So a giant badger, a tattooed ferret and two surly foxes walk into a bar.

• Location: Black Gull Tavern

• Participants: Psamathe, Maleficus, Apophis, Arevin; Ferris (NPC)

Psamathe habits her usual spot at the end of the bar. A flat mug of ale sits in front of her, but it does not look to have been touched for a while. Quite unusual for this particular fox; usually caught knocking them back by the dozen. She stares absently at the golden liquid, watching the final bubbles within it rise and pop out of existence.

Maleficus steps in the tavern, his cloak he is currently wearing wrapped around his body for a bit of warmth in the chill of the evening. The ferret hmms softly, gazing around the tavern with his dark eyes before finding himself a seat at an empty table and pulling his cloak away to be more comfortable.

Apophis is sitting, as discreetly as possible (not at all), at a table in a dimly lit corner of the tavern. He's stolen the drink of the previous occupant of the chair, who is now sitting at the opposite side of the tavern grumbling to himself. The badger pays no heed to him, but is instead interested in vixens tonight. He's visually inspecting each from his seat, not particularly worried who sees him looking at them. Finally, he pauses when he sees Psamathe.

It's a particularly busy evening at the Black Gull. The crowd of vermin inside of it are their typical boisterous selves, their voices a constant murmur which sometimes swells with laughter. Arevin is working furiously behind the bar, serving up rounds of drinks for the tavern's thirsty denizens. Stress has etched itself on her face as she rushes to attend to her various duties.

Psamathe is unaware of the badger's presence. She ascended from her basement lair to an immediate roost at the bar, back turned to the rowdy crowd that packs the Gull. Vixen lost in thought, Apophis could easily have observed her for close to an hour by now. Not that there was much to gather: this is about as humdrum as Psamathe gets. Her ruminations manifest now and then as a twitch of the tail or a swiveling ear.

Maleficus watches the vixens quietly. Almost too quietly. One claw on his left paw gently taps the table, as if in tune with a melody in his head, his tail twitching slightly with it. No emotion can be seen on his half-tattooed face as he does this.

Apophis decides to get up, now that he's fairly sure he has a suspect for who the mysterious vixen from the other night might be. The badger scoots the chair out from under the table, the noise loud and grating but not particularly distinguishable from the texture of noises already pervading the space. What /is/ noticeable is a badger standing up, twice as tall as any of the others in the tavern, and going over to the bar. The eyes do nothing of consequence to Apophis' slow, confident gait, as he takes a seat on the undersized stools. He's brought his drink with him, so he hasn't ordered anything yet. The badger puts down his drink and utters the first words he's said the entire night, clearly within earshot of the two vixens, "Anba Hor."

Arevin snaps her attention upwards to catch Maleficus' gaze. His idle tapping is slightly unsettling to her. She attempts to get a read on him, but ultimately fails to sense his intentions. She decides to indicate that he is welcome to order himself a drink by offering him a curt nod. The vixen is then quickly distracted by Apophis, whose presence is now difficult to ignore. She exchanges a puzzled look with Psamathe as he mentions the infamous captive. "An' whaddya mean by that, stripedog? 'Cuz I don't care 'less yer gonna bring us his head!"

Psamathe eventually makes the effort to finish off her warm ale. The empty mug collides with the counter in a loud bang, as if to punctuate her brooding. "Oi!" the vixen groans, dropping her chin to the bar and outstretching her arms over its surface. "Cannae' let brewin' trouble gag tasty brews, eh?" she hollers, probably to Arevin. Apophis' well-timed name drop sends a visible cringe through Psamathe. "Abner, Abner, Abner--istha' all anybody talks of anymore?" After blurting that out, the vixen cranes her head to see the speaker. Her jaw hits the counter.

Maleficus nods a bit to Arevin and says in a deep voice that sounds like it came from the bottom of the deepest pit, "Water, if you would, vixen." Strange, his tone is almost polite. His finger does stop its tapping as well, his left ear perking as he listens to the activity and the words carrying about the news.

