RP:A Night Fer A Robbery

A meeting in Venturil leads to Ernest receiving one heckuva gift and Loravelle receiving a crash course in how to hold up a bar.

The Fallen Star Inn

Loravelle is relieved to find a place as far away from those tar pits as possible after the earlier tournament fight. She enters a little bit louder than she would like to, but there's a good reason for that. She's lugging a full-sized crossbow, and shoved the door open with the butt end of it. Likely more decorative than functional with all of its silver filigree decorating it, but it's a gift from her home country that she was fortunate enough to find during her junket with a certain pirate wolf. She holds it with the dangerous end pointed to the floor, just like Mister Crane taught her with her miniature toy crossbows, conveniently stowed away in her satchel bag with their bolts. The girl most likely doesn't look like a threat carrying the crossbow, but she gets some looks once she sits down in the closest empty seat available, carefully setting her prize on the table with its business end pointed at the wall just behind her, just to be safe. She looks frazzled and like she definitely should not be carrying around a weapon.

Ernest found Venturil an awfully long distance to travel, and so the last time he was here he'd put measures in place to make sure he only had to do the walking about once. Still, this was an important city for the purposes of maintaining his network. There was some powerful bad juju to the north of here, and it made an excellent battery for the kegs he had set up in his office. Still, no reason not to put a token in the tavern like normal, right? The doors clattered open and the very distinctive sound of a spurred boot clinking against the floor of the place heralded his entrance almost before the eye could turn to look at him. Everything about this person was Ernest-like. The hat, the longcoat, the swagger, the desiccated skin and sunken eyes, the dry raspy voice, and the drawl as he happened to catch sight of Lora sitting at a table with a proper arbalest, and a right fancy one too. "Well, look what we got here," he said, and as he approached the -very- keen-eyed and keen-eared may detect something ever-so-slightly... off. Maybe it was the way an eyebrow didn't -quite- arch in exactly the same way, or maybe the exact pitch of his voice didn't quite match her memory. In any case, however, he definitely recognized her. "Suoxin! How goes th' drawin' practice? Think yer overdue fer your next lesson. What's all this?" he asked, turning his attention to the elegant machine of death she'd hauled in.

What luck! Suoxin knew that voice, but it had been ages. Her head whips around at the sound of it, expecting to see none other than Mister Crane. It's been so long, that she doesn't notice much of the differences in the man she has done mental gymnastics for to make her brain process him as a very nice, wrinkly cowboy and not an actual undead man. The crossbow is a gift, actually. A gift for him. ...And also potentially payment for more lessons. “A gift, Mister Crane,” Suoxin explains, standing up and hefting the crossbow with immense care. She holds it out to him to take. “I found it,” stole it, “in Frostmaw with a friend of mine. It's from home. I thought you might like for trick shooting. And style.” Whether or not he takes the fancy lookin' weapon from her hands, she asks, "How have you been?"

Ernest accepted the crossbow with great care, first checking to see if it was loaded--it wasn't--then looking over its features. The crossbow was a beauty, though not made of quite the same materials as the custom job he'd had made by Leone, so he could tell by looking at it that it wouldn't have quite the same draw weight. But that would be fine, because he could tell by several factors that this device wasn't intended to punch right through hardened plate--instead, this crossbow was made for rapid shooting. To begin with, the priming mechanism was a pump that slid forward and backward, and while the internal pulley system must have been very well-designed, it still wouldn't be able to support the same kind of weight a crank assist could. For another, it had two barrels, and two sets of arms, one atop the other, with the magazine in between them--a long tube, rather than a short box on top. It was unlke any crossbow he'd ever seen before--though he'd fantasized about such a device. "This beauty's style -personified-," he said, amazed that Lora had just -found- this thing, "or, well, crossbow-ified." He found a little catch on the handle and flicked it, and the whole front part hinged downward for loading bolts into it. He whistled quietly. "I'll happily take it. I'm amazed yer home makes crossbows like this an' you ain't trained in shootin' yet. I've been good!" he added, eventually answering her question as he snapped the weapon shut again. He'd need to add a leather strap so he could sling it on his back, and maybe some runes for a bit of extra draw weight. "Better'n I've felt in a long while, actually. Had some... innerestin' things happen ta give me a bit more perspective on life, as it were." Namely, inhabiting a living body and subsequently getting almost totally rejuvenated in a fight with Shishi. There were things he could do now that he hadn't been able to do in over a decade.

