Yeah, yeah..., Tell it to the Judge

[Mhareh]

OUTOFCHARACTER     Expected slight language warning. Pretty darn mild, as it goes, but don't go crying to mommy if it hurts your tender ears. >.> Probably won't last long; the bard's not one to swear in public. Heh. (Bad for attracting customers, y'know.) But I think you may agree with me that Mhareh has some cause to be badmouthing certain people right now, anyway. <.<; INCHARACTER     He'd known something was up form the moment he opened his eyes and rolled over that morning. The empty room that stared back seemed to mock him, even dingy and ripe as it was. His nose was accustomed to the odor, but the dim sunlight shining through the greased hide windows didn't seem all that brighter than had the insides of his eyelids. Sweeping a lock of black hair out of his eyes with a careless swipe of an arm, I'chaeju Mhareh groaned and levered himsely up off the sleeping pallet to get a better look at the room he had--formerly shared with the other eight members of his performing troupe.     It didn't take any particular amount of genius to figure out what'd happened, or who had instigated this. Even as the glum thought Well, maybe they're all waiting outside, had to move on a job or something failed to rouse his spirits, which turned blackly to regard the man who'd just officially become his least favorite person on the continent--no, make that the entire planet. As he felt around his thinning blankets, though, skirting the holes with his fingers as he searched for a certain distinctive lump, he did have to give the guy credit for leavign him one thing at least.     Aha, there's my purse! ...for all the good it'll do me. That bastard Mayeneris KNEW there wasn't nearly enough in it to pay for even a meal or two, much less quarters for a troupe of nine for three nights. I'm sure that's the ONLY reason he left it. That son of a whore, if I ever see him again... A few minutes spent heartily cursing his troupe--no, former troupe's master did little to make him feel better. In fact, with a sinking of his heart, he looked to Ver'ah's corner and wondered why she'd left, too... or rather, what Mayneris had done to make her go. That efrellin', gods-cursed... Mood fouler than ever, Mhareh (realizing that sitting in here and stewing was doing him little good) stomped to the door and jerked it open. Then he undid the cheap chain, not sure why he bothered sinc eit was about ready to come apart on its own anyway, and opened the door all the way so he could tromp out into to hallway. He didn't get very far before he had to stop and viciously kick the wall to let out a bit of his temper, however--and then, toe throbbing in tempo, take his forehead and bang it against the wall a little more carefully, this time taking a moment to berate himself for ever thinking he could trust that sleazeball Mayneris, for ever thinking it was a good idea to leave home, join a traveling troupe--this troupe in particular, and see the world. Why hadn't he just struck out solo?! Stupid, stupid, stupid... Guess I'm going solo NOW, like it or not! He paused a moment, hearing another thump that was not the contact of head to wall, and stepped away, trying to look calm and casual as, worried about whoever he thought he'd just heard coming up behind him.     Hope it's not the innkeeper. It'd be just what he needed, to have a repair bill jammed atop the inn stay he already owed him for, wouldn't it? His eyes surreptitiously darted over the wall as he turned: no sign of damage, but somehow he doubted the innkeep would be too sympathetic about the matter even so. They always tended to frown on people trying to knock walls down with foot or forehead, for some odd reason.

This post has been edited by Mhareh on 08.01.06, 10:04pm

[Thucydides]

The morning sun poured through the little window in dusty rays, illuminating the small room and its single occupant. Immaculately tidy, the casual observer would have found it difficult to tell that someone had spent the night in this place -- the sheets lay undisturbed, and a deep silence filled the air. Indeed, the only signs of life or movement were the faint tendrils of wispy smoke hovering in the space above the strange pile of ragged cloth that sat upon a stool at one end of the room.

"O'aan. Such a miserably far way to come for a measley half-dozen barrels of wyvern snot." The smoke shivered in the air as the gruff words mumbled out of the curious pile, which revealed itself to be a quaint little man, perched tenuously upon the high stool. "Charge triple price for delivery to Semti's Hammer, will they?" A loud snort, followed by a short wheeze. "I can't wait to see the looks on their grimey faces when they realize I've come myself to collect."

