Christof` put up his hands and rolled his eyes. For someone whose job it was to talk to people all the time, the old coot certainly wasn't the most sociable sort. He checked the door idly, lifting his mug, then he twisted his head to the cloaked figure behind Lashes, eyes narrowing. The figure had just moved slightly, made a noise he only heard a touch of... could that be the one working with the old man? Was this a setup? Realizing that she'd attracted his attention, Gwyn instantly reverted to moodily drinking from her cup and looking toward the entrance, casually giving her hood another tug. The only thing that kept her from letting loose another snicker was the way that she had come so dangerously close to meeting Christof's gaze.
The soothsayer calmed visibly as there were no further interruptions. "My child, you must beware. There are souls in a vast state of unrest and while they do not seem to be angry with you, you may very well be caught up in their wrath. I cannot say what the dead are raging against, therefore can not offer you counsel upon that matter."
"Lousy seer," Christof muttered under his breath, keeping it low enough that the old man wasn't able to hear it clearly. "Lashes, come on, this is dumb, he's just reading junk from what we're saying. If he was worth his salts, he'd be able to tell us something useful," He was a little cranky with the old man, but his thoughts cut as the man mentioned the dead... souls? The reaction within the small group grew as, at the seer's words, Gwyn's brow furrowed. Roughly rubbing at her eyes with the side of her index finger, she scooted her chair back and stood, careful to turn away before Christof could get a glimpse of her face. Christof's attention snapped on Gwyn as she stood, then on another random patron moving across the other side of the room. The old man almost seemed to be stalling them, getting them to stay put so... someone can get a shot? He looked up to the rafters, then back to the old man, chewing his lower lip nervously, evidentally more on edge than he'd initially believed.
Lashette's eyes widened at the soothsayer's words, and she pulled her hand away with a jerk, mumbling something about having to get ready to go home. Her heart gave a faint squeeze in her chest as she reached with a shaky hand for her cup of tea, and after taking a good long swallow she said lightly, "Well, then. I think that's fair enough, good sire. A fabulous job, I shall recommend you to my friends." The old man looked up at her curiously. "Is all well, my child? I sincerely hope I have not offended you and your comrade with my outburst. Forgive me, I am but a foolish old man, who at times lets the healthy disbelief of others cloud his better judgement. Please, I ask the forgiveness of you both. Sit and allow me to finish, I beseech you."
The young woman reached both hands up to pull her hood over her pale hair, carefully tucking it in so that nothing but her face was visible, then she stood and nodded to the old man. Dead souls? Could he really see...By the Gods. Was he referring to Direlette's crew, or...She groaned out loud. The dead with whom she now slept? Spinning away and grabbing her bag, she quietly murmured, "Nay, sire, I truly do have to go. But, I thank you. Perhaps another time?" Lashette hadn't noticed Gwyn, who had paused with one hand on the back of her chair, the other holding the mug even with her ribcage as her cloak took a moment to settle about her stationary form. Caught between her desire to exit and her wish to listen in on the rest of the conversation, Gwyn stood there for a moment, not quite sure.
The old man nodded and struggled to rise, wincing again as his left leg succumbed to a partial amount of his weight. He leaned over and whispered into her hood so that only she could hear. "I told a partial truth, forgive me. I can further counsel you upon ways to avoid the evil boding upon your friends. Find me again within a week or two and I shall tell you more." Christof stood as well, his eyes moving to every patron as he watched who was regarding the table, who looked interested. The cloaked woman he'd noticed earlier was up as well, but not moving, that was one... but there were a dozen shadows that could likely hold many more.
While the seer hobbled his
way towards the door, Lashette slipped a troubled look after him. She had
no idea just where she would be in a week or two hence, but should she
be around, she thought she might just have to do that. Ducking her head,
she wrapped her arms around the canvas bag and the long, thin stick that
Shyne had given her and then she turned to the door. "Lashes, wait!" Christof
called after his former roommate. Arg! What in blazes was going on with
him? Was he always so paranoid and edgy? He took a step, bumping his shoulder
lightly against Gwyn before he leapt back with a yelp. Yep. He was, evidently.
