Pilfering The Past

[Closed to Felicity (if she likes), Fenn, Keeara & Yvonne.]

The weather was mild for Dheathain, and by mild I mean the torrential downpour of rain drenched the jungle heavily, soaked the greenery until the grasses at one’s feet had become moist and soggy. Mild because the sun wasn’t getting a look in with all the cloud cover. The humidity suffocated those who desired to breathe air, which seemed to be an endeavour everyone found themselves involved in - thick and muggy, like inhaling a healthy globule of mud. No, no good venturing out in that unless you had no alternative whatsoever.

A few fae inhabitants of Donnalaich had a resolution for the undesirable climate. They could clear the air in a spherical radius around themselves, blow away the humidity so they no longer needed to experience it. Nearby citizens enjoyed the cooler temperatures for a while, so long as they remained with the air fae within their dome of influence.

Yvonne wasn’t particularly inclined to seek out these air-conditioned spheres or their fae creators. Magic frightened the wits out of her. The Alerian didn’t understand it enough to feel comfortable around such reckless sorcery. Every time she’d been exposed to magic, in one or another the exposure had proven dangerous. Surely the bending of reality had some kind of consequences attached. The hybrid understood those well - actions and reactions, causes and consequences.

Still, the miserable rain compelled the half drow, half dwarf to seek shelter. Despite how frequent the monsoon weather rolled through, this dreary delivery had come as a surprise. One moment the sunlight staggered her with its intensity and sizzle. The next this wet, wretched weather.

The half-and-halfling scurried beneath a ruined building overhang and through a chilly stone wind tunnel. Her white woolen cloak diverted some of the windchill but the rest blew right through her diminutive body. Tufts of her black fringe whipped around in the gusts, the rest secure in a bun and hidden beneath an equally white hood. She cursed her love of corsets and high heels as she trudged through sinking grassy ground, even as the bitter breeze slowed her down.

Yvonne wanted to retreat to the inn but circumstances worsened. She had to find somewhere to hunker down for a while, lest she get sick. If she got ill that could be the end of her out here in the jungle. Doctors were nigh on impossible to find.

The perceptive woman noticed a gathering in the distance. A crowd of drakari, fae and a few other individuals huddled together under the immense boughs of an enormous tree. Every leaf was possibly twice her size and deflected the rain drops with ease, like insignificant gnats trying to find a way through mesh. A fire fae seemed to be keeping the others warm with his magic. Most of them crowded around his red-hot incinerating presence.

“By tha slag-slingers of Salvar, give me a break from these fire-flinging fae!” Yvonne shouted upward as rain drops blurred her vision. She shook the water off, cranky, but of course, plenty more rain where that came from. Few options lay before her in the matter and she knew it.

Hurried, hoping to avoid getting her hair wet, Yvonne scrambled toward the gargantuan tree. Everything would be better once she made it beneath its robust, custodial leaves. As long as that fire magic remained well away from her, thank ye very much, she wouldn’t have issues. Going right around the immolated fae seemed the best choice, regardless how wet the encircling made her.

Oh how fantastic! Rain again! Keeara sighed, looking down at an unopened waterskin longingly. Damn it all, if any of the rain landed in there, her entire drink would be watered down until it was the same cheap crap that taverns tried to pawn off as the good stuff! And sure, the rain was set to chill her to her bones, but not everybody had quite the control over their own body temperature as she did, so it wasn't freezing to death that she was worried about. The way her clothes clung to every curve of her body was an annoyance however, if she was actually looking for something to complain about. And she was. She always was. What was the point in living life, especially the life of an adventurer, without finding something totally inane and pointless to complain about?

Rain notwithstanding, she had to admit, this would probably be a nice place if she were a little more sober. Ruins in a jungle, torrential downpour and the danger of freezing to death? It was exactly like some of the stories, the ones that drunken adventurers would tell at taverns and inns as they tried to one up each other, or impress somebody that they'd had their eye on. Of course, as fate usually decreed, Keeara definitely wasn't the most sober person meandering around those ruins, upturning grass and bush with every step she took, powerful tail thumping against the ground every now and then as she wandered aimlessly.

