[Open] A Dash of Youthfulness, a Splash of Naïveté

*Note: Just a fun, short introductory story. Anyone is welcome to join in!

The sound of ocean birds greeted sailors as might ships pulled into port, hauling with them precious cargo and passengers across miles and miles of open waters. With the morning sun shining across the gentle waves at her back, a certain small catgirl gingerly stepped off the gangplank onto the pier. The wooden planks creaking ever so slightly with every spring in her steps.

"It's the city!"

Mihari looked on at the scenery of Scara Brae laid out before her. Everywhere were people, all of different shapes and sizes, going about their morning businesses in rushed merriment. Horse-drawn wagons rolled along the cobblestone road, carrying everything from people and luggage to barrels of fruits. Children running here and there, shouts of joy as they rushed off to school in groups of three or more. Fishmongers crying their wares far in the background, advertising the freshest catch of the day. Old men in faded trousers sleepily browsing through the morning papers by the store front.

The young girl stood excited, her mind simply could not decide where she should start her journey. There were so many things to see, so many things to do. So many experiences to gather while searching for that ultimate dish that is her journey's final goal.

It was at that moment that she realized... She was now alone.

The small black cat paused on the corner of the bustling street, the excitement in her eyes slowly fading away.

Though this was not her first time being in a strange world all alone, the memories of her bitter childhood was what seemed like a whole different life to her. Ever since she was taken in by the merchant whom she now calls Father, she had always been surrounded by her adoptive brothers and sisters who all found their way to the small house by the docks one by one. She had nearly forgotten the time she had to run from shadow to shadow, digging through refuse behind taverns and hostels for scraps that would hold the hunger at bay.

What should I do now...?

As she pondered over the path she should follow, a familiar scent whiffed by across the wind. The steamy, salty aroma teased at her nose and snapping her out of the gloomy trance. Mihari looked up, attentively sniffing at the breeze washing through the crowded street. Where did that come from? She had to find out.

The air was rich with many other smell as well. Sweaty, salty and sunny smell of the dock workers hauling goods to and from the great ships lining the docks. Brilliant, somewhat overbearing rosy scent emanating from pompous-looking ladies quietly giggling about their daily affairs in front of a high-class restaurant. Sweet and buttery aromas pouring forth from a bakery near the square a few feet away. But the familiar steamy, salty aroma she had scented was much further away...

...Over there!

Mihari pushed through the crowd towards her destination, dodging past a careless dock worker who lost his balance whilst hauling down a crate of tangerines. Leaving the mess of fruits and pieces of fruit behind without concern, the small girl came to a screeching halt in front of a small tavern facing the piers with a pair of wooden fish hanging from the sign post. Peering into the establishment, she could see a handful of people quietly enjoying their meals while a couple of rowdy youths boast about their latest adventures. A stocky old man studiously wiped down some mugs behind the counter as he kept watch over the store.

The scent of steamed fish and salt hung in the air, washing ever so slightly through the door as each patron made their way in and out of the establishment.

Before Mihari could decide on what to do, the old man noticed her and beckoned her towards the bar.

"So, lassie. Don't r'member seeing a kid like you 'round here b'fore. Which way're you from?"

Mihari struggled to understand what the tavern owner was saying and gave him a slightly confused look, tilting her head side ways as she tried to comprehend the words through his thick accent. She had learned Tradespeak in her journey preparation, but her lack of experience immediately threw her off track.

"Umm... Sorry. I... don't quite catch that..." She struggled a reply with a meek looking grin, hoping to defuse an awkward atmosphere. She kept glancing here and there, hoping no one would notice her sticking out like a sore thumb. The old man gave her a strange look and let out a small chuckle.

"Ah, I see. A wee kid from 'cross the sea by herself." He chortled, nodding knowingly. "Well, then again. It ain't like we get any of them Catkins 'round these parts for a while now. Gutsy lil girl, aren't ye?"

"Eh? Gut...sy?" Mihari managed to squeak out a question, hearing a word she's quite unfamiliar with.

"Well, aye." He placed the mug down behind the counter as a dish from the kitchen in the back made its way into the room. "Yer the first Catkins to reach here in a long while since, lassie."

The first in a long while. Those were some words that Mihari understood. Taking a quick glance across the room, she could see that a few of the people in the tavern were quietly sizing her up before going about their businesses. She shrank into her seat, trying not to draw further attention to herself.

"Well, that can't be helped I guess." The old man chuckled, picking up another mug and continue his cleaning ritual. "Anyway, kid. What'll ye be getting?"

