A bard in time saves...

[Metarie]

Idonir stepped into the hallway. Metarie did not back up to keep a comfortable zone of personal space. Instead she looked up at him, from the short distance of a foot away. He apparently didn't like her question. His tone implied he was the one that was going to protect Lanya, not her nor the captain.

A twitch developed in her jaw. She did not like being treated as if she were incapable or invisible. The large scratch on the wall didn't help either. The man might be a foot taller than she, but she wasn't going to let his size intimidate her. She had taken down bigger things than him in her time. Granted... she was using a bow at the time...

"The Lady is here. Mind yourself..." Metarie pointed at the scrape he had just made on the wall. "The hall is narrow." Metarie stood in the first doorway to the left. Kona stood beside her. The other first doorway, on the right, led into the bathroom.

[Lanya Caliope]

Where's the girl?

Lana clenched her jaw and remained silent, stirring the viscous liquid and adding a few more drops until the color had changed to a ruddy brown. Now she paused and laid a damp dishrag gently over the top of the pestel to keep the liquid moist enough for use. It wouldn't do to have it dry out while she unraveled her braid.

She moved slowly to drag out the time this maneuver took. After hearing the man's steps through the house, his gruff tone, and Metarie's tension through her own voice, the bard had even less interest in meeting him. Her hair was still damp from having been woven into the braid; there was still a towel available to wrap it. She would just need to make sure not to miss any strands. She also thought it would be best to braid Metarie's hair before the other woman went outside as bait, to disguise the straightness of the hair itself. Lanya would simply rebraid her own hair once the coloring was complete.

A chirp drew her attention to her small robin where he perched on one of the elf's bowls. She watched him as he watched her with those black button eyes; beyond the chirp, neither made a sound. There was nothing to discuss or debate; this was the only plan they'd been given, and Lanya was simply too drowsy to try and improvise further. She would build upon the healer's plan. It wasn't a bad plan, after all. And the healer would go by the tavern to collect her things...eventually. This guard had terrible timing.

With a resigned sigh, she moved to follow the voices, still pulling the braid free as she walked. By the time she stepped into view she was working higher up on her head, with both hands behind her scalp. She stared at the guard with dull eyes, then tilted her head in a succinct greeting.

"The girl is here."

[City Guard]

Idonir did not find Lanya in the room he had his head stuck into, but he did find an elf who stood her ground rather defiantly, despite his proximity. From another man that could be interpreted in a variety of ways, from a challenge to honorable respect. From a woman there were also a few ways to interpret it, but for a man like Idonir seriously was not one. She was too small and too light for him to think she actually could prove a threat.

He looked her up and down when she was pointing out the scratch he'd made in the wall while more or less ignoring what she was talking to him about. It was aggressive posturing on his part, and displayed the fact that he was not impressed by anything other than the fact that she was an attractive female.

Idonir grinned, and took a step toward Metarie. He was about to say something when Lanya appeared from behind her and cut him short. The presence of another person apparently put the ogrish man in check. At least for a little while. It was not likely to last, and didn't stop him from being suggestive.

"Oh good, now we can all enjoy ourselves."

[Metarie]

Metarie was looking at Idonir as she pointed out the scrape on the wall. She would have been blind to the leisurely look that took stock in her physical build. Metarie’s hand tightened in annoyance on the hilt of the dagger. A slow, leering grin crawled its way across the lower half of Idonir’s face. He took a step closer, leaving nothing but the space of a breath between them. Metarie worked very hard at taking shallow breaths, but still did not back down. Kona’s hackles had raised and a low growl had started in the back of his throat.

Lanya broke the tension by announcing, in a dead pan tone, her arrival. Metarie could not see Lanya because of Idonir, but his head swiveled in the direction of her voice.

"Oh good, now we can all enjoy ourselves." On a better looking man the comment would have been charmingly roguish, but on a giant man squeezed into metal clothing and smelling like day’s old fish left out in a metal barrel during high summer… not so much. Heat prickled up Metarie’s cheeks as she became annoyed. Why had Camulous sent this man? Because he was big? What good did bulk do?

“That sounds like a good idea. Why don’t you enjoy yourself by applying spackle to that wall? I’ll go get some.”