It was the same old story yet again. Not a planner by any means, Keeara was always just forced to let her legs carry her to wherever they wanted to take her, placing her life in destiny's hands over and over again. It was a tireless, never-ending cycle that she'd long since grown apathetic to, ever since the one place she'd actually felt like she belonged had been razed and burned to ashes.

Of course, it was hard to ignore the strange looks she attracted from anybody that she passed. It wasn't every day that they saw a woman like herself, walking through a torrential downpour wearing what basically equated the leather equivalents of lingerie and a tattered coat, so she couldn't blame them for staring. Also, she looked damn good, so of course they were gonna stare!

Besides, she wasn't the only person that was attracting attention. Spell-casting Fae, a shouting woman, large clusters of people all huddled together for warmth in whatever shelter they could find. Ancients almighty, it was like a scene out of the apocalypse or something. People huddled together as the world slowly froze, sapping all of the life that flowed through them, yadda yadda yadda. It was all the same to a woman like Keeara, being one who believed in nothing but the power of people.

And curses, but that was an entirely different can of worms...

A soft blue glow crept up her tail, starting from the tip and engulfing every single dorsal plate as her body heated, Keeara merely rolling her eyes as she wandered around the tree, steam slowly pouring off of her body. "Man, you'd have thought that they'd be more prepared for the rain by now. This is just silly." A roll of her eyes later, she stepped into the cover of the tree's leaves, finally unscrewing the cap to her waterskin and pressing the rim to her lips, taking a large, greedy gulp of whatever was inside. It was tangy and it burned, but it was pleasant and warming in a way her magic wasn't. "Much better, though this crap has nothing on Dirk's home brew..."

Scampering over gnarled roots, grass tufts, and ruinic rubble, a foreign fae sought shelter from the muggy storm sailing overhead.

Fenn braced himself against the cascade of water battering against him. His wings, his soft and wriggly antennae, both drooped and recoiled strongly from the sky’s rage. Fenn didn’t well remember his time without them. And yet, he knew that they were foreign to his body; his muscle-memory did not account for them in the slightest. They didn’t know how to respond to the water. To the ice that started to build up around him, his magics feeding off of the emotionally excited state that came with being plastered by rain.

But Fenn himself knew.

Fenn fled.

No adequate shelter presented itself in his aimless dash through the downpour, furthering his agitation. Off he went through close corridors of crumbled stone, by doors closed to him, out to the edge of Donnalaich. He remembered faintly, seeking shelter from the weather at the city’s boundary and finding it. But that was earlier; a muddled memory. That had been during the time he was sleepless…

Tree roots greeted his feet. Fenn kneeled in to his exhaustion the moment the rain’s pressure lightened on him. His thoroughly green eyes glanced up at the roof of vast leaves spread above. His ears twitched towards the buzz of conversation.

Fae huddled around the warm glow of any with an affinity for fire. Supple wings were held carefully to the crackle of heat, steam hissing and wafting through the lowlying boughs. Here among these jungle-dwelling creatures, the majority of them (like he) being winged and sharp-eared and roughly humanoid to the outside eye, Fenn stood out mostly for his pale, pale skin, muted colors, and offbeat eyes. He marveled at the others he passed. They were more mortal in sensibility than the fae of the west. More empathetic, really. More… visible with their emotions. Warmth, heat and the tingly ‘brightness’ of magic, was shared through friendly touches. Even Drakari, proud muzzles aloft, were embraced as needed. Shivering cold-bloods that they were, they needed it more than most.

An orange-haired woman sauntered past, facial markings and vivid wings (much like that of a lacewing) aglow. Fire danced over her palms. A swarm of other fae folk leaned in to the aura of heat around her.

Eagerly, Fenn scampered over. He didn’t need warmth, but he did need a bit of drying. Comfort… might be nice too.

His somewhat uncontrollable icy presence brought with it a swath of cold air. As soon as he plunked himself down on a loam-crusted root beside them, the fae startled, twittering in their language. Plaintively, he scooted in toward the center fae. The orange faerie leaned away from him, glancing down at his drab wings as she did so, at the water rolling off of them and collecting in jagged crystals of ice. Mistrust curled her segmented antennae. She and the others gathered around her flitted off without a word.