Several more long moments passed in silence, as the thoughtful figure of the elderly human sat enthroned in stillness, considering the patterns made by sunlight crawling across the floorboards. Thucydides did not often spend time away from his home, and he was relishing the chance to simply sit in the sun, undisturbed. In many ways, the purpose of this journey (which could have just as easily have been made by a hired assistant) was to give himself a chance to slow down and take a few long looks at the big picture. At his age, the years ran together, faces blurred, names faded from memory, and deeds were lost in the shifting eternities of time. He was ever concious of greater forces at work, of vast patterns, and unheard songs -- all things too easily missed in the business of day-to-day routine. His work was progressing well, but he couldn't help feeling something of a vague sense of disappointment with the progress he had made. Twenty years, and still just a-

-THUMP, BANG!-

The quick succession of loud noises shattered the silence like cannonshots, startling the old mage to such an extent that he fell crashing headlong from the stool to the ground in an equally loud THUMP. Dust went swirling, the pipe flew across the room to clatter against the wall, and Thucydides found himself sprawled in an undignified heap across the floorboards. Sputtering, he rose, marching to the door and throwing it open with what he considered to be impressive force. No words passed his lips, but the glare he sent roaring down the hallway could have stopped adult lions in their tracks, so great was the intensity of those black eyes. It was early, after all, and people might be trying to sleep or something!

This post has been edited by Thucydides on 08.01.06, 11:11pm

[Sideth]

Oh the damned thieves and damned wenches! His lack of luck with the first led directly to the same shortcomming the second. Sideth was just glad the barkeep took an deposit on his tab, and the inn room already had a deposit. And now the hangover was a greater annoyance than his restless night... or was it greater because of his restless night? He just wanted out of the oft blasted half wreak of a city that this was, find a bit of gold for food, and stumble back to his own home and bed, and a much friendlier tavern. One where at least a thief could expect to be caught and dealt with on Sideth's own time. He rustled his hair with a hand, then set about dressing himself and feeling out of place in his unwashed clothing, slipping on his armor, cursing it vaguely in his mind for the awkward stiffness in the early morning. He wouldn't be caught without it, or unarmed, nor would he let a commoner see him in any unimpressive state. At the worst in his armor he seemed a mercenary, at his best, the genuine hero, and at his least impressive, just that, unimpressive and ignored. But what did that matter now?

Dressed and goomed in a rumpled fashion, ready to move, he girded his sword, left his only pocket coin on the dresser, and opened the door to his room. Turning to leave, he found himself straight away in the old wizard's stare, having missed the bard. "Oh what the bloody hell now?" he muttered indignantly, apparently forgetting to keep it under his breath, and impatiently waiting for the old geezer to excuse himself and step aside.

[Mhareh]