Metarie turned on her heel and headed towards the kitchen. In the next doorway, she found Lanya. “Oh, so you tried it!” Metarie cut a glance towards the top of the hall and shook her head. “Here, I’ll help once I give Idonir the spackle to fix the wall he damaged.”

[Alibi of Tyrants]

“I’ll have tea, please,” the missus asked, almost sheepishly. She absently smoothed out her apron---a gesture Everett took as an indication of the OCD that comes with being a maid or even just your average neat freak. If she was anything like that, man, this place must be the embodiment of her worst nightmares.

Everett looked over at Watson and grinned. “The usual pick-me-up, Watson,” he said, his tone rich with an unrequited wink. His Gnomish attendant nodded and carried his stout, somewhat wizened frame into the kitchen to carry out the requests.

Everett’s client let out a long, drawn-out sigh. She fidgeted about in her chair, as if something was stuck between those incessantly large butt cheeks (and knowing his furniture, there probably IS something there. Maybe a stray, valuable Bishani or something as useless as a fountain pen). Typical---most of his clients are absolutely embarrassed to come calling him for help. Even the ones that are without the smoldering arrogance find it hard to relate their problems to him, as if they were guilty of what has befallen them (and sometimes, believe it or not, they were). Maybe people wouldn’t feel so bad if he was a therapist of some sort…? He’ll definitely have to keep that in mind whenever he wanted to get off of his ass and get a career change.

“You have to forgive me for coming upon you so early,” she said. “I wasn’t aware that you’d be---“

“No, no,” Everett interrupted, keeping a friendly and nonchalant air (although a part of him wishes that he could’ve at least splashed his face with cold water to get the damned, crusty sleepers out of them). “Really, it’s okay. I mean, coming out in a robe is a lot better than coming out to you naked. Right?”

Oops, wrong thing to say. Plain Jane blushed slightly at the comment. If Everett were stupid, he would’ve just continued blithely on with the conversation without noticing the discretion (or lack thereof) her eyes were taking in looking him over. This was definitely not the client that he wanted to flirt with.

“Yes,” she said, abashedly. At the tone of her voice, Everett wanted to just don an ugly mask and start shouting, ‘Boogity, boogity!’ so she could be somehow dissuaded from her thought processes. Or go into the kitchen and start preening Watson for lice and other mites that may (but most likely not) be in his hair. Or maybe jump on the couch, take off his clothes, and start wiggling his junk around in her face (no, no---scratch that idea! Bad things may happen!).

“Well,” Everett continued, gingerly twirling his hand around to get his mind off of scaring her from lust (or shaking his bits at her, one of the two. Lord knows he was mortified at the prospect of the latter). “So, what can I help you with…Miss--?”

“Geraldine. Geraldine Crowley,” she replied, smiling a little bit. Geraldine seemed a little surprised that she had to recant her name for him. As well as she should be surprised---how in all of the Hells was he supposed to know the name of a random client that Watson picked up and he neglected to mention (well, perhaps he may be wrong about the “neglect”). “But you can call me Geri, Mister Young.”

Everett wanted to shudder. Gods, what possessed her parents to name her “Geraldine?” Were they high on dope when they named her? “Since we’re being so formal, why don’t you just call me Everett,” he said, solemnly---implying that it was time to get down to business. “Now, Geri…how can I be of help? What brings you to my door?”

Her features hardened a little---not embittered because the cheerful little chit-chat was over, but because serious talk was starting. “Yes, about why I’m here.

“You see, Everett, I am a married woman.” To emphasize this fact, she lifted one of her stubby hands. Sure as death on the left hand, there was a ring (it was funny, too, because Everett noticed right away that it was a fake. Lord, was it a fake. The band was made of flattened marcasite, a popular variant of fool’s gold, and it looked pretty damn convincing until you noticed the silver sheen and paleness. Real gold---even of the highest karat---doesn’t get that pale and faded. The diamond inlay wasn’t even diamond---it was cubic zirconia. No doubt she knew that at this point and there was no use in pointing it out). “The fact of the matter is, though, I do not want to be married any longer. My husband, Ezekial Crowley, is a philandering booze-hound. All he does is spend my hard-earned money on liquor…and…and…”

“Other women?” Everett interjected. His eyes narrowed a little bit. Ezekial Crowley. There was something particularly familiar about that name. However, he didn’t want to jump to any sort of conclusions yet.