She must have recognized him. From... earlier.

Antennae drooping in the face of this rebuttal, the boy shyly set about scraping the thin film of built-up ice off of himself.

As he did so, he couldn’t help but cast a hopeful eye into the mist around him; couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone here who wouldn’t find his company wanting. Two others caught his gaze. They stood proudly a ways off from the scattered Dheathainians. One, he recognized; Yvonne! Fenn’s ears twitch gleefully. The dark dwarven-drow stared at the exchanges of heat and magic with a certain distrust. And yet, her presence was far more welcoming than anyone else’s to him. It was… inviting, yes. That was the word. He didn’t know who the other lady was, but she looked confident and she radiated her own heat (if not magic-brightness).

Well, well. A sly half-smile struck the boy. With a bit of a skip in his step, he skittered over toward them. Time to introduce himself to the party of two and make it three.

Yvonne skirted her way around the fae folk and hid on the other side of the immense tree trunk. Her black fingertips trailed lightly along its bark skin, connecting with the tree as she tread softly, up and over its crooked roots. On this side the wind ceased freezing her to the very bone and only its howling voice whistled in her ears. Perhaps the fire fae and her dangerous magic wouldn’t find her here.

Someone else did though, a woman much taller than she with a tail strong enough to swat a hybrid through the air and out into the rain again. Fins protruded from it and those looked dangerous too, but the stranger’s body language didn’t suggest aggression. Raven-black hair spilled from their temples - as dark as her own strands - and her skin followed suit. The woman with tail fins seemed to have no compunctions about revealing her attractive, voluptuous figure to the world and Yvonne tried to avoid staring overly long.

She failed.

The half-and-halfling had never seen her ilk, so she couldn’t help it. Her shimmering silver eyes took her in, absorbed her - mind a-whirl in a maze of thoughts, but for all her knowledge of the world’s species she hadn’t encountered this one before. Was she half human, half drakari? That couldn’t be right. She hadn’t known drakari to bear tail fins like hers.

Realization set in reminding the petite mage her discourtesy grew over time, that most people liked conversation before any ambitious ogling. As Yvonne tried to recall the words which had been spoken between them, the puzzling woman took a large gulp from a water-skin, probably thinking her a mute by now. The only words which came to her mind were home brew. More than enough to start a conversation.

“Been home brewing almost as long as I can remember, since me years as a wee lass. Would tha right of it be yer an appreciator of fine spirits then? What be that ye be drinking there?” Yvonne questioned curiously, deciding to leave the subjects of names and races for a better time. It would be obvious her curiosity extended to those things as well, but her manners were plentiful when she remembered to use them.

A second shape’s movements flickered in her peripheral vision and she turned to see who else would be joining her at the base of the tree. Her silver eyes widened with a mixture of anxiety and surprise, but her lips curved upward with a generously warm smile. She beckoned Fennik over with an accepting hand, her maternal instincts drowning out the fear of him she felt.

His youthful, childlike appearance filled her with happiness. His emotive green eyes, his twitching antennae and swiveling ears. His bare feet must be so cold in this unfortunate weather, and she made to say so - but of course, Fenn was a frost fae. What was cold to him? Second nature? First nature? They’d only met recently but already shared a history Yvonne knew she could never forget. He was a troubled little Fae and he’d needed some help, so of course she had helped him. Doing so had also resolved one of Donnalaich’s ongoing mysteries and everyone benefited from her actions.

Everyone except her. She’d managed to soothe his traumatized mind at the expense of her own. She’d never felt a more frightening experience than trying to cast her first spell. She didn’t understand what she had dabbled in - her intuition, her blood guided her and nothing more. Her attempt worked, but not without a wild surge surprise previous, and the whole ordeal felt like it was completely and utterly forbidden. What had she done?

“Fenn! Yer out and about in this downpour? What be yer thinking ye silly rascal? Come, nestle in among the tree roots here and keep tha wind off. We’ll get a campfire started and melt yer icicles, hang on a minute okay?” Yvonne suggested, her tone worried for the fae’s well being.

