KOBOLDS ... in a pub. Open tavern thread.

[Philomel]

Philomel raised her eyebrows, on sight of seeing one of her favourite men in the whole of this Hell-damned universe stride into the tavern with nothing but his smile to bear him. She watched as he beat the kobold to an unsavoury mess on the floor within a few, brief knocks. Brow furrowing she leaned forwards, her eyes moving from the group of reptilians, who were now hastily trying to gather their commander back together, to the two men who had made them into such a state. Lips curling into a frown she calmly set her tankard down upon the table and stood, her long plait of violet hair swaying as she did. Out from the shadows Veridian crept also, silent upon his pitch black paws as he shifted to her side.

"You could be kinder, vaan Osiris, and Veritas, dear friends," she looked from one man to the other - one lover to the other - with a rather upset expression. "Violence, is never the answer. Now I believe they actually came for a drink?"

Her eyes fell expectantly onto the commander, who was unsteadily being drawn upright by his fellows, and clutching at the wound which was his handless arm. Gru'Hal, the general who had been so hurt, glared at her with a note of hatred, before he spat.

"We did come for a drink, but also to conquer."

The small, beady eyed one who had originally whispered hastily set up his hands. "Well we did ..."

Philomel pursed her lips, her eyes skimming back over to the barmaid, who had been kind enough to offer them a stool. Then they sped back to Shinsou, his beloved sword still dripping with the sickly blood that had been eked from the commander. Storm ... well she did not bother with him for now. He, after all, had gotten up when she did not, mistaking her apparent look of annoyance for a plea for action against these men of lizard relevance.

"Yes, we did," Gru'Hal hissed, dragged back a step as his men hurried around him, desperate to stem the wound. "But apparently that is not on the agenda."

"Well, I think today is not a good day for you to begin," the faun smiled a dazzling smile, cupping her hands in front of her as she met eyes with the emerald being. "Maybe violence ... well though you did start it. Really, all of you," she tutted as she looked from one kobold who was attempting to pull his sword out again.

"You included!" she jabbed a finger at Shinsou and Storm. "And if any of you so as dare to pull out a sword, why I will get Delath to come and eat the hand you wield with." She paused, turning to the kobolds. "He is a dragon. I have a dragon."

Gru'Hal growled, but his wound was apparently deep enough. Hurriedly the companions who had followed him into this hole began to set to work, dealing with what healing provisions they had brought with them, all the way from the depths of the sewer world. Needle, thread - these things were apparently not beyond their ken as they chose to bide by the faun's words and vaan Osiris' blade. Slowly, Philomel nodded, satisfied as peace began to fall again.

Her smile returned. "So, Shinsou darling," she said, leaning down to pick up Veridian, "What exactly have you been doing?"

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The sense of satisfaction I got from clearing out the "blockage" at the bar was short lived. As the other Kobolds gathered around their wounded leader, tending to him with hurried precision and occasionally stopping to throw me an acidic glare, I was faced with something far worse than an enraged Kobold.

Philomel's finger, jabbing at me. Scolding me, of all things. Had I ever been told off by her? I couldn't remember a single occasion. Coming from my best friend, it felt like a hammer blow. On the other hand...

"I warned him." I shrugged, picking up my order from the bar and casually meandering through the mixed gathering of Kobolds, humans, elves and gods knows what. As I passed Storm's table, I made sure to drop him a tumbler of his favorite whiskey; a double short of that honey tinted stuff he drank in the High Tap. I didn't need to say anything to him right now; throughout our colourful relationship, we had said more to each other through the medium of donated beverages than any spoken language could have achieved. It had become a sort of unspoken code. A quick exchange of knowing glances was enough to convey the appropriate respects before I swivelled my hips through a human blockage to reach the faun's table.

Veridian sat perfectly in the cradle of Philomel's arms, keeping warm in the gap between her breasts and forearms. He regarded me with those illuminating eyes, before resting his head. With one hand I placed my ale on the table, and with the other placed a cup in front of my friend.

"Been waiting for an opportunity to use this," I said as I pulled a flask from the inner section of my navy drakescale coat, "I did my research. Headbutt is hard to get hold of, but I know you love the stuff. I'd been saving it."

After a moment, I realised that I hadn't answered my lover's question. What had I been doing?

"Well, I resigned my commission at the Brotherhood," I started. That would have come as a shock to her, doubtless, but with Storm within earshot it was best to let dogs lie, "So mostly I've been looking for a permanent place to live. Whitevale doesn't really cater for non-enlisted folk. At the moment, i'm training with Joshua Cronen, learning what I can from him."

Her beautiful eyes followed my hand gestures and own gaze everywhere, never once swaying. She was probably one of only two people in this place genuinely interested in my well being, and the only one who knew me well enough to know that right now I was probably at my lowest point. The story about training with Breaker was true but there was no way she'd be convinced that I was happy with loitering around Corone, popping out occasionally to do a few rounds with Cronen.

She knew I needed more. But more was circumstantial, and in short supply.

As I finished my rambling, I supped at my ale and tapped my fingers on the wooden table.

"What about you? How are things at the Gilded Lily?"