“Yes!” she stated emphatically, as if Everett had driven a nail right into her forehead. “Only the finest whores that the Rat can offer.” Geri’s jaw set, detracting from her innate cuteness by emitting an icy glare that could, if given magical properties, could set the Furry Turd aflame with its intensity. Her little freckles were filled in with redness, like a sloppy connect-the-dot job with a red paintbrush.

“So…why don’t you just divorce the guy and be done with it?” Everett asked, knowing that it was an obvious question that had an all-too obvious answer.

“That’s just it!” Geraldine grated. “I don’t know where he is! About two weeks ago, just when I was about to confront him about this, he just up and left in the middle of the night. He left me no note, no notice, nothing. I searched the whole city myself, went to his haunts, everywhere…but I could not find him!”

Watson placed their respective drinks in front of their owners, complete with saucers and napkins. Geraldine didn’t forget her manners in the midst of her anger and she politely said her thanks. Everett nodded as well, picking up his cup and taking a sip of his “pick-me-up” which was coffee laced with a hefty amount of vodka.

[Lanya Caliope]

Lanya dropped her arms at the guard's comment, eying him thoroughly. His image provoked a bare wisp of recognition, but just like his name she had a hard time sorting it out. She crossed her arms lightly over her chest as she considered - both a more comfortable and defensive position from his wandering eyes.

She turned to Metarie with a faint smile at the elf's comment, nodding her head in acceptance of the offer for help. She flicked a gaze to Idonir once more, tempted to begin a verbal sparring match...but he was not charming enough to elicit her playful nature. He was just obnoxious.

She turned to walk back into the kitchen without comment, wishing in silent desperation that she had her cloak once more. She hoped Metarie would be able to check the tavern soon.

[City Guard]

He looked back at Lanya, and made no attempt to hide his motives from her. His eyes gazed up and down her figure, which she promptly covered by lowering her arms.

That sounds like a good idea. Why don’t you enjoy yourself by applying spackle to that wall? I’ll go get some.

Idonir was not a stupid man, but nor was he particularly quick witted. Metarie turned around and left him standing there trying to figure out what exactly she was talking about. He turned his big oafish frame to the side and looked at what his shoulder had done to the wall, noticing it for the first time although still not caring very much.

She wanted him to fix the scratch he put in the wall? One scratch in this flimsy little elven doll-house? What exactly did she think he looked like? A construction worker?

"I'm no construction worker."

By the time that came out, both of them were already in the kitchen and poor Idonir was talking to himself. That made him more annoyed than he already was about Matarie's earlier greeting.

He followed them into the kitchen, miraculously breaking nothing else on the way there, and stood close behind Lanya while she dealt with whatever girly-hair driven thing she was doing.

[Metarie]

Placing the dagger on the counter near to Lanya, Metarie squatted down and rummaged under the sink. Long, graceful fingers wrapped around a small tub sealed with oilskin. The sound of metal moving could be heard as she reached for a spackle knife.

Idonir spoke, his comment carrying down the hall. Heavy footsteps followed and soon, meaty legs were at eye level as Idonir took up a post behind Lanya. Metarie looked up as she stood. The man certainly liked to use his bulk to invade other’s personal space. Metarie decided he was a bully and that was something she did not like much. She wasn’t even sure if he would help Lanya or the attacker, if they were attacked. She considered her options. He needed to back off. If she had been uncomfortable with leaving Lanya, she was doubly so now. Metarie put the spackle and spackle knife back in its place.

Giving a sigh, she shook her head and ran a hand through her now red hair, bringing her hair back and away from her face and ears, before it fell again around her face. Thankfully, the dye was fully out so that no color was left on her fingers.

"You’re right, of course. What was I thinking?” Metarie turned fully and leaned against the counter, propping her elbows on the edge casually so that her chest arched out slightly.

“We were thinking of the ways to get Lanya’s things without putting her in danger. With all of your experience, I’m sure you have great ideas. What do you think we should do?” She looked up at Idonir and smiled. Her eyes widened somewhat. The green stood out brilliantly against the red of her hair. Metarie reached out a hand to touch a gauntleted forearm. She glanced to Lanya as if seeking approval for her next words, before looking back up to Idonir. Leaning forward a little she said, "Do you... could you... get her things? You're strong enough and big enough to handle whatever might come up."