Apophis emits a low-pitched chuckle that vibrates the whole bar, causing a few of the others leaning their paws and elbows on it to glance over in shock. "Doubtless the name means more to you than to me. I find it interesting that he's lasted as long as he has with so many wishing death upon him. The abbey, they /protect/ him, more or less, do they not?" He looks over at Psamathe now, "Oh, hello... you know, you should probably quit that bell-ringing job of yours if that creature gets on your nerves so much..."

Arevin raises her eyebrows at Psamathe's reaction to Apophis. Lending an ear to the conversation, she realizes that she doesn't know the story behind that one quite yet... 'bell-cleaning job'? The vixen shrugs it off, knowing it will all become clear to her shortly. She skirts a path towards a barrel of water, mug in hand. Arevin presses the tap and lets it fill to the brim before serving it to Maleficus, at his request. "'Ere ye go, mate."

Maleficus nods curteously to the vixen, taking a sip. His face still shows no expression. It's definitely creepy, one could easily tell. The ferret listens to the conversation, though his eyes don't leave the vixen who just served him, "Any idea of what they speak?"

Subtle panic sweeps Psamathe's features. She would have no doubt burst into a cold sweat, were she not canine thus incapable of it. This is not the sort of joint to look flustered in, however, so the vixen wipes away the alarm. It is replaced with fake nonchalance: "Find that arm'r yet, *mate*?" The remark barely exits her lips before she deadpans again. Shifty eyes snap to Arevin. "Ah'll polish up what 'n when I wanna', thankye' very much," she snaps at Apohphis. Back to the armor; a swift change of subject. "This ole' stripedog lost some *gold* armor, Revskies!"

Arevin sinks her claws into the counter with a note of slight apprehension. "Nay, mate. I ain't got a clue," she replies. Arevin steps away from Maleficus for a moment to exchange a brew for coin, which she inspects in the dim light before pocketing it. "Eh, what's dat ye say, Psa'? /Gold/?" The vixen shoots Apophis a lingering glance, breaking into a toothy smile. "My, yer pal 'ere is gettin' more interestin' by the minute."

Apophis corroborates her mention of the armor, "Oh, yes... gold-plated - to be sure, the armor is solid enough beneath. Your friend was kind enough to agree to find it for me. I intend to give her what she is due for the gesture, one way or another." He drops the subject of the imprisoned fox for now, finishing his first drink, "I'll have another of these..." He yells back at the creature whose seat he stole, another ferret, "'Ey, what did you say this was? It's good!" The ferret stares, wordless. "Well, you probably know what he ordered, right? He's agreed to take the tab."

Maleficus simply shakes his head a little, sipping more water as he taps his finger on the table again, looking out at all the beasts. Not like there was anything more interesting to look at or listen to, his tail swaying back and forth a little.

"'Spose 'e don't realize that th' Gull is the *last* place a beast'd find a los' treasure like that," the vixen continues, speaking loud and pointedly. Psamathe has lifted herself up from the counter now, puffed up. She still is a pale comparison to Apophis. Easily only a third of his size, and rightfully intimidated by that, the ragamuffin tries her hardest to look tough. "Gimme' an ale, please, ole' Rev?" she pleads, offering her pal a winning smile. Then she returns to the badger. "What's yer business 'ere, mate?"

Arevin wipes a bead of sweat forming on her brow with the back of her tunic sleeve. When the badger demands a refill, she turns her back to the gathering and pours out his drink of choice. Then, she spins around to accept his payment and briefly gapes in awe at his sheer enormity. Getting back to work, it's not long before the barkeeper contributes to Psamathe's drinking problem by presenting her with another foamy ale--always on the house, of course.

Apophis slaps the bar, causing every drink in the near vicinity to leap, and leans into Psamathe, "I'll be honest with you, even though you've been dishonest with me. If you so much as climb a single step of that bell tower, you'll be the clapper for one of those bells, not the cleaner." He's so close to her, the veins in his eyes can be seen to pulse.

Maleficus hmms softly to himself as he listens, bringing the mug to his lips, letting them curl into a scary smile behind the cover of the cup as he hears the words of the threatening badger.

