(Closed to Phi!)
Varin wandered the lengths of the icy Salvarian docks, marveling at the calm, grey skies above. His wings were tucked neatly into the fabric of his robes, away from the bite of the wind and out of sight. One could not describe it as an evil place. Just… foreboding to Varin, in that it was unpleasantly dirty. The Drakari had nothing but distaste for the salt creep that crusted the seaside shacks, the barnacles that grappled every algae-scummed surface, and the dried gannet leavings. Everything smelled keenly of overripe fish. One wouldn't think that sand and snow were a good combination. And, they weren’t. Where grains of sand hitched a ride beneath his scales, they rubbed him raw. And went the falling snow invariably found its way into the folds of his robe, it made him shiver.
In short, the Drakari had no end of complaints to mumble to the little brown bird riding atop his shoulder.
While Varin had overheard rumors of ugly going-ons out here -- something about ruffians and the pilfering of trading ships -- the town didn’t seem too awful if one ignored the drab squalor. For one, he experienced little hostility. There was a strange look or two squared his way, but nothing more. He supposed that was an advantage to hubs of commerce and trading; all manners of beings passed through. There had been a ship of shivering Alerarian elves docked a few streets down, along with a few human non-native folk. Varin had even been hit on by a kobold earlier. Though, he wasn’t certain if being attractive by the standards of a squat, peeling-scaled lizard-creature was complimentary.
Varin grumbled, and pulled his robes more closely around himself. He might need to scrounge enough money to buy proper winter clothes later. “You know, one would think that someone in this ungodly place would be willing to purchase a drawing from me. Then again, perhaps it is not so shocking. Most of these people are haggard fishers and hurried traders. They would not make for a lovely portrait anyway. I wonder if the cold makes everyone ugly in the north.”
“Chirp cheep,” scolded the little brown bird clinging to his shoulder. “Cheep!”
Varin snorted at Arie’s glib chirp. “Yes, that was rude of me. However, it matters not, because no-one except you overheard. Perhaps we should catch a ship to somewhere else? I know we came here in hopes of avoiding… pursuers… but gods, I would almost rather face them than this scale-cracking cold. If there’s some odd job available, I might have to-”
Without warning her grumpy master, Arie pricked up, turned on her twiggy heels, and dove for someone unseen behind them.
Loose scraps of paper, broken pencils, and bits of charcoal bounced onto the pier with a clatter. “Call off your bird, call it off!” the man shrieked, swatting away the sparrow as she darted for his face, beak snapping. Her feathers were as ruffled as they could be. “I didn’t do nothing to you!”
“Arie, stand down!” Varin barked, skittering a foot back from whatever mess this was. And stand down Arie did, but not without chattering angrily at her owner first. The little bird fluttered down and stamped on the scatterings of his things in annoyance. “I have no patience for thieves either, but we do not try to scratch out their eyes,” Varin asked of her with a sigh as he bent over to pick up his scattered items. He cursed as one of his pencils slipped through the cracks of the docks and into the dark waters below. “Thank you for looking out for me though...”
The Drakari’s eyes wandered up to the odd, gangly man whom his bird had assaulted. That he hadn’t even felt this man’s light touch digging through his robes and pockets -- that made for an image Varin would rather not sketch -- embarrassed him greatly. His shaking thief wore an ugly grey trench coat, ruffled trousers, and a sheepish expression. Varin’s gaze lingered on the man’s wolflike ears and twitchy tail, an ambiguous ancestry. To his relief, Arie’s attack had left the thief with only a few mild cuts on his cheeks and some deeper nicks where she had bit. The man massaged them and clucked his tongue quietly at it. It only served to smear around the dribbles of blood. “Thank you kindly for calling off that demon-bird. She some kind of a guard-dog kind of deal for you? She’s good at it.”
“Considering that I never expected her to be such a thing, she really is.” Arie puffed up with pride as Varin shoved the last of his littered supplies back into his pockets. “Now, who are you? I would like to know what sort of thief I have had the mispleasure of greeting this morning,” he asked a bit frigidly.
The man narrowed his gaze and put his hands on his hips. “Ahh! Thief? I am no thief! You may call me Delorian. I am a merchant of exotically procured goods.”
“Stolen ones, likely,” Varin muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
In any case, the man straightened himself up, adjusting his ratty trench coat snappily. “Don’t take this personally, but youuu look like the tattletale type. You know, maybe I could let you have something for nothing if you don’t go blaming me for that lil’ mess on the ground. Don’t let the authorities know this humble ol’ coyote dropped in for a visit, you hear?”
Varin scowled, his ears flicking back in indignation. “Tattletale-?”
The hobo-man scratched his stubble and grabbed for something in one of his overburdened pockets. “Let’s see… Maybe this? It belonged to purdy redhead over in the Knife,” Delorian said with a hint of smugness to the prick of his ears. “Treated it real special -- 'til someone trashed it. Then it found its way into my hands. Figure, hey, maybe you can figure out what’s so great about it? I don’t have the room for it anymore, and no-one’s buying the dumb thing anyway.”
Arie shrieked happily on sight of what the man pulled out of his coat. Meanwhile, her underwhelmed master could only groan and ignore her excited bouncing. It was a little clay teapot, plain in color except for an X on the side -- an odd choice for decor -- and several spots of dirt. Varin had an eye for art, and this… this was not a beautiful work. His eyes went to his bird, whom was nudging his shoulder, as if encouraging him to accept the offer. Before he could think of a witty way to turn down the offer -- any valuable given so freely was suspicious -- Delorian plunked the dirty thing into his claws.
“Thank you very much sir,” the coyote said through a wily grin. “Again, don’t you go telling anyone I’ve been here. Buh-bye!” And with a high laugh, the man dashed off across the piers, slipping once or twice on the ice and slime.
Varin watched numbly, still a little dazed after the whole encounter. “I am now the proud owner of... a teapot. We don’t know where it has been, what it has touched, or what sort of “special” it is. For all we know, it is cursed. I hope you are happy, Arie.” She cheeped gladly in reply, peering down at the pot with bright eyes. “Still…” he murmured, “I... suppose I could find a use for the odd thing? After we clean it thoroughly.” Varin frowned and ran his claws down the side, fingering the X curiously. He hoped it wasn’t cursed in some way. It would be just his luck. “Very thoroughly.”