I did tha right thing by Fenn and I helped this city stabilize before tha next winter. I made a wonderful, mischievous little friend, mayhap at tha cost of dark elven approval. I might never be able ta return home, but… mama would understand. I can only be me. Not who they want me ta be. If that becomes a problem in tha future I’ll deal with it then.

A voice caught her attention, snapped her straight back to reality it did. She turned quickly, catching sight of a female, shorter than she with a darker complexion and such odd silver eyes, with a figure that Keeara could drunkenly run her hands all over, all night long if she was so inclined. She honestly had no clue who or what the woman was, she did look rather out of place in that corset of hers, though she supposed that she could always say the same about herself no matter where she went. Ignoring the corset part, of course. She'd never be caught dead in something like that. It was far too proper and womanly, plus they weren't exactly made for a woman with a tail quite as big as her own. It'd probably just get caught in her tail fins.

And she caught the staring too, matching it with her own stare, as equally intense as the smaller woman's. She wasn't particularly interested, not quite as much as the stranger seemed to be, though she was wondering if maybe the silver eyed woman was mute. Or maybe she just wanted a good time? It wouldn't have been the first time she'd have been stared at because somebody wanted that sort of thing, after all.

Finally, Staring Sally seemed intent on actually speaking up, disproving the mute theory right away. Heck, not only was she not mute, but she had one helluva strong accent on her as well. She'd never really heard it before, though really, most often she was too drunk to actually care about a person's accent. Still, the woman's words were enough to make her slant an eyebrow, shrugging.

"Eh, something of the sort. Really I just love me a drink, though who doesn't love the better stuff?" Another shrug followed, taking another swig of her waterskin, before shaking it at the next question. "Eh, I dunno. Some of the local stuff. Pretty weak if you ask me. Not exactly.... eh?" Trailing off, she could only watch as the silver eyed woman raced off to fret over some kid. Looked like he'd been literally drowned, though in rainfall like this, Keeara found it hard to argue that he hadn't.

Still, miss Stares seemed to know him, so he was probably cool.

If not she'd just ignore them. It wouldn't be too difficult, she'd been ignoring idiots for practically her entire life. "The kid a friend of yours?" She called out, before swigging at her drink yet again. She was going to have to be more drunk than this to put up with a literal child. "Looking like a drowned rat there, kiddo. No room next to any of those pyromancer maniacs under the other trees?" Seriously. They were using fire magic next to WOODEN TREES! How bad of an idea was that!?

(Short OOC note: Sorry for the long wait you two. Finally got my cast off so typing is way easier and less frustrating now! Won't keep you waiting like that again!)

Fenn wrapped his soggy, slowly-solidifying cloak around his person with a bashful slump of his antennae as Yvvie hurried over to fuss about him. Build a fire? A soundless laugh wracked him, and he shook his head. Where would they get dry firewood in a place this drippy-damp? Where would they get the fire? Where would they light it, amid the wet black earth and roots. Still, the offer was kindly. He pointed to himself then clasped his hands together, “speaking” one of the few little gesture-words he had shown Yvvone before they’d previously parted. “Am fine!”

Really, he was. Well, considering his previous skin-soaked state of being, anyway.

The tall not-drakari lady had sauntered over to them too for talking. Very loud talking. Fenn nodded blankly at what she said, not entirely registering the words. At least, she carried a warmth with her that combated his own cold magics, helping him in his goal of not becoming an ice statue. Going by the waterskin clutched in her hand and her relaxed demeanor, the fae detected drunkenness. It was a quality of being he’d be happy to match. Indeed, he wanted to ask for some of her booze.

That would have to wait, though. Fenn became faintly aware of a prickling on the back of his neck; magic-brightness stirred his being. It was with a sense of dread that he glanced over his shoulder. The gaggle of fae on the other side of the tree were suddenly not-so on the other side of the tree. A plethora of bright-winged and dark-expressioned fae peered from branch-perched and from behind the knobby trunk, their ears pulled back and their eyes narrowed — and with the dressed-for-adventure orange-hair at their fore. It seemed that the drunky lady’s boisterous nature — her unrepentant volume — had broken the camel’s back and garnered this prickly strawheap of attention. Fenn bared his teeth at them and sulked behind Yvonne. Considering the half-dwarf’s earlier… proclamations, they were probably double-ticked.