Psamathe sneers, "We'll be seein' 'bout that!" at Apophis, obviously disgusted by his invasion of her 'personal bubble.' She rotates in her seat to scan the crowd, searching for an outlet from this uncomfortable run-in. Not many foxes in the tavern tonight, much to her dismay; the vixen begins to seek other common interests among the patrons. She spots the heavily tattooed ferret. He'll do! A hand hastily brushes some of the dirt from the fur of her upper arms, in order to better reveal her own, far less impressive, ink. Snatching up the new ale, she passes Arevin a curt but grateful nod. She then abandons her stool and trots over to join Maleficus. "Mind iffin' I takes a sit 'ere witcha'?"

Maleficus blinks a couple of times as Psamathe makes her way over to his table and shrugs a little bit as he replies in his deep voice, "If it suits your fancy, I have no objection. Please yourself." He drinks the last of the water and sets the cup down on the table, occassionally gazing in the badger's direction in his flat features, marred only by his ink-job.

Arevin lets out a yelp of indignation at Apophis' little outburst. Some drinks tip over, which she quickly soaks up with a dirty rag. Scowling at the huge creature, Rev barks, "'Ey! Ye'd be best to not do that e'er /agin/, or yer 'bout to get yer stripey behind booted out of this 'ere bar, ye 'ear?"

Ferris opens a bloodshot eye. He trains it on the badger, alerted by Arevin's agressive tone. But for now he remains near the door.

Apophis smiles, looking down at his drink and nodding to Arevin, "Friend of yours?" He gestures with his head over at Psamathe, "Listen... I have a feeling... a feeling now... that you two don't know what you're really getting into. Just looking out for what seem like two very nice vixens. I assume from your reaction to the 'bell-cleaning' comment that you don't know what she's been doing?" He sips his drink.

Psamathe scoots into a stool at the table. Both hands clench her mug, which she lifts slowly to her lips and sips at. The 'sip' is more of a slurp, obnoxious enough to drown out the awkward situation--in her mind, at least. Eyes remain fixed on the badger and her cohort behind the bar. "Stripedogs inna' Gull ain' ne'er up t'no good," she remarks dryly to the ferret beside her and tips the edge of her drink to indicate Apophis. "No good a' all."

Maleficus listens to the words being said all over. Already the ferret has gathered enough information to know somewhat what is going on. He glances at the vixen next to him and says, "Stripedogs. Typical. To me, they are just fun practice normally, had it not been for this commercial setting of your tavern." He scratches his chin, "Though I am curious...would it really be a bother for him to be kicked out?"

Arevin points her head up to smirk at Apophis. She squeezes the last of the damp rag's contents into a bucket, angrily throwing the towel into it with a flourished movement of her hand. Obviously, she's now irritated by his overbearing presence in her bar. She then straightens her lanky body to its full height, leaning against the counter with interest. "Eh? Yer tellin' me what now? Care to explain yerself, 'cuz I ain't got all night t' figure ye out," she snaps.

Both ears flip forth to eavesdrop on the conversation among Arevin and Apophis, but Psamathe is just out of reach. The mug has no been lowered yet. Idle slurp after slurp, she watches the two, anxious. Finally, the fox removes her mouth from the glass rim, just long enough to exchange a word with Maleficus: ".. been tryin' t' pick our battles, so t'speak, lately--but dunnae' worry. Iffin' the big oaf lets 'is ugly out, he'll get what's comin' t' 'im. Ole' Ferris is ripe 'n fixin' fer a lil' strong-armin' t'night, methinks." Another tip of her mug, like before, but this time it is directed at the hulking wolf bouncer--probably the only creature in the room that can could stand a reasonable chance against Apophis.

Maleficus hmmms and nods a little, "Right. Still, I would keep my guard up. If this stripedog shows any sign of that bloodrage, or whatever it is called, it wouldn't matter who he struck from that point, he wouldn't care."

Apophis grins. "I had a feeling you didn't..." He gets up from the bar, going over to the ferret, who reluctantly pays for his drinks. Finally, just to test how honest she's really been: "Well, all the same, you and 'Sarah' had better keep an eye over your shoulder for trouble." He watches for any hint of obliviousness or confusion in Arevin.

Arevin doesn't lift her gaze away from the badger; she watches Apophis make his way to the ferret and back, her eyes narrowing as he approaches her. "Sarah," she echoes, tilting her chin at an angle. "Yer outta yer mind, or ye must be mixin' me up wit' somebeast else. I don't know no Sarah!" This is said with a firm tone, as if to vocally convey that she's getting more and more displeased by his vague remarks.