Loravelle knew next to nothing about the mechanics of the crossbow she just gifted to Mister Crane, but she's thrilled that he seems to like it. So much so that she claps her hands together excitedly. “I..Well, I've held one like it before when I was small. My father helped me point an' shoot it,” explains Suoxin, borrowing a bit of Ernest's accent for the first time in quite a while. “He shot a deer with it and I got to skin it.” She realizes that she failed to answer his question about drawin' practice, and quickly adds, “I've gotten better, I think...” She pats the satchel she's still wearing, toy crossbows stowed away within. “I could show you. My...groupin' is better? I think. What innerestin' things happened, Mister Crane?” This guy definitely brought out a chattier side to her, but she feels a bit silly bringing hp what innerestin' things have gone on since she last saw Ernest. He doesn't seem the type to be interested in ladies gushing about boys that make their hearts flutter. She tells him anyway, albeit timidly. “I made a friend. A few friends. This friend though, he's...difficult,” and a pirate, and a werewolf, “-but I like his company. I'm going to the gala in that pixie place tomorrow. 'Dunno how to dance like people 'round here do though. Are you going?”

Ernest felt that going to a gala ball in pixieville was about the opposite of his whole aesthetic. Besides, this time of year, he was pretty certain somebody like Mathollak would try to make an entrance, and that would only lead to him getting punched. (To be fair, it could be nice to go undercover, maybe, see what the man was saying about him.) "Last time I went ta one o' them high-falutin' fancy-pants events I nearly got dragged down ta wherever Vakmathatguywhodealswithdeadpeople is tryin' ta send me. Think I'll sit this one out." He did know a bit of dancing--growing up with a traveling performance group'll do that--but he wasn't going to volunteer that information immediately. Although, she had just given him one of the coolest crossbows he'd ever held... maybe she could earn a dance lesson. Rather than explain his own goings-on or get more in-depth about this new friend of hers--who he could tell was probably a little more, and was itching to tell her to remember to shoot him if he got too "difficult", but held back for now since he hadn't seen fit to graduate her to a real crossbow--he instead took on the subject of her shooting. "I'd love ta see yer groupin'. And see how quick you can get it outta yer holster." He leaned to the side, noting its absence, and asked, "You do still have that holster, right?"

Loravelle had to admit Ernest had the best way of speakin' out of anybody she had ever met in Lithrydel. High-falutin' fancy-pants events? Vakmathatguywhodealswithdeadpeople? She's giggling a little, but disappointed he won't be there. “I don't much like pixies, but...I was pressured into going.” Hopefully their dust doesn't make her sneeze or do something foolish. With her luck there was a high chance of both of those happening. Once Ernest indicates he'd like to see her progress, Suoxin immediately removes her satchel and unpacks holster and crossbows and puts 'em on just how he taught her. That was the easiest part. ...Why she's choosing to do this inside of the tavern and not steppin' outside is a very good question, but there aren't too many people milling about inside currently. And there's a nice board across the way for target practice. She didn't load the crossbows before holstering them, wanting to take a few attempts at showing Mister Crane what she has learned so far when it comes to drawing. It's...better than the last time he saw her, but it's far from perfect. Far from stylish. It could be quicker. But she can spin 'em once she's drawn them in a stylish way like one of her fans, which she demonstrates. Simultaneously too! Isn't that style? The girl holsters one of the crossbows afterward, loads the other with an immense amount of care, recalling the last time she shot -at- her undead teacher by mistake. “See that old bounty poster from...” she squints. It's too far away to read the fine print, looks like some Drow nonsense. “I'll shoot th' seal.” She checks the safety, reholsters, then gives herself a countdown. “Three, two, one,” and Suoxin draws just like she did before, not quicker'n lightning or anything, switches off the safety, then shoots. One, two, three bolts, fannin' the hammer like he demonstrated ages ago. One hits almost dead center of the House D'artes seal. Second and third bolts cluster directly above it. Looks like an irregular shaped triangle one she's finished, and she lowers her crossbow. Sheepishly, Suoxin glances at Ernest for critique. “I think it's better, Mister Crane. Just a little.”

