta route'm. Less killin', less risk, but, I think I know what yer sayin'." She lifts an arm and traces a spot side, "Like, a narrow triang'lar hole under th'rmpit says 'Myrrish estoc nicked came in under this guy's guard, punched the lung.' Only wound means 'Skilled fencer, an' a cold bastard, left this bunny to a long time dyin'.' Or thin dark bruises'n the throat, neck hanging funny says 'garrotte'. That sorta talkin'?" )

"Exactly, just like that." The Mourner nods. She holds out her arm, draws back a threadbare sleeve revealing her dark skin and another bone tattoo. She shows her inner forearm, tapping with a thick fingernail. "A line of dots and scars, parallel. They are saying they were in despair, and drugs, and that's what took them. No marks, but a small hole between the toes, tells they were sent on their way by someone trying to hide it."

She exhales. She flops back, lying crossways on the bed, her legs hanging over the side and feet on the floor. "They say a lot of things. They'll say more when I can sit with them. They're not... noisy. The way the living are."

Ashlee lies with her arms at her sides, like a corpse, staring up. Shaking her head a little from side to side. "No one cared. They ran around, waving her death like a flag, like a bloody shirt, but if they cared they would have listened. Now Delilah is going to die. Two stupid murders for the price of one."

Braelnoir smirks a bit, "We do go on..." she says dryly, watching Ashes make herself... comfortable(?) on her bed. She works on another bite or two as the Mourner goes into more detail, then, "Lotta Merc work involves some noble'r other, ya know. Show o'force, coup d'etat, that sorta noise. Seems like there ain't no country ain't had some noble try an'scrag their brother fer the title or fortune or whatever." She sighs, shrugging a bit, "Sometimes, though... most times I wanna think, they find some primo throatcutter, instead. Best ones kill ya with the measles or what have ya. Never know'ts anything but nature or whatever. If ya can't get ahold o'them, but ya can lean on the law, well... 'justice is done' right?" The Korite shakes her head and takes up her tankard for a swig, "Fuckin' cakeaters."

Ashes seems comfortable, lying, breathing, her chest slowly going up and down. Her clothes lying flat against her and the bed, somewhat silhouetting her. For all the skeletal imagery, she has some curves, some roundness, a weight.

Monsters would naturally have stronger muscles and better bones. She might not be the most active of one, but she clearly benefits from the heritage. Ashes scratches at her stomach. "I prefer how people are in the Temple. A noble might have fancier stuff, but it's all the same."

More staring at the ceiling, then the ashen Arvec asks, "Was it better when you turned back, did people look at you differently again?" Braelnoir shrugs, "Did people stop passin' out'r hidin' their kids? Yeah." The human, in contrast has curves to different degrees, sculpted by a more actively militant lifestyle, and surveys the frame on her bed with a certain casual curiosity, "Not... a hunner'd percent sure I ever turned 'back', honestly." She removes the spiked gauntlet, flexing and considering her pristine fingers, "Used t'have a web o'scars... killin' Ghisha... got'r down with the scythe... an' I kept wailin' on her with my gauntlets... over an' over... till I's hitting the stone under th'mess.... drove shards o'the armor inta m'hand." She looks to the pebbled silver of her shoulder, "This... this I got... when me an' some bondsisters got taken by a crew near Charn. Brandin' iron.... ya can probly imagine th'plan." A shrug, and she looks to the Arvek, "When we... broke the transformation... I come out of some... cocoon'r... really soft... like lizard egg.... thing. No hair.. scars, piercings gone.. but that brand... it come back with the scales I had while I's transformed. I come back... different. I can grow claws now.. an supposedly dargon magic, but I ain't managed it yet."

"Not-A-Monster on the inside then." Ashlee says, staring like she usually does, at the scars that have vanished, the shoulder where a brand hides, her militant build and the curves on top. "You look more like a hobgoblin should."

She holds her position, flat on the bed, head pitched forward, unblinking, arms at her sides. It doesn't look comfortable in the least. "An egg? A really big egg? Did you keep the pieces? Can I see your claws?"

Braelnoir frowns a little in thought, "Mebbe." She sets her stuff aside and takes a deep breath, holding her hands up, curled like talons...

There is a ripple of shadow as her muscles tense, and eyes normally a wolfen amber are now an almost luminous draconic gold, pupils slit from top to bottom. Her fingertips convulse, and sleek, almost metallic claws emerge from beneath her human keratin growths, now contorted to reinforce ther anchor points. There is a certain mad intesity in her expression, an explosive surge of motion heled in check, while within those inhuman eyes, the Arvek's countenance subtly reflects, as does something else, ancient and primal.