"Aye," Psamathe agrees, sharing a somber nod with the inked ferret. ".. s'why I think ah'll keep m'distance fer now." The vixen thumps her fist against the tabletop a couple of times. "These things's real solid," she explains; "Makes a good 'shield' in a pinch." She pantomimes upending the table and hiding behind it, then flashes a confident smile at Maleficus and takes another gulp of her ale. Over the commotion in the bar, Psamathe picks up the 'Sarah' part; she cringes. ".. erf. Dangit."

Maleficus hmms and gives a monotoned chuckle before his ears perk at the Sarah part and the reaction of the vixen next to her, "Hmmm...secrets fly like leaves in the winds here, I see?"

Apophis's smile turns upward even more, as he nods knowingly. "I must be a mystic, because I knew you didn't either." He looks over at Psamathe, noting the cringe, then back at Arevin, "We can't afford not to know our own friends, especially when we are certain not to know our enemies. I intend to have many friends in these parts before I have moved on, and those who are not... well, let's just say I like to keep my enemies /close/." He gets up and gives a final glance around the bar, and exits.

Arevin stands there, completely baffled by the badger's comments. Unfortunately, he leaves before she has the chance to inquire further. So she gives Psamathe a questioning look, but feels trapped behind the bar -- it's difficult to take time off in order to have a lengthy discussion with her friend about the matters at hand.

Psamathe has one hand clenching her eyes and snout, ears pinned to her head. ".. and they're 'bout to crash 'n burn likes leaves 'n a lightnin' storm," she adds through her teeth. Two fingers part to allow a one-eyed glance over at Arevin. The duo has lied for each other countless times in the past--this would have been no different, except that Psamathe failed to clue her chum in on the recent drunken visits she has paid to the belfry. With the thunderous stomps of the badger's exit, the vixen relaxes into a deep sigh. She searches for Arevin, paws held up in the air in an apologetic position.

Maleficus shakes his head again, not bothering to ask question as from what he heard and from the reactions of the vixens he could pretty much tell that something was amiss. He stands, taking the cup and heading to the bar, "More water, if you would?"

Arevin retrieves Maleficus' cup. She goes through the motions and then hands the now-full glass back to him, but this time is different: she's asking for more of his attention. "Eh, matey. Mind if ye would, er, grab my pal an' 'you two can 'ave a seat close by? Ye could 'ave a real brew 'er two, mayhaps, as well."

Maleficus hmms, hearing the words of Arevin and nods slowly, looking to Psamathe, motioning that she can have a seat closer before saying to Arevin again, "Just water. It's better." He seats himself down close by the bar.

Psamathe rises from the table and ventures over to Arevin and Maleficus. She does not sit, but leans against the bar with both elbows, hands occupied by her drink. ".. er, been doin' some snoopin'," the vixen tells Arevin. "Y'know they gots Abner all unner' lock 'n chains up in that belfry o' theirs, right?" Her eyes are transfixed once again by her drink--this mug is somewhat fresher, more fizzy and entertaining. "Got a lil' loaded the past couple a' nights 'n paid 'im a looksee."

Maleficus drinks his water, giving a little nod to himself. That was what he had figured. No doubt there is all sorts of mess accompanying it all.

Arevin gives Maleficus a "suit yourself" look, because she is simply proud of the alcoholic selection her tavern offers. Later, as Psamathe fills her in, she listens attentively. "Ye' don't say, Psa'," Arevin intones, a sly grin curling across her muzzle. "Yep, I 'eard dat rumor from somebeasts. Been wonderin' where ye've been sneakin' off to, but thought ye were jus' headin' out to the woods somewheres. So, mate..." She pauses for a moment, glimpsing at the ferret and then back to her friend. "What 'appened when ye stumbled 'cross that fella?" The appearance of disgust on her face makes it clear that she despises this 'fella.'

Psamathe clears her throat a bit and pries her gaze from the ale. "Well--I'd, er, gotten a bit too stumbly t' stumble alla' way back 'ere safe--the road ain' right late at night, y'know? I ain' got much, but I also ain' lookin' t'lose it."