"Um- yes?"

The old man paused at the surprised reply.

"Well, this place here's a tavern, yeah? We got food. Drinks. Even a room if you so ever need one for a couple o' nights." He listed them off quickly without missing a beat. A professional at his job.

Food Mihari's ears perked up as the familiar aroma beckoned at her nose once again. It hung gently in the air, drawing her courage out towards the surface. Maybe this place... Yes, maybe it really does exist here.

"Um, yes... Excuse me..." The black catgirl swallowed back her nervousness, searching the back of her mind for the right words when making an order for food. The words slowly formed in her mind, images and emotions condensed into letters and sound that matched those which people around her would be accustomed to.

"Do you... Have salt-grilled fish?"

The air was clear, the sun was warm and the crowds were bustling. The scents and sounds of the city reached Henry’s ears, and he grinned widely. He had been wandering from Corone, and had hitched and bummed to rides for hours and days as he traveled. Thankfully, people seemed more than willing to give a wandering minstrel a ride, in exchange for a few tunes to pass the time. And Henry was never one to turn down an opportunity to play his fiddle and spread a little cheer.

And now, he was here, making his way into the port city. The young man felt more relaxed here than he had in the wilds l. At heart he was most definitely a city boy, and felt more comfortable by far surrounded by the hustle and bustle of people coming and going, taking care of their daily business. It was familiar it was good. And people like these, well, a little bit of music was never looked at poorly. At least, so long as you could play half-decently, and Henry, Henry could play well.

So through the streets he went, spinning his bowstick around his fingers as he held onto his staff with his left hand. He was looking for a good place to set up and earn a few coin busking - it would be best to be close to a crossroads, or maybe down towards the port itself. Sloshed sailors usually were the kind who wouldn't mind parting with a few coins in exchange for some lively music. Yes, the young man felt that playing near the harbor would be a good idea to start with here. He snapped his fiddlestick back into its case and set off with new purpose in his stride, and a wide, easy grin on his face.

The fiddler followed the sounds of the cries of the gulls circling in the air up ahead. He felt that where the sea birds were, it was a good bet the sea itself would be nearby. And as he stepped past a row of shops, his grin widened. The sea stretched out before him, down a small hill and further away. The shimmering blue waves mirrored the sky, and people were moving back and forth, vim and vigor in their steps. His kind of people, for sure.

“Well now. Let's find a place to set up, lovely girl.” Henry’s fingers drifted across the case slung on his back, holding the mahogany fiddle he cherished. Taking a deep breath he began strolling down the hill, bright blue eyes scanning about for a good place to set himself up. He didn't want to actually be on one of the main thoroughfares, the people moving on them would be in too much of a hurry to appreciate some fine music in their lives. No he needed a place where people were slowing down a bit, taking the time to appreciate what was going on around them.

Ah, now there looked like a fine candidate. Henry smiled. It was a smaller tavern, and it faced towards the seafront. A simple wooden sign with a pair of fish - tuna, maybe? He didn't know fish - etched into the wood. And the people walking about here were taking their time to go about their days, as they came and went from the tavern and surrounding buildings. Excellent, better and better. This looked like a great place to set up. Henry dropped his bag and staff on the ground, and swung the case for his fiddle around. Deft fingers snapped the case open, and out came the finely crafted and carved instrument.

The brown-haired man spent a few minutes tuning it, giving a few experimental plucks here and there as he adjusted the strings for the salty air. He was already drawing some attention as he prepared, but he let the curious gazes slide off of his back as he focused on his task. He'd be a poor musician if he let curious what eyes make him damage his instrument through negligence. With a final strum of his fingers across the strings, he nodded, finally satisfied. Henry lifted the fiddlestick back out of its holster on the side of the case, and set the case on the ground, leaving it open.

Then he was up, sprightly leaping and twisting, spinning around and dropping himself on top of the pier log he had set up against. Sitting on top of it, with his back to the sea, the bard grinned widely, and tucked the along the length of one arm, the butt resting against his jawline. He took a deep breath as he tried to figure out where to start - and then his inspiration came to him as a rather sloshed man came out of the tavern the bard had set himself up across from.

He waited a three count, his right foot tapping on the pole he was sitting on top of - and then he was off, sawing a tune that caught the attention of many people who were moving back and forth across the docks. One that made them smile and laugh - even the sloshed man who knew it was directed at him.

What Would You Do With A Drunken Sailor?