“Our apologies, but we couldn’t help but overhear your words. Pyromancer maniacs? Excuse us, but our magics are very much under our control,” the orange-haired fae called out, flames dancing around her crossed arms. Her amber eyes darted to Fenn. “Unlike certain other creatures.”

A quiet hiss escaped the puck. A certain unpleasant finger was shown — he spoke common-knowledge body language as well as his little hand-gestures.

BULLY ALERT! BULLY ALERT!

Fenn hid behind Yvonne, suddenly uncomfortable with the situation. The mama bear dwarf inhaled a very deep breath and held it - narrowed her serrated silver eyes and levelled a discouraging stare upon the daredevil. She exhaled her frustration through flared nostrils, a long, gradual gust of hot air to rival the heat wafting off their antagonist. Nobody provokes Fenn on Yvonne’s watch!

Of course the fire fae couldn’t help herself. She had to come all the way around the tree just to throw down the gauntlet, the insolent, reckless wick-whelp. An attempt to impress all her wee fae friends no doubt, to show them how brave she could be. Probably vying for leadership of her fae gang. What’s a little disrespect for the foreigners if it meant adoration among one’s peers? Courage always came easy with the numbers on one’s side and a band of fae-folk cohorts fuelling the fire.

If Yvonne had been holding a bucket of rainwater she would have loved extinguishing this pyromancer, right over her fiery-tempered head. Luckily the cranky crossbreed wasn’t the one holding the water-skin. She’d have to make a stand and project her booming voice instead.

“Mind yer tone if yer going ta flap yer flaming yap at me people. I’ll not tolerate ye provoking them. If ye got a problem with me friend ye can take it up with me, understand? Anything else ye feel tha need ta spit cinders about?” Yvonne questioned irritably. Her harrowing eyes fixed on the fire fae, ignoring the rest of them, unwilling to back down. The mixed breed studied her, looking for something to redirect the attention, away from Fennik. It didn’t take long.

“What do ye suppose ye be, eh? All dressed up and nowhere ta go. Got yer adventurer costume on, yer dinky armour and rain-boots, haha! Who ye trying ta impress, kiddiewink?” Yvonne mocked.

Well now, wasn't this an interesting development? She hadn't actually expected the pyromancers to come out of their little groups only to walk over and harass them, though the particular focus they had on the small kid was amusing to say the least. What on earth had the kid done to even warrant this sort of attention? Sure, she could understand why they might not be happy with her, since she was heavily drunk and had just been caught trash talking them not even a minute ago, but the kid really hadn't done anything to them as far as she knew. Besides, he was a kid, so what could he have possibly done? Maybe he'd bumped into one of them, or maybe he was a bit of a prankster when it wasn't raining hard enough to freeze somebody to death? There was no way to know.

Hell, the kid wasn't exactly talkative as far as she was aware. He was doing some weird stuff with his hands, maybe it was like a secret code or something, but there were no actual words coming from him. What was up with that? Either way, he was still a kid as far as she was aware and such looks being pointed at children wasn't something she was ready to stand by and watch, drunk or sober.

But it seemed like that woman with the silver eyes was going to put them in their place first, or at least, she tried to. She was mocking and boy was that hot, but she couldn't really tell if she was cutting deep enough with her words. Maybe it was the drunk person in her? Or maybe she was just an asshole through and through, but she did want to see if maybe she could cut a little deeper.

"Boy, there sure are a lot of you insects buzzing about, huh?" She drawled, the words coming out in a slight drunken slur, but they were still pretty perfectly understandable. Somebody hard of hearing might've struggled, but that wasn't her problem now, was it? "How many of you expect to make it back? Can you afford that many funeral services?" She grinned, the same grin that she'd worn during her time as a bandit. It spoke of danger, of crime and of problem. "Maybe only one of you'll come back? Who's to say one of you isn't planning to plant that dagger and make off with the rewards?"

For the briefest of moments, Fenn breathed easy. He stood behind two strong ladies. Better yet, both of them seemed to have it handled. Probably? Probably.