Ernest had opinions about whether she should do something if pressured but didn't want to distract her from her shooting--although the fact that she'd elected to do so inside and without clearing the way first did make him do that. Before she took her first shot, he put a hand on her shoulder and then bellowed "HEADS UP, RANGE IS LIVE!" so that literally every head in the bar turned to look at him. Then he released her shoulder and gestured to the target. "Now hit th' poster." Sure, maybe this would make her shootin' experience a little more nerve-wracking than before, but now there'd be no issue of somebody wandering cluelessly into the line of fire. Once she'd made her shots, he actually nodded approvingly and gave her a little golf clap. "Definite improvement. Here's a tip I forgot about 'til recently--don't hold yer breath like that when yer shootin'. Breathe deep, from th' stomach, in an' out, an' fire durin' th' pause when yer lungs're empty. That way, there's less tension in yer chest an' shoulders an' it won't feel quite so stiff." The bartender opened his mouth to address the fact that Ernest had apparently just okayed a live firing range in his bar, and the undead shot him a withering glare packed with all the fear magic he could muster. Ain't nobody says a word to Ernest Crane when he's being teacherly.

Loravelle winces at Mister Crane's bellowed warning, but it's smart. She should have probably done that first. Her excuses here are that she's too shy to project her voice that loudly and she's just been absolutely reckless as of late. We'll blame the pirate for that. Mister Crane's approval and little clap bring so much joy to the maid. His advice about breathing is taken with a nod. She'll try again and breathe from her belly. There were a few more bolts in that satchel that she loads into her crossbow instead of walking across the tavern to pull the three she shot from the board. Clearing her throat, she tries to copy him, and raises her voice a little. It's definitely not anywhere close to his bellow. “Heads up, the range is live!” And she takes aim at that big ol' poster again, but her eyes settle on the bartender momentarily during that pause in her deep breath. She talks out the side of her mouth to Ernest in a whisper. “I owe you money fer lessons don't I, Mister Crane? They might have some here fer ya.” Where's this sudden foolish bravery coming from?

Ernest honestly had very little need for money these days. Being Odhranos had taught him more than he'd ever thought he'd wanted to know about terramancy, and what was currency if just terra stamped with someone's seal? Her suggestion caused him to do a double take--this tiny woman who was only just learning to shoot straight and who had broken down when yelled at was contemplating using weaponry to commit crimes in order to pay him? This was not something he'd expected in a thousand years, though the fact that she'd sought -him- out as a teacher was certainly telling. He broke open the crossbow she'd given him again and made a show of looking into it, as though he was going to test it out himself, while a Helpin' Hand peeked out of his longcoat and started subtly loading bolts into it. "Why, Suoxin, if I didn't know better," a small aeromancy cantrip kept the sound of his voice from leaving their immediate vicinity, "I'd reckon yer suggestin' ta me that we commit General Mayhem, which ain't covered by Et Cetera but -is- in fact one of the other services mentioned on my card." Hmm. Looked like the magazine would work best if the bolts had little spacers to separate them. A touch of that terramancy Odhranos had inadvertently taught him materialized little discs between each one. "I'd have just as soon accepted this crossbow as payment but since yer lookin' at -villain- lessons too, let's go over how ta win a barfight, 'cause that's what yer fixin' ta start here. Lesson one: th' bartender ain't the only one you gotta worry about. How many others're in here? Count 'em but don't look like yer countin' 'em. Make it look like yer double-checkin' that th' coast is clear ta shoot."

Loravelle's eyes widen at the appearance of one of those Helpin' Hands, and then she remembers with a pang of fear. Mister Crane uses magic. She hates that stuff. But she's already dipped her feet into this world, so she might as well keep goin'. General Mayhem sounded less scary than Crimes, which helps. Suoxin does just as advised by Mister Crane and pretends to make sure that the coast is clear, obedient as she is. She scopes out three people. A man lingering by the door, probably drunk and about to stumble out onto the streets given how late at night or early in the morning it is. A couple at the bar that are seemingly more interested in each other than what's going on around them. At least for now. And they look sober. One of them had a dagger sheathed and visible on their belt, she notices. The lady. That may be a problem. What if they had the same plan of robbing the place like she did? “Three of 'em, 'n that lady might cause trouble fer us,” Suoxin whispers, not entirely aware that Ernest's magic is keeping their conversation unheard. “We deal with 'em first?”