OUTOFCHARACTER     Whee! Oh, nice characters. (What a mix!) X 0-D This is going to be an interesting thread. Caution: typoes ahead (no matter how much I hunt...). And sorry for the wait--I blame the umpteen million layers of the eye I was tested on yesterday for eating my brain. <.<; (Who KNEW you could fit that many frellin' layers into one titchy eyeball?!?! Good skwerlin' grief.) INCHARACTER     The wall was unmarked, but Mhareh's wave of minor relief was shortlived. As he turned he found himself confronted by a pair of dark eyes, overshadowed by the long white hairs of mold that sproted profusely above them. Mhareh blinked at the bizarre sight, which resolved itself after a second's disconcerted regard into not mold, but a pair of eyebrows--but the bushiest, longer pair of eyebrows he'd ever in his life seen. They were eyebrows fit to write songs about, that looked as if the man had glued caterpillars bred with the shaggy hair of lap-dogs to his head. In any case, they were currently pulled together in a vexated scowl, over eyes glowering fit to set the object they rested on afire. --Which happened to be his head, at the moment. The dark-haired boy gulped slightly, the smile he'd been fighting down at the sight of those crazy white caterpillars crawling across the man's face disappearing instantly down a black hole. Uh oh. He had no idea who this guy was, but quite obviously the old coot's appearance didn't bode well for him.     Mhareh, after a pause, opened his mouth to reply to that stare. He thought better of it an instant later, however, when another guest came whirling out of his room, clanging and clomping about fit to wake the dead. This guy was easy to place, and Mhareh vaguely thought he may have seen him eating downstairs the night before. Macho fighter-type--eh, look at those spurs; not just any fighter-type, a KNIGHT. Gods, he puts his armor on to go wandering down the hall?! Crazy bastard. Though perhaps that and "knight" are synonymous enough to be repetitive.     Oh be kind, Mhareh. Knights have money, and the weight to throw around to hire bards, but only bards they like. Besides, for all you know he had a perfectly legitimate reason to get dressed in tin. --Maybe his wench, er, 'scuse me, lady damsel just told him there's a dragon downstairs to slay. The snigger this time was harder to choke back. With the ease of long practice in acting, however, Mhareh smoothed his face into a blandly thoughtful expression instead, so that even the smallest noise that might have escaped his lips would be covered--it couldn't have come from him, for he was regarding both of them with disinterested unrecognition, hand on chin and finger tapping contemplatively at his upper lip. He kept his stance non-confrontational--those damn sword-swingers were always looking for a fight, and this one seemed to be no excpetion from what her could tell; not to mention that bearded old fart gazing daggers at him for who knew what reason why!--but didn't back down, feet slightly apart and lightly braced to signify that he had every right to be here, for this was his hallway as much as it ws either of theirs. If the innkeep came to investigate, there could still eb trouble. But fellow customers he was confident he could handle, one way or another.     Mhareh raised an eyebrow at the knight's choice of words, but chose discretely to let the old coot answer. The bard didn't know what the hell was going on, either, after all; and it was probably a good idea to see a little more of the picture before he jumped in and got himself in hot water.

This post has been edited by Mhareh on 08.05.06, 02:14pm

[Thucydides]

Thucydides waggles a pudgy finger scoldingly in the air, not intimidated by the strong young soldier. Since the bard seemed to be a somewhat small and ineffectual fellow, the old human assumed it must have been this loud clanky thing that had made the noise. "What the blazes do you mean?! Here I am sleeping in my- ...well sort of sitting on- ...well kind of enjoying a smo- ...BUT I -might- have been sleeping! And here you go banging and thrashing on my wall with those great big boots-" here the old man points accusingly at the knight's boots "-and startling me half to death! I am lucky I did not have a heart attack! I might have fallen clear out the window to my doom, instead of just fall- er... being startled!"

Looking over the knight's shoulder to the bard, the old wizard waggles his eyebrows. "You there, young man, you must have seen it! The poor innkeeper is lucky he does not have a massive gaping hole in his wall to repair." He shakes his head sorrowfully, turning his attention back to the nearer of the two men. "What would your mother think? Here you a sturdy young man amusing himself by tormenting your elders and damaging the property of innocent (well moderately innocent -- that meal was awful) businessmen?"

Snuffling, the mage turns and closes the door to his room, latching it securely. He was up anyway, and he knew there was no way he could return to peaceful meditation now. Might as well take advantage of the early hour to get more work done.

[Sideth]

Ok, so Sideth wanted to stay in a bad mood. He desperately wanted to, but this unbalancing start to his day was enough to make him think, and remember all the ways he supposed he wanted to act. Where what he thought a rather finely defined sense of chivalry and honor came from, he was unsure; he just knew it was annoying when he wanted to be grumpy. The old man must have only pulled it off by being fully insane, and then hiding behind the scrabbly wooden door to his room. At least he could accost the man he discovered behind him about the supposed damages to the inn.