Maybe.

The orange-haired fae flustered and took a step back in the face of the insults, her fires guttering. But just as quickly, Orange gathered back her confidence with a glance back at her seven-or-so comrades, the eager shine of their eyes egging her on. They wanted a retaliation. And, they had numbers on their side. “We,” she stated, glowing amber eyes flicking over to the drunky not-Drakari lady, “don’t bow down to threats, lizard. And we wouldn’t betray each other in the crass manner you suggest; we need our numbers.”

From behind her, a fae with green-and-pink speckled wings piped up from his tree-branch perch. “I mean, the ruins are pretty dangerous…”

“And filled with gems and artifacts,” Orange continued smugly, chest swelling with self-importance. “We have an expedition to complete. The ruins of our great city carry more than historical importance, don’t you know? Some contain riches… and with them, terrifying traps, dangers, and creatures. It is our mission to conquer these places, to make them safe for the constructionists. Now tell me, what things of importance do you do with yourselves?”

Fenn huffed out a frosty breath and leaned out from behind Yvvone. Snowflakes and a cold fog spun out from the motion. His attentive eyes couldn't help but notice Orange’s hand dip down to touch a pouch at her belt, as if to reassure herself it was still there; within him his pickpocketing instincts tingled. People gave away so much while saying so little, and they didn’t even realize it! What in that pouch could be so important to her little expedition? It made his twitchy, thiefy fingers curl hopefully. Whatever it was, he wanted it for his own; as he usually felt about fascinating things that had yet to be his. At the least, now he got what was up with the strappy-leather-armor-and-many-pouches-and-pockets look all these fae were sporting. He was also an adventurer, but he didn't need all that, however! After all he had his trusty sifan satchel to hold anything he needed. In fact-

“Well?” Orange asked, snapping him back to reality. “I was asking you, snow-imp. Have you been struck mute by awe? Or is that another one of your natural deficiencies?”

Hoo boy. Fenn needed a friggen drink.

The little puck shot her a withering stare and stepped out a little from behind Yvvie, failing to form a proper response besides another kneejerk finger-flash.

The hostile Dheathanian lifted her head high. She seemed to take his continued silence for concession, regardless of his actions. “And who are you all to judge us, anyway? One of you is an obvious and unrepentant hussie,” she began (though, Fenn noticed she edged defensively farther away from the powerful-looking drunky lady as she said this), “one is a natural disaster waiting to happen, and the other…” Orange glanced at Yvvone. Balancing along the top of a thick tree-root, she glanced back at her friends again and took a couple daring steps forward toward the dwarf. She grinned. Wordlessly, the fire licking her palms crept all the way up to her shoulders, the wash of heat blowing her bangs back from her forehead. The mist enveloping them all hissed.

The other fae practically hissed with delight themselves at the spectacle.

“...well. I’ll say it once. It wasn’t wise for one who balks so openly at magic to visit a city brimming with naturally gifted sorcerers, was it?”

Sweat trickled from Yvonne’s brow, rolling down from her cheek bone. Her steady gaze faltered in spite of how hard she tried to lock eyes with the pyromancer, lowering to the tree root at the fire fae’s feet. She struggled to lift her eyes again yet forced herself to do so, lifting her chin. The only thing she could do to appear unafraid.

Flames ravaged the fae’s hands, arms and shoulders - and seeing those burning appendages up close she began to imagine all the horrible misdeeds this one might accomplish with them. She shuddered with fear, unable to keep her trembling under control.

As the incendiary fae took a few bold steps forward Yvonne took two instinctual steps back. The slate-skinned dwarf’s lip curled in a snarl of annoyance, her silver eyes narrowing. Terror wracked her, her nerves shot. Personal space clearly wasn’t a social courtesy the vivid-winged adventurer cared to uphold.

“That-- that be close enough! Stay right there! Not another step!” Yvonne bid them, but with her will shaken she wouldn’t be able to stand her ground. Her fight or flight response had become difficult to dismiss as the pyromancer closed in.