Ernest shook his head at that suggestion. It wasn't a bad suggestion--definitely keep the people with real weapons off-balance as long as possible--but the -real- first target was the one by the door. "Nope. We deal with th' guy hangin' by th' door. He don't look like he works here but anyone near the exit is jes' one holler away from attractin' town militia ta break up a fight like this. If ya want notoriety, you make sure th' fight's as big an' loud as possible, but if y'want money, you keep him from leavin' 'til we're through--or see 'im off before gettin' started." A huge spectacle fight probably wasn't the kind of league she was ready to play in just yet, so it made sense to give her tips on how to do mayhem quietly.

Loravelle is beginning to realize that she may have bitten off far too much than what she can chew. Anxiety's got her thinking fifty steps ahead now. How do they get away once they've gotten the money? Can Mister Crane do some magic to make them disappear somewhere far away afterward? She keeps her little crossbow lowered and looks around again, pretendin' to check the space for anyone movin' around again. The fella near the exit hasn't set a foot out the door yet, or even opened the door, actually... “M-mister?” Her tone is sheepish, like almost always. He doesn't respond. “Mister?” She waves one of her little hands at him to try to get his attention. He's a bigger guy, but don't let that belly fool you. There's a lot of muscle under there. He has a shiny bald head too. ...Maybe he's a bouncer. She's scrambling for something to distract him with. “C-can you um...clear out the rest of th' r-room so we can keep practicing, please? I'll p-pay you...?” Surely that wouldn't sound suspicious, coming from her. She's just an anxious, dim-witted maid right? ..Holding a weapon. Next to a very competent lookin' undead holding a larger weapon. It's fine.

Ernest was -this- close to having a Helpin' Hand facepalm him since his own hands were busy with the crossbow. That was the least exciting distraction attempt he'd seen in a long while. The big man at the door just sort of silently raised an eyebrow at her. "Ain't my call when we close," he rumbled, his voice the sort of deep bass that one gets from having actively practiced ominously rumbling at people, "and it certainly ain't -yours-, either. Why didn't you pick someplace sensible to train?" The problem with deep bassy rumbles like that is that in places like this they tend to -carry-, and now they had attention on them and more than one person was now aware an attempt had been made to try and clear the place out. Ernest sighed and, hoping that the effect wasn't completely noticeable, tried something new with his experimental phobomancy. For a brief moment, a sense of cold dread would blanket Lora--possibly unnoticed in the moment, given the way this guy looked--and then knot itself into a compressed lump and leave abruptly, replaced... if not with bravery, then at least -calm- as Ernest tried to grab hold of her fears and project them onto the plainclothes bouncer. At this point, having him run would be a bad idea, and Ernest wasn't trying to put absolute terror in his heart--just a general disarming uneasiness. Reversing their positions, as it were, in an attempt to make him more pliable.

Loravelle's face falls when the bald fella replies. Yep. Definitely in too deep way too early. And now all eyes are on them. Suoxin hated this, so much so that she felt that absolute sense of dread she felt whenever she encountered one of her greatest fears – But how? Grumpy men weren't one of her greatest fears, werewolves and dogs were, and this guy...Well, maybe he's a lycan. She did mental gymnastics to be alright with one lycan being what he was, so maybe...There. Yes. She exhales. Everything is fine, or fine enough. She has absolutely no idea that Mister Crane's magic is doing all the work here, but it grants her the opportunity to try again. ...Why does the big man look unsettled now? She blinks, casts Ernest a glance, then refocuses on the bouncer. How to navigate this. “I'm...not very good at this,” She plays up her accent a bit more in order to play the part of dumb foreigner like she's done in the past for far less nefarious reasons, feigning ignorance of Venturil and Lithrydel cultural norms. “Isn't it safer to practice inside, where there's less air to shoot in?” That totally makes sense. Hopefully he thinks she's just bungling up her Common. “We won't be very long...” She's holding the crossbow in her hands loosely, like someone inexperienced. And she is. He saw, didn't he? Everybody did.