The knight straightened up, drawing tall to his full six feet of height, and turned to hail the fellow keeping himself in check in the hallway, "You there, what is this all about? What mischief and damage have you caused?" He moved forward and looked at them, reserving judgement, but keeping it clear in his glance it wouldn't last too long.

[Mhareh]

OUTOFCHARACTER     Computer, I order thee to WORK. Cooperate with me, here! <.<; CHiz. If one thing's not breaking three other things are, mrrfle...but at least I can get online (sortof reliably) now. o.o;; Sorry for the wait. INCHARACTER     Mhareh knew this type: as beetle-brows turned to berating him, the only thing to do was wait the old windbag out before he tried to speak in his own defense. Couldn't the twit see there was no hole in the wall? And what did he care, anyway?! Nosy old man. It was plain he needed a hobby, something to keep him active and out of the way, give him something to do other than sitting in his room all day so he could snipe crabbily at the younger generations (well, that was all of them, wasn't it?) who actually had something useful to accomplish in their day, unlike his creaky old bones. Mhareh patiently donned a mask of politness and waited for a chance to get a word in edgewise. The instant he opened his mouth, however, the old man was already huffily turning on his heel and slamming the door in his face.     Well if THAT don't beat all! Grouchy old coot; glad you're not the inkeeper. Or my employer. And thusly Mhareh felt perfectly justified in brushing off everything the old man had said. Serve him right, the steam-blowing old fart. Jeez, Mhareh'd left home to get away from that sort of lecturing talk. But apparently that didn't stop old coots brimming with self-righteous self-importance. Huh. The bard just barely amnaged to keep himself from rolling his eyes. But the ordeal of the morning wasn't over yet...     White palms of sun-browned hands were immediately raised in instinctual defense, forming a miniature wall of flesh to ward off the accusations as the still-present knight's words now found a new target: him. Mhareh send uncharitable thoughts at the old man's back through his now firmly shut door--not that the bard was about to go and knock, being unwilling to risk the codger's renewed wrath. No, he'd deal with this thick fighter on his own.     Should be easy enough for a silver-tongued minstrel, hey? ...Or not. Mhareh, though keeping his outward demeanor innocent and calm, resigned himself to a late breakfast... and a delay before he went a-busking to earn his keep, as well. Damn knight, why'd he have to stick his nose in what was none of his business--and TODAY, of all days? Mhareh rather needed those precious coins, and simply hoping he'd make it up with an excellent take the rest of the day wasn't good enough. That was the problem with society today, particularly those too dull-witted to earn their living with their mind rather than brute strength: they just didn't appreciate the dilemmas of a singer's life, did they?     Mhareh breathed in deep, sighed. It wouldn't do him any good to treat this stranger like the dunce he was. The thickest always seemed the touchiest about their intelligence, possibly because they had so little to spare. Mhareh told himself that the more honey-tongued graciousness and politeness he offered, the sooner he could drop this man and be on his way. It helped to repeat that to himself, as he held the things he'd otherwise liked to have said in check. Yeah, it helped...a little.     Offering the sword-wielder a small, friendly smile, but keeping it low-toned, neither overbright nor banal, Mhareh slowly lowered his hands with an eloquent shrug, gesturing to the unscathed wall. (What was with these people? Gods, he hadn't broken anything, that much was plain to the eye, and even if by ill chance he had marred the oh-so-precious wood of the hallway it wasn't THEIRS, so why worry?! Gods knew this junk heap of a motel wouldn't have its reputation hurt by a few more unnoticeable scuffs on the walls, despite the price Mhareh now had to pay in full for staying here...) "Look, hey, I didn't do nothin'." he said placatingly. "--Sir." Couldn't forget the title with the stuffy noble types, or they'd be up in arms and all over you before you knew it. Although this one couldn't be too well off, really, or he wouldn't have been staying here. Surely.