The girl gave a yelp as
well, dancing forward a step or two and spilling a good bit of her cider
down the front of her cloak. Torn between cursing and running away, she
stood stricken for a split second before making a beeline for the bar.
Lashette stopped as she heard Christof call her name, and with a silent sigh she glanced back, frowning and shifting from foot to foot as she waited. The young man froze as Gwyn bolted off, then he moved like a madman over towards Lashette, hurdling a chair to get there before the cloaked Gwyn could make a move. However, unknown to Christof, the chair he had leapt over fell to the floor, hitting Gwyn in the ankle as she retreated; with a gasp and a curse she fell to lean against the nearest table, the mug flying from her hands and breaking into a thousand pieces nearby. "Gods damn you, Christof," she muttered to herself as, glancing about to make sure he'd gone off to tend to "poor little Lashette," she scampered for the staircase, limping as she went.
"Lashes... I dunno what in blazes is going on, or what's with the icy attitude, but come on, this is a mess!" urged Christof as he reached her side, and the young woman's jaw dropped as the most incredulous look slid over her lovely face. Her smoke-grey eyes grew huge as she turned to face Chris, and for a moment she was so enraged she couldn't even speak. Lashette stalked up to him, dropping her bag on the floor, and then she drew back her hand, clenched it into a neat little fist and let it fly straight at his solar plexus. She hadn't stopped to think, was completely flabbergasted at his audacity, and as she punched at him, she let fly with a string of curses designed to make even the heartiest of sailors blush.
While normally Lashette wouldn't have had a chance at drilling Christof, tonight there was a catch - he had no idea Lashes was going to take a swing. "Ouuf!" he grunted, stumbling back with a cough. "Wha the *cough* is *cough* who?" Chris stammered, his Aslarian accent coming through a little in the moment as Lashette stood on tiptoe in an attempt to look him in the eye, her own eyes fairly flashing fire as she clenched her jaw. Trying not to raise her voice, she planted her hands upon her hips and hissed, "What's with the icy attitude? This is a *MESS*? You...you...ARGGH!!!" She stamped one foot in rage, unable to believe he said such a thing. Softly she growled, "Your girlfriend turns you in to assassins, you tell me we have to leave NOW, and...you just notice we're in trouble?"
"My... wha- Why in blazes don't women make any sense when they're mad?!" He pleaded with the muns to offer him council in Aslarian, a tongue he knew Lashette didn't speak. There was no answer given to him. "Listen! Of course we're in trouble, but you coming in here and talking to your psychic friend doesn't solve that! You should be getting outta Drache!" he yelled, confused and flustered, not even *close* to rational thought. Lashette pressed her lips together as she turned on one heel, flipping her long cornsilk hair furiously behind her, half hoping it caught him in the eyes and blinded him. As she strode to her dropped bag and hoisted it again, she glanced back to Christof with narrowed eyes, then to those around watching the scene. She snapped quietly, "I'm on my way home. If you have something to say, then follow along. If not, then you're on your own."
"Ack!" Strands of blonde hair raked at Christof's face, causing him to sputter and flinch. Gods, this boy just couldn't handle an angry woman, could he? "Lashes, wait up," he called after her, darting ahead to grab the door for her. Commence boot licking, perhaps it would tone her down. He smiled weakly and gave a nervous chuckle, voice a little high pitched. "Uh, after you, of course Le- er- Lashes." The enraged young beauty glared at Chris, muttering something about "fine time to be a gentleman now", then she stalked through the door into the cold air outside. Men. Blonde men. Did they ever know what they were doing? Her colour high in both rage and embarrassment, she didn't look at Christof as she stormed on past, muttering to herself, "Let's see just how brave *HE* is hanging out in a bloody crypt, sleeping with the dead."
Christof looked back to Dulcy
before he slipped out the door, a worried expression on his face. "If I
don't return, avenge my death?" he asked her pleadingly. Yep, Lashes was
gonna kill him. It was official. With the unimpressed look from Dulcina
he winced and hung his head like a man on a death march, following Lashette
out into the night.