And the fiddler was off, fingers and bow dancing across the strings as he was approached his foot to keep the tempo - more for the crowd that was beginning to gather about him than for himself. The music was infectious, happy and raucous as he shifted from the end of Drunken Sailor to the opening chords of Wizard’s Walk. And the people moving back and forth seemed to enjoy the lively fiddling, if their smiles and the coins tossed into his case were anything to go by. He grinned widely, and kept playing.

As Hyperion's briar-knit hand reached for the door, she hesitated.

Goodness, how long had it really been since she set foot in one of these places?

The gears of her memory clanked into motion as she desperately tried to remember. It had been roughly two months since she left the old Ranger fort deep in the heart of Concordia. Two months and a day since she burned the last of Madison's things. Two months and six days since she finally lost all hope. Two months and a week since she finally built up the courage to enter her basement laboratory, finding it untouched since her departure. A week shy of three months after she finally stopped wallowing in self-pity and what ifs? for a second time. Three months since she discovered her best friend's blood-stained journals, with page upon page of the hastily scrawled ramblings of a woman who had gone mad and sought to cure the world of her disease once and for all. Three months and a couple weeks since her chest finally stopped burning inexplicably. Four months after her imagination was consumed with the many Worst Possible Scenarios as to why she was still alone at the compound.

Which would make it... let's see, five months since Madison told Hype that she would be going to town on a big shopping trip? That sounded right to her. And they had lived in the fort for at least six months by then--

"Excuse me, miss--"

The sharp tones of someone trying to mask their annoyance with politeness snapped the briarheart back to reality. She reflexively withdrew her hand and stepped aside, turning to see the lumbering form of a man escorting his wife.

"So terribly sorry," Hype apologized to him. She had at least a dozen more ready to go, just in case the first one wasn't sufficient.

Instead, the couple pushed open the door to the tavern, their eyes lingering on her mythril face mask just a moment longer than necessary before entering. Not one to waste an opportunity, Hype slid in behind them.

It had been so long since she was last at a place like this--wait, she recalled, there was that one time with the little frost fae Fenn who stole Madison's cards, and Red was there, and Lye too, and after we left Madison had this harrowing look in her eyes...

Okay, so maybe it hadn't been so long; more like quite a while since Hyperion last set foot in a tavern. Regardless of her fluctuating sense of time, the sights and sounds were immediately recognizable (the smells not so much, on account of her busted-up senses that come with being a corpse gift-wrapped in plant matter and all).

Her heart swelled and her mood immediately improved as she took in the camaraderie that overflowed from all present. All of these people, with their family, their loved ones, their friends--

--and then the amber light of her eyes faded ever-so-slightly.

There she was, in the middle of all these people who were enjoying their night, telling their stories, sharing smiles and laughs. The only person in the world Hyperion was connected to on this kind of level was... well, she wasn't sure where she was, but she was certain that she'd never see her again.

A dull ache built up in her chest. She placed a hand lightly on her chest and began to move past a man playing the fiddle and through the crowd of patrons, hoping to leech just the slightest bit of cheer and warmth from them. The healer wound her way to the bar and pulled up a stool next to a wispy little thing with a pair of fuzzy cat ears poking out of a mop of black hair. Hype noted that she looked pretty lonely, if not alone...

Perhaps the little cat girl would like to be friends?

Assuming that her first instinct wasn't to push the briarheart off the stool, anyway. Hype was well aware that cats love to do that to potted plants.

Before she could introduce herself, the old man who ran the place slid across from her. "And what can I get you?"

The barkeep lingered just a little too long on that last word. Hyperion could see that he was making a concerned effort not to stare at her four amber eyes hiding behind the mask, but she was increasingly used to this sort of reaction.

"Meat, please."

He arched a bushy eyebrow. "Meat? Any, uh, particular kind?"

This is where she was lost. Madison always did the ordering. "Ummmm," she trailed off for a moment before taking a stab in the dark. "Red, I suppose?"

An uncomfortable pause. "We can get you a steak, if that'll do you."

Hype bounced excitedly on her stool. "Yes! Steak! Heavily seasoned, with a side of mashed potatoes!"

The old man smiled, glad to finally be back on a familiar conversation track. "And how would you like that cooked?"

"As rare as you're legally allowed to serve it," Hype replied, her eyes flickering with hunger. She'd prefer it not ran over the flame of the stove at all, but she quickly learned that there were these people called health inspectors that greatly frowned upon establishments serving hunks of meat that could still probably moo or cluck or whatever. If that's what she wanted, she'd have to consume it where nobody was watching.