Ernest's head tilted at that, because it was the strangest turn of phrase he'd ever heard. "Less air to shoot in"?? Fortunately, he was quick on the draw mentally as well as physically and was able to salvage it for them both, because he figured out how to make that understandable before the bouncer got it. Another aeromancy cantrip blew a gust of wind against the door, clattering it, and another created the distant booming sound of thunder. A little subtle shadow magic blotted out the stars above them this evening with a cloud that seemed more distant than it truly was. All together, it seemed as though Lora had just, in her own way, suggested that doing this inside was safter because it'd keep them out of the incoming storm. The bouncer could easily mistake his sudden subtle misgivings about the situation for pity under these circumstances, and in a slow, confused sort of voice because the world didn't quite make sense anymore, he said "Let me talk with Cuthwine," and started ambling over to the bar. Now that the exits were covered, that was Ernest's cue to act. He snapped the crossbow closed with a loud clack, turned up the phobomancy to as much as he felt capable of safely handling, and pumped the priming handle with a sound at once sophisticated and -primal-, the little spacer he'd placed between the bolts getting ejected from the side of the weapon in the process. "Alright, friends, listen up," he said, turning a devilish grin on the four gathered around the bar, "we can do this quick an' easy. Coinpurses on th' counter, money drawer open. Or, one of you could be a hero, do somethin' I don't like--a glance, a twitch in th' wrong direction--an' my associate an' I'll start practicin' archery usin' yer faces fer our targets." The words came out clearly, confidently, and as casually as somebody might talk about the weather. The intent was for Lora to follow by example--intimidate first, proceed to violence only if provoked. Unfortunately, the time for talking plans through beforehand had passed, and now he just had to hope she was picking up what he was laying down.

Loravelle balks at the sound of the wind...Magic wind. That's magic wind. Mister Crane just did that. She shakes her head slowly. Devil wind...And where did the stars go? He can wipe away the stars? He can summon storms? There's momentary shock from both what she witnessed Mister Crane do and that the bouncer actually -listened-, and her head slowly turns to follow the guy over to the bar. And naturally, Suoxin follows her companion's lead once he starts speaking. She feigns cocking her crossbow, letting her finger ghost over the trigger in a not so subtle way to try to emulate Mister Crane. Cool and collected, calm. She isn't any of those things usually. Warning shots were probably a bad idea, but that lady at the bar seems itchin' to cause trouble too. Not with the girl and Mister Crane, but...Her hand pats that dagger she has sheathed, she and her partner exchanging a glance. They both slowly turn, sizin' up little Suoxin and Mister Crane. The lady's steely gaze matches her partner's though it's blue instead of his brown. He's unarmed, but his hand's twitchin'. There's magic in that palm. She was right! They had the same idea that she did. ...But were much more prepared. “You 'n the mouse there can split with us. Half 'n half,” drawls the lady. “Or you give us yer shiny toy there and we'll be on our way,” suggests the potentially spell-slingin' man, indicating Ernest's new crossbow. “Looks t'be worth a bit with all that silver on it.” This is too complicated for Suoxin. Now they're negotiating with another pair that wants to cause Mayhem? Do they team up? Four on two? What an odd standoff. “I-is it the more the merrier with more people for Mayhem, Mister Crane?” Is Lora's whispered question.

Ernest appreciated the hustle, but wasn't born yesterday. He saw the glance, and the twitch, and was half a second away from blowing both their eye sockets out, when he recognized that look not of "oh shoot it's hero time" but of "dang it we were here first" and hesitated for just a moment, long enough for them to make their pitch. 50/50 might have been a good deal, except A) there wasn't likely to be much money in the drawer, and split four ways was going to make this the least lucrative gig he'd taken in a long while, and B) suddenly they turned the hustle back on them and one of them requested the crossbow. "Sometimes it is, yeah," he said, answering Lora's question out loud, since they were all close enough to hear each other by this point. "Get a good number of folks together an' you can seriously mess a place up." Then he fired, giving the magely bandit both barrels, hopefully before he could get off a spell to stop it and leaving only the girl with the knife to deal with. "Gotta pick yer allies wisely, though," he drawled back, grinning ear to ear and racking another pair of shots as the spacer clinked against the floor like a little crystal bell--since these two were also criminals, there was no reason for him to hold back, at least none that concerned the law. "Fer example. Someone who tries ta steal yer weapon? Not ideal."