Metarie, then, shook her head. "No... Cam might go, but... " Metarie's voice drifted off. She glanced to Lanya again and sighed.

[Lanya Caliope]

Lanya, facing the sink, gave Metarie a knowing sidelong glance. An eyebrow raised as she listened to what the woman was saying, and she fought to hide a smile. She had done something similar once to a large oaf of a man. It never hurt to try.

With a longing sigh, she placed a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

"Aye, he looks quite fit and able. And Camulous would only send the finest guard, wouldn't he?"

She turned now and faced the man with the same wistfulness on her face. His proximity made her skin crawl and she didn't fight the urge to hug herself, though she did make the effort to make it appear that she was hugging herself as part of her feigned longing. She looked up (and up) at him without raising her face.

"I would be ever so grateful if you checked."

[City Guard]

Idonir's eyes went straight where they were supposed to go and spent a long time taking in the pair of wonderful sights, both of which looked quite good from where he was standing. The armor left much to the imagination. Again, Idonir was not a stupid man. He was certainly no ogre who could be manipulated willy nilly and talked down to like he had a room temperature IQ. But he was very distracted by what he saw, and somehow, with the situation as it was, did not exactly clue in to what Metarie was doing. The view of her fine figure had a lot to do with it, but so did the mention of Camulous. Hearing about the captain made his brain shut off.

Cam might go, but...

Like hell he would. There was not a damned thing Camulous could do that Idonir couldn't. If it was going to get these fine ladies to think about him rather than think about Camulous, Idonir was going to do it. That captain was the biggest cock blocker in existance, and the guy had still never actually been seen with a woman.

"'Course I'll go."

His eyes barely moved for a while, but eventually they looked at Lanya. Two women, both flirting, both trapped in the house with him. He was going to expect a very nice thank you when he came back. That much was obvious.

"Where's it at?"

[Metarie]

Although Metarie had never shared someone's bed, she had been around long enough to know that calculating and sleezy look when she saw it. She wished Lanya hadn't mentioned anything about being greatful, but the words were out and there was no doubt as to what "being greatful" entailed. In any case they would have time to sort out a plan about that later. Metarie looked over Idonir, sizing him up. If it happened to look like she was considering what he would look like out of his armor, all the better. Her eyes lingered on his chest and arms. Her years as a healer and her experience as a tracker made her guesstimates of a man's weight and mass fairly accurate.

She calculated and in the meantime, she smiled... oh how she smiled. She took in a deep breath and breathily said, "Oh, Idonir..." It was nearly a purr.

She reached out and touched the only available piece of uncovered skin - his hand - letting her fingers stroke across the top of his hand and his fingers lightly. "Thank you..." Metarie gave him another good, long look in the eye for good measure... if he were looking at her face. " Lanya said she left her things at the Willow Root." Metarie looked to Lanya, hoping the woman would describe her things.

[Lanya Caliope]

Lanya drew her own mental line at touching the brute. She raised an eyebrow at the healer, amusement flashing in her eyes. She decided not to distract the man away from what the elf was doing and picked up her cue with ease.

"A green cloak, rather bulky and older but functional. A sling-pouch, beige - it'd have some shirts and supplies within. There would also be a staff which I truly need, and a guitar."

She raised her face now as she spoke of Greenfyre.

"You'd know the guitar - it's in perfect condition and it'll feel warm to the touch. It's a very distinct type of wood that doesn't take well to temperature changes."

She was tempted to explain further, and had barely wanted to say what she had. She had already seen how their justice worked, and Metarie had explained about the hatred of magic of any kind. She hoped he would believe about the wood, for beyond that Greenfyre did not look any different than a normal guitar beyond its pristine condition. But when he touched it and felt the heat...she didn't like the guitar but she wanted it back regardless. She did miss the feel of the instrument in her palms.

Now honest gratitude flooded her eyes and her face gentled and smoothed from the wistful gaze.

"I truly appreciate you checking for me, Sir Idonir."

[City Guard]

Metarie was quite lucky she was wearing armor because at the moment she touched his hand, he was very close to taking what he wanted without going to the tavern at all. The armor meant that he didn't know exactly where to grab, so he couldn't grab anything at all.