Of course she could come in here. It was nonsense to try to say she was 'too young' when she seriously felt older than her mother sometimes. Even older than her father (but don't ever call him that because he will try to eat you). Her governess, Gosling, often said that she was young in years but growing older in mind every day. Celandine certainly thought so, for she could now weild a sword as good as any of her mother's warriors. She could weave her way through the Serpent's Dance, rise with the Eagle's Flight movement and follow every feint within hours of first being shown it. Learning lessons - why she had already mastered tea ceremony within a couple of days, then she had learnt all the correct names for the high dignatories in almost every country, and knew how to formally dress herself for any occaision. Indeed, she had now got smaller versions of some of her mother's dresses, and thought she wore them better (so long as she stuffed socks down her top).

So why should she not be allowed in here? It was one of those places called a 'pub,' apparently reserved for old, fat men who liked to gawk at prostitutes. But this was where her mother had begun, in a place like this, and when she was close to her age as well. So why was not Celandine allowed in?

Apparently something to do with that strange substance called 'alcohol' that mother allowed her the smallest of sips of with a-

Celandine turned as she heard the delightful plucking of strings. Blinking, and pausing she saw that a man was sitting on the ground playing an instrument called a fiddle. Celandine knew the name mostly because old Margaret who worked in the kitchens back at the home fortress had one. She was a toothless old woman who smacked her gums in a foul manner and spoke in a weird way of ancient stories of 'how she was once the best courtesan known for miles.' Really, the young faun just liked her fiddle and sat through the stupid, boring tales until Old Margaret took it out.

There was a young man sitting and playing music. Putting her head to the side Celandine tottered over, leaving the entrance to the pub for now. Clop, clop went her little hooves on the cobbles, and with a smile on her face she went over. Some people were already there - a little crowd, but since she was only five she could squeeze under legs and around larger (usually older, but not necessarily) people.

Putting herself between the crowd and the man she sat down on the ground, crossing her legs. She placed her hand on her steel scimitar and gently moved it to the side as she did so, like a proper warrior should. Then she listened, and as the music went on and more people started to join she began to nod her head in perfect time. It took a while but after a small little while she was knocking on the ground, softly and so soundlessly, with a knuckle, but keeping in perfect time with the fiddler.

Catching eyes with him as he switched tempo she smiled, keeping up the beat.

Mihari's ears stood up as the large, unfamiliar presence dropped into the seat right next to her. The robed traveler had a scent that immediately stood out for the tiny girl, even before the catgirl had noticed just how large the seated stranger was right next to her on the stool. The waft of woody greens and musky, of sweet-smelling aroma was a curious mix to a city girl like her who was more used to the atmosphere of a well-stocked store front. However, the young child's mind was too busy racing for a course of action that she had inadvertently forgotten her manners and kept staring at the robed person, even as the new arrival had finished ordering her meal.

Mihari continued to be completely oblivious to the sound of the barkeep briskly heading back to the kitchen, or to him shouting their orders at the top of his voice to the cooks in the back. Her mind was fixated on the stranger, who had a scent that was unfamiliar while at the same time strangely... not a threatening presence. While the robes looked like that of a high noble or an experienced adventurer who would have likely been leagues apart from the meek little girl, curiosity kept her eyes drawn towards the forest-scented stranger as she tried to figure out what the strange contradiction in her mind meant.

Ah-! Oh, no! That's bad, Mihari! You shouldn't do that!

The young girl suddenly regained her thoughts and jumped in her seat, frantically turning her gaze away from the seasoned adventurer. A young one should not be so impertinent as to stare at an elder, no matter their appearance or status. At least, that was how her Father had taught her. Just because a person looked strange did not mean that it was fine to be rude to them. A bright red blush plastered itself across her face as the young catgirl tried to suppress her distress while waiting for her meal. Her body tensed with every little movement the stranger would make and every tiny sound that came from that direction.

An awkward silence fell over her, the music of lively violin lulling the jolly atmosphere as she sat there contemplating her impolite reaction. The smell of something wonderfully cooking being carried by the wind did not budge her, nor the mouth-watering sizzling meat drew her attention from her repentant reflection.

But curiosity won out in the end. Mihari slowly gazed from the corner of her eyes at the stranger clad in those expensive robes. Partly out of fearful retribution, partly in expectant anticipation, of what the stranger would act next.