Loravelle ;; It happened so quickly. The mage is definitely dead in the blink of an eye. She can see blood and her stomach starts to churn. Don't get sick Lora. The bartender and bouncer are pissin' themselves over Ernest, but the cash drawer is definitely opened now. This mummy and his mousy friend meant business. The lady with her dagger is who Suoxin points her crossbow at now, for real this time and at the lady's chest, takin' in a deep breath like Mister Crane just taught her while she draws a bolt. “Put the knife down on the floor there...Any coins ye got too.” That's gotta be Ernest's magic at work, makin' her sound so calm when she isn't. And much to her surprise, the woman listens, dropping the sheathed blade to the ground and going so far as to -kick- it over to Lora. And a coin purse. Both skid across the floorboards to a stop by her feet. Guess the spell-slinger was the leader of their pair, much like Mister Crane was here. Maybe she was getting lessons in Mayhem too. “...Least I'm not dumb enough to give up mine,” Suoxin says, out loud, but she doesn't kneel down to pick up her shiny new knife just yet. What do they do about the lady? Is she supposed to kill her like Ernest did the spell-slinger? She isn't quite ready for murder yet. Just Mayhem and Et Cetera. Was Murder part of Et Cetera? She keeps her crossbow trained on the lady while cautiously sidestepping, kicking blade and coinpurse herself under a table so they're difficult to reach. Suoxin's plan, which Mister Crane may be able to guess by her footwork, is to maneuver her way behind that bar and start stuffing pockets with coins whether the spooked bartender and bouncer are still there or not. Was Mister Crane gonna kill the lady?

Ernest trained his weapon on the woman, but didn't fire it. She'd given up her weapon and coin, and he didn't see any reason not to let her live this failure down. "Here's what's gonna happen now," he said, authoritatively, mostly addressing her. "Yer gonna apologize fer callin' my friend a mouse. An' then yer gonna go out an' say ta all yer little criminally-minded friends that Ernest Crane beat'cha to th' punch." A Helpin' Hand popped up from under the bar and tucked a business card behind her ear. "What y'all decide ta do with all that information is up ta you. I ain't one ta hold a grudge, an' I hope fer your own sake that you ain't, either." He gestured with his head towards the door. "Now -git-." Viral marketing campaign achieved, he rolled his shoulders and relaxed, peering over the counter at Lora stuffing her satchel with the coins. "How's it lookin'?"

Loravelle didn't get apologized to. That's completely wrong, yet here she is...having some lady that looks like she could punch the daylights out of her stammer out an apology for callin' her mouse, jump at the sight of a Helpin' Hand, roughly at the same time Suoxin jumps at the sight of it, then git. Once the door slams shut behind her, Lora pokes her head up from the cash drawer with big grin. There was a lot of coin in here. Hundreds maybe? It's an impressive amount to her, at least. “Good, Mister Crane. Enough for several lessons in Style, and Et Cetera, and Mayhem...” The bouncer is just staring at this girl stuffing coins in her bag, and that's when she spies it. A ring on the man's finger. Some bird's head carved out of onyx. “I want that,” the girl murmurs, pointing with her crossbow before goin' back to stuffing that satchel with coins. She hears the sound of the ring clattering on the bartop, two pairs of feet fleeing the scene. Once Suoxin is done with her thievin', she checks the safety on her crossbow and holsters it, sets the satchel on the table and slides it over to Ernest. Then she pockets that ring for herself. “Money is for you, Mister Crane. I want the lady's knife, please?” Do thieves say please? Suoxin says please.

Ernest gestured to the knife, pleased as punch that she'd actually gone and threatened someone for his possessions all on her own without being overly encouraged. The ring, obviously, was hers, and by all means she could have the knife too. "Go right ahead, yer th' one who asked fer it." Once the goods were divvied up and Ernest had grabbed a key from the wall--hey, maybe he'd need to stay here sometime--he went to shake her hand now that it seemed the evening would have to come to an end. "Last part of a robbery is gettin' outta dodge before th' militia shows up, an' if we go together we could both get caught. Stay low, keep quiet. Here," and he handed her a rope and a grappling hook arrow for her crossbow. "In case they close th' gates. Meet me back at the office later fer debriefin', I wanna talk through what happened here." He tipped his hat to her with a wink. "Thanks again fer th' crossbow--and, as it happens, th' good time." Then he was gone, in the sort of way that leaves a person wondering exactly what trick of the light he'd used to vanish so abruptly.