“What’s a quivering ignoramus like you going to do to stop me? I go where I please. You don’t make the rules here,” Orange sneered, stepping closer again and prompting another step away from Yvonne. No longer could she hide Fenn behind her. She had to get away from the flames. Those detrimental, engulfing fires of sorcery. She feared them like no other elemental magic. She couldn’t stay her ground.

“Ye stay back or else!” Yvonne shouted, making a brave face - putting on a grand show, flaring her anger defensively. Though this mongrel had no bite to her bark. She knew it. The fae all around her knew it, cackling with glee and skittering nearer to enjoy the spectacle unfolding before their eyes. In social situations Yvy could be the most powerful, compelling and charismatic individual that you had ever had the pleasure of knowing, but… throw some witch-fire into the pot and she couldn’t maintain appearances for the life of her.

“--or else what!?” the sizzling sorcerer finished for her, raising her upturned palm and blowing glowing cinders and hot ash in Yvonne’s face. The bully wouldn’t back down.

Right, okay. The situation was going south. How did a tipsy adventurer deal with a mage bullying somebody who clearly wasn't magic's biggest fan in the whole, expansive world?

Okay, now what was the RIGHT thing to do?

"Son of a whore..." It dawned on Keeara exactly what was going to happen if she didn't step in. Or maybe it didn't? That would be up for sober Keeara to decide in a few hours, whenever things were settled, in the hour or two she spent sober before she set upon the brilliant and dangerous quest of intoxicating herself for the rest of the day. And of course, if it were sober Keeara dealing with this, the problem might've been over with by now. Sadly, it wasn't the case here. Instead, they were stuck with the most washed up woman on the planet, potentially.

Still, that fire fae person was being awfully villainous to the cute silver eyed woman. It was kind of hot to watch, maybe it'd devolve into a catfight or something? Nah, probably not. It was pretty stupid though. A little fire was making the silver eyed woman shiver and back down, just like that? Where was that spunky, fiery nature that had been peeking through just a few seconds ago? People were actually this much against magic?

"So, you threaten every girl like this, or just the cute ones?" She might've slurred slightly in her drunken state, or maybe heavily. She wasn't exactly minding her words too much, not like she was threatened much by a bit of lousy fire. "Because I mean, if you wanna burn her clothes off I won't stop you, but you look like you wanna hurt her." And that wasn't something she could sit back and watch, was it? Ex-bandit or not, she wasn't the type to just let somebody be panicked and bullied.

And well, now she had to do something. She sighed, faking a yawn, only for a jet of water to emerge from the back of her throat, just enough to soak the fire fae from head to toe. Every inch of her, her hair, her hands, all of her clothes, were dripping wet and soaked.

"Ooops, I'm so sorry! Sometimes the glands just have to be discharged, you know what I mean?" And yes, it was supposed to sound kind of suggestive, as she stepped forwards, in front of the scared silver eyes that belonged to Yvonne, a smirk plastered across her face. "Gosh, how clumsy! I should've aimed the other way, now look at you!" She placed her hands on the woman's shoulders, but then the plates on her tail started to glow bright blue as her hands began to heat up. 60 Celsius. 70 Celsius. All the way to 100.

"You're alright though, right?" She smiled sweetly, as if she wasn't pressing palms that were hot enough to boil water into the woman's shoulders. "You'll live, right? Because you're a strong adventurer type, right?"

Orange took to the roughhandling about as well as one would expect.

Her lacy wings, veins aglow and radiating heat, steamed off dripping water with a thrummmnnnas the drunky lady gripped her shoulders — and quickly enough, panic. The spitfire of a fae may have been resistant to her own flames, but the foreign heat was something more uncomfortable to her. It made her clench her jaw. Or was that the fear that generally came with competing against someone that muscular?

“As strong as you, I bet,” she growled, though perhaps she spoke with a tremor.

In turn, she turned up her own dancing flames, daring the finned lady to keep her hands right where they were. The lady gave back the sort of lax smile one would expect from a drunk.

It was a game of flaming chicken.