Ashlee sits up fully to watch this. She squirms, reaches into her shirt, removes a mouse which she sits on her lap. Her attention is now undivided, she stares at the rippling muscles, her eyes, the sudden growth of claws.

"Okay, the monster is definitely inside." The hobgob states, reaching out carefully to touch at one of the claws. "You're like a lycanthrope, but in control. I hope."

Or all her problems might vanish. Her hands grip the edge of the bed, "What are you feeling now?"

Braelnoir growls between her teeth, fingers twitching before they forcibly clutch at the poleyns of her greaves, making unpleasant screeches as the points skate along the steel. The question is.... hard for her to answer, or at least is seems to take her a second to parse a response, "... rrrrraggge.....!" She closes her eyes and the talons almost snap back under her small, boring fingernails and the Korite sags just a little upon her arms, "... it's.... hard t'think tha'way. Sorry..." she adds, a little winded, "I.... didn't need ta hurt ya'r nothing... I don't quite get rabid, but... don't generally do that.. without havin' a target."

"It's like Oruch rage. I understand." Ashlee says, likely very familiar with the traits of cousin goblinoids. "Sorry.

She flops back on the bed, her head all the way back this time. She stares at the ceiling. "I shouldn't have touched. Sorry."

There are motions to her throat, her cheeks, as if she's about to say something. She doesn't. Her mouse runs back under her shirt, causing her to wiggle a little. "You didn't say if you kept the egg-shells."

Braelnoir blinks eyes eyes open, now returned to their usual luster, "Huh? What, naah, yer fine. So... yeah. Not-a-monster. Ha!" She shrugs, then, "It's... wow, it's well... not sure shell's the right word, but... Anyway... I kept a couple scales.. gave th'rest t'my sister. I made more sense t'er when I's covered with'm." She takes up her tankard for a swig, then, "Ya look like there's somethin' else buggin ya, luv. Go on, shoot."

"A little." Ashlee says, maintaining her monotone, her stare up at the ceiling. "I went to the Black Diamond."

She lets that sink in. "Women sell their bodies there. A lot was on sale. Merek was there. They kept asking me what I wanted."

"What I wanted was to not be there."

Braelnoir shrugs a bit, "Yeah... there's plenty o'folk who would. Mercs end up spendin' a lotta their loot on whores." There's a moment or two of nothing, then, "Merek was...?" Hmm. Oh, brother, who've you gotten yourself into....? There's a sight and another pull of her drink, then, "I'm gettin' there's a question in there, luv... but I ain't rightly sure whatcher askin'."

{{LineFancy01|300px)) Wednesday, October 13, 2021, 6:24 PM

"They weren't soft." The ashen Arvec says, her lips squeezing together. She stares at the silver-haired merc. Lying on the bed, her clothes drape about her like a funeral shroud, thin and loose enough to make out her form. She has some curves to her.

"Looking like a man, is attractive, in Blar." The hobgoblin admits, maintaining her stare, her monotone words. Muscles, little fat, short hair, the more board-shaped the better. Goblins have curves, lots of curves, curves that spill over into rolls; hobgoblins do not. Her eyes drift lower, focusing on Braelnoir's breasts. "You'd be soft in Blar."

And so would Ashes from the way her vestments crease on her, very soft. "Is that... really attractive? Was it a freak show?"

Braelnoir 's brows knit again before one brow decides to claim the high ground. This is not exactly what she imagined, though the claim of being 'soft' gets a sharp bark of laughter, "Ha! Like hell!" she chortles, then sighing to keeping the hilarity short, she settles her chin on the crook of her upraised wrist again.

The Korite moistens her lips for a moment and looks the Mourner over for an obvious survey, "Culture's very much a thing, luv. There's a few sisters back in th'Stride rockin' those hips'r them titties o'yers that weren't short on company." she replies, pointing to the ampleness of Ashes's figure, "Taste's unique, too, luv. Ya got a damn fine figure, an' I'm sure there's folk say th'same ta me, but there's plenty o'folks'll want some elfish twig, or a lass shaped like a pear."

The examination is met with no response, the hobkin lies there, unsure how to react and rarely considered so intently. At least, that she's been aware of. She pulls at her pants, which betrayed her hips. Thankfully she's resting on her bum, she's unsure how comments on that would be received.

"I'm a monster." Ashlee says quietly, her words unusually quiet, "doesn't that make me ugly? I'm covered in hair."

She pulls back a shirt sleeve. 'Covered in hair' is an exaggeration, possibly a poor self image. Her hair is thicker than a human's, and it makes a visible 'fuzz' or halo surrounding her arm. Her skin is easily visible through it, clear, largely without scars or blemish. Although, stylized white bones are hard to ignore. Looking past that grand tattoo is actually the first step to noticing her fuzz.