Before continuing, the vixen downs the remainder of her drink. She places it on the counter and nudges it hopefully in the bartender's direction. "So I figgr'd that it'd be bett'r t'find a nook t'crash in down there. S'big, y'know--'n I 'ad this big ole' cloaky disguise, so nobody'd recognize me from afore when we--" The fox stops and makes another guttural hem. No need to elaborate on that part. "Anyhows--woke up affer' dark th' next day. Was creepin' mah way out, got .. er .. sidetracked by some niceties. That's when the stripey boor started pryin' inta' my business."

Arevin absorbs Psamathe's tale, only pausing to serve up another round for her as she finishes off her ale. The evening crowd is dwindling to a manageable level now, so she uses the precious time to contemplate the vixen's account. On the subject of the imposing badger: "An' ye have no idea why? 'E's not given ye any signs?" She chews her lower lip, concern washing over her features. "'E gave me a bad feelin', Psa'. What about ye, ferret mate? Whaddya think o' that big ole' stripedog?"

Maleficus cocks an eyebrow, "What do I think of the badger? Simple: a self-righteous, would-be protector of the world, which basically means a waste of breath and time. If he wants to act high-and-mighty, there will come a time when his threatening and uppity ways will have chaos bring him a bit of humble pie to munch on."

"Well .. 'e 'as been ramblin' on 'bout that arm'r of 'is," Psamathe suggests and accepts the refilled mug with a welcome smile. A couple of drinks go down the hatch before she says, "*But* .. ah'm thinkin' there's more to it--like ye' said. Somethin' ain' right--'n from what Abner was tellin', 'e's got some buddin' schemes of 'is own. Ain' as 'trapped' as 'e'd like us t'believe. Bidin' 'is time's more like it." The vixen waits for the ferret to finish his piece. "Aye, mate," she tells Maleficus; "Ye'r prolly' right--but I think s'a lil' more underhanded 'n 'at." Her eyes return to Arevin. "Apollopol 'r somethin'. Think that's what 'e said 'is name was--an' 'e weres *watchin'* me. S'the only way 'e'd know I was up cavortin' wi' Abner. Two o' them 'r inta' somethin' together maybe?"

Maleficus chuckles and says, "Don't worry. Underhanded is my specialty."

Arevin laughs out loud at Maleficus' comments. She leans over to give him a light, friendly slap on the shoulder. "I like the way ye think, matey!"

Psamathe beams at their newfound ferret chum. "Us too, pally--us too!" She lifts her glass to offer him cheers. "Agreed, Revskies; this one's a keep'r!"

Maleficus grins a bit, accepting the clap on the shoulder, raising his glass some as he says, "Well...when you take me, an expert tactician for five armies, all of them victorious until I left their ranks, and my seasons in teh wilds, trapping and killing, underhanded is just a mere footnote."

Arevin proceeds to pour a brew for herself, hardly bothered by drinking on the job. After all, she's the boss! "Aye, me chum! Cheers." The glasses clink in unison, and the trio takes a draught of their respective beverages together.

Arevin licks the foam off her lips, savoring the beer. She appears thoughtful. "Methinks yer right, Psa'. There's gotta be more to 'im, and we need t' find out before he tries to swindle us."

Psamathe nods to the ferret, a toothy smile playing her features. "Keep yer ear t'the ground for us, eh, mate?" she pleads, then slurps from her mug. The vixen uses the back of a hand to wipe a bit of froth from her snout. "We'll watch yer back iffin' ye' watch ours." She pauses, realizing that this is a lot to ask of a more or less stranger. "Well .. y'know. As fellow bar-goers 'n all. We's got a mutual intrest' in knowin' what's shakin' in these parts."

Maleficus gives a knowing smile to Psa', "If I watch your back, I watch both our backs. I have a thing for not letting anything touch past my lines of defense. And don't worry, I understand the need for this."

Psamathe re-ups her smile for Maleficus. "Fair 'nough, mate," she tells him, collecting her drink in a paw as she steps away from the counter. "Methinks it be time fer some quiet .. er, contemplatin's." She bows her head to Arevin, then offers the ferret a farewell gesture. With that, she pivots on a heel and trots off--vanishing around the bar and through the kitchen.

Groups:

• Black Gull Tavern