A sigh of relief left Fenn as the confrontation drew their attention away from the trembling Yvonne. He was pretty sure that if she’d gotten close enough to Yvvie to actually start hurting her, his locked knees would have swiftly been picklocked by his outrage, and a storm of ice might have ensued (or so he hoped; it was hard to tell where his cowardice ended and impulsivity began). Which was just what he needed, right? An animalistic outburst of wild magics to prove them right? Within him still burned a certain resentment…

And his fingers absolutely itched for something new and shiny…

Throwing Yvvie a wicked wink and an apologetic pat, Fenn nicked up to the distracted duo. He could practically feel the heat radiating off of them. Definitely, one could see it in the distortion of the air. Fenn’s cold was easily smothered by its presence. Practiced hands closed around the pouch tied to Orange’s side; the buckles keeping it in place were unlatched seconds after he brushed up against them. Just as the pouch was smothered by the ice-froze folds of his cloak, the flushered fire fae suddenly tore away from Drunky, twisting and ducking out out of her grip in a flash of cinder and smoke. Fenn squeaked and pedaled back.

“You are insane! The three of you, insane!” the fae barked, resentfully staring at her singed vest. She glanced back at her comrades and uttered something sharp and snappy in their own language. With snarled looks and prickly turns of their wings, they winked out of the tree’s branches and retreated to their half of the tree’s shade — on the other side of the trunk.

As they vanished, Fenn draped himself over a blocky root in relief, letting his antennae sag in relief. Finally! The pouch was pulled more than gleefully out from under the shade of his cloak. What shiny thing could possibly be inside?

He stopped just short of opening it though, glancing up at Yvonne and Drunky. Ahh. Where were his (relatively vague) manners?

“Thanks,” Fenn signed toward the not-drakari, tapping his chin and sweeping his hand outward. Though he doubted the woman would understand Gesture — she hadn’t shown any signs of understanding him before — he figured his gratefulness would come through anyway. Possibly, Yvvie could interpret a bit of it. “Name? Borrow drink?”

Yvonne burst into a fit of hysterical giggles, tones of rising amusement and dwindling panic uncontrollably escaping her. Her worrying laughter took her over and she flopped herself back into the grass, throwing her arms out either side of herself. Her giggles were almost too much and she could barely breathe. The half-and-halfling tried to speak, truly.

"Ye two-- hehe! Did ye-- HAHAhahaaa!" she began, devolving into another bout of laughter. She required another moment to catch her composure - breathing in, breathing out. She sat upright, all grins.

"Wow ye two turned that around! Haha, did ye see tha look on her face!? Where did that water spray come from, back of yer throat? Ye didn't even huck-tooey but by tha crikeys she felt tha wallop of that golly! What ye supposed ta be then eh, a killer whale?" Yvonne asked, perhaps teasing a little but she felt genuinely impressed. "Keep ye about, we will, and neck deep in booze if that be yer fancy!" The drow-dwarf's attention turned to Fenn and she lowered her voice so as not to be overheard by any fae stragglers, on the other side of the great tree.

"Bloody impulsive flamethrowers - and what did ye swipe from her dear? Got her lunch money I bet. Tha irony of it all," she whispered, giggling again, the hysteria all but vanished. It seemed a simple enough pouch. What it was made from, who knew? Mayhap a crocodile stomach or wild boar bladder. No telling how these jungle dwellers improvised their everyday belongings. What remained hidden inside - that was the question!

As Fenn conveyed his words through his hand gestures Yvonne looked to the heroine of the day, to see if she understood him. Most likely not, her guess. Even she was still learning his nifty finger-speak. She made an effort to interpret for them, but she could only understand so much and what she didn't know was fair game for playfully twisting as she saw fit.

"Fenn thanks ye," she explained for the not-so-drakari. That sign she'd seen before - thanks. "What be... yer name? What does that third one mean Mister Glenwey? Thirsty? We could go stand at rain's edge with our tongues out ta catch some, though we'd look a silly sight doing it, teehee. Fair warning, if yer sauce bottles go missing me friend here be sticky-fingered and throat-parched. After that wee incident tha only one not in need of a drink be Orange," the half-dwarf said smugly.

She tried to imitate the water projectile action, yawning her head back and preparing her imaginary throat glands for discharging, but there was nothing for it. She couldn't replicate it but it sure was funny to try.