He was not accustomed to doing favors for ladies when the prospect of garnering sex for it was still so distant a reality. Idonir did not have trouble getting women, given his status with the guard and his large physique, which allowed him to muscle his way past other men and often impressed the elven females who were bored with their effeminate male counterparts.

But she was wearing armor, and there were two of them, and she had played the Camulous card... And Camulous had put him in charge of protecting them. All things considered, there wasn't much choice for Idonir. He had to, at the very least, do what they wanted before he took what he wanted.

It was quite a good thing he had armor on too. It covered him up nicely.

His military training shone through when Lanya described what she wanted. It meant that remembering a list of items was easy for him. His response was quick, and very direct. One thing Idonir could do properly, without a doubt, was get her things.

"Right."

He was started to calculate the odds that they were toying with him at that moment as well. It wouldn't be long before he started to reconsider... But once he said he would do it, he had to do it.

"I'll be back, and we'll see about that gratitude."

he took his hand away from Metarie, still dismayed at her lack of grab-able bits, and made for the exit. His pauldron cut another gash - this one in the door frame - when he stepped out.

[Metarie]

Touching him was a calculated risk. Thankfully, the outcome went positively versus negatively. With a smile pasted on, Metarie followed Idonir as he exited her house. Clomping footsteps carried him down the now scuffed, hardwood floors. A lingering odor followed after. Metarie cringed as the pauldron scraped another gash in her house. A twitch even started in her right eye. The man was such a... a few choice words in her native tongue floated through her head. Metarie looked up at the gash and touched it with her hand. A sigh left her. When she looked down, something caught her eye.

"What?" She murmured, mystified by the sight. Metarie stepped out of the door and crouched down. Barely noticeable, but for her keen eyesight, something wood-toned that did not belong, was partially in the bushes. A glitter caught in the light cast from the hallway. Metarie reached out and brought the thing into the light. In her hands, the wood was warm to the touch. To her eyes, the thing bled magic into the air. Metarie disliked it on sight. To her mind, the thing was cursed. This was something else that would have to be considered.

"Lanya," she said, "your guitar has found you."

Turning, Metarie stepped back into the house and closed and locked the door. Returning to the kitchen, she passed the guitar to Lanya. "Let's finish your hair and then you go get some rest. Idonir will return soon enough." Metarie chose not to disclose her intentions to Lanya, feeling that the woman had enough on her shoulders.

[Lanya Caliope]

The bard felt neither fear nor shock at Metarie's announcement. Instead, a cold feeling of resignation smoothed her features as she blocked out the instant revulsion she felt upon seeing the guitar. There was just the barest hint of life in her movements as she moved to take the instrument around the neck, gripping it firmly and not bothering to check it for injuries. She knew that it would be in perfect, unmarred condition.

The warmth against her palm brought her back to moments within the jail cell, when she had longed for this thing's presence to at least give her a little comfort. But within its presence once more, she wondered how she could have ever craved it in any way. No matter how comforting its heat would've been in that cold, sterile cell, the instrument was still alive and dangerous.

"Thank you."

In case the guard was still within earshot, she added:

"I had forgotten I set it outside."

She didn't care to lie when it came to magic and this instrument. Everything about it was already foul; what would a lie hurt? Still, the words felt dirty and gave her a queasy feeling, and she held a hand gently against her stomach. Revulsion and guilt were giving her indigestion.

She nodded at the healer's suggestion to finish her hair, but she needed to at least put Greenfyre down before she would be at ease. Somewhere close but out of sight. She didn't think it would attack Metarie, and it had never uncurled its strings to attack an animal.

"I'll be right back."

As she turned to walk back towards the bedroom, she gripped the guitar as she would a club. Once inside the room she set it against the wall next to the bed, close enough that if she were asleep and woke it would be the first thing she could check on. She always worried about it when it was nearby.

She stared down at the guitar for several minutes, breathing deeply to calm herself from the impulse to scream, cry, and beat the thing against the wall. Beyond the futility of such actions, she didn't think the elf could stand more damage to her home.

Lanya turned and re-entered the kitchen looking much the same as she had before Metarie handed her the instrument. If she'd been clearly upset before, there wasn't enough to justify this perception now.

"Shall we?"

A light smile as she reached up to fluff her hair a bit. It was still damp from being braided, but she approached the sink and determined to do anything the elf would like her to. She'd never dyed hair before and bowed to the other woman's experience.