RP:Massacre in the Row
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Synopsis: Grot and his men fight their way off Rynvale island, murdering both members of the runner’s crew and the Rynvalian guard in the process. Finn is informed of the massacre- and of the need to lay low, lest Arien believe his men the cause of the damage. Finn decides to head out of town to recruit new muscle in Chartsend while completing a job in Venturil.
Characters: Grot, Hanan, Terra, Domastine, Finn. Npc crews.
Location: Rynvale; The Dock, The Broken Barrel.
Grot was passing the hell through. Lost, maybe, whatever - didn't matter, his head wasn't up and he wasn't paying attention to anything ten feet in front of him.
Hanan heard 'You' in a familiar voice and looked up. Oh look, it's Terra? A quick glance behind her--oh gods, that damn monk's blessing her? Good thing that shyte didn't work that way, otherwise she figured she'd burst into flames. Terra got a grin, though, as she walked toward her---not indirectly and stealthy but head-on and agressive, shouldering a couple fellows towering over her out of the way. "Hey, Terra." She stopped a few feet shy of her--the opposite side Domastine would approach from. "What the hell are you doing here? Looking for some muscle?" She jerked her thumb a ways behind her, under the statue. "Big Jim's a little..." The monk was talking to Terra. Odd... didn't know she was devout. Only unnaturally sharp ears won her the words he spoke. She didn't let on. She knew sneakiness when she saw it. "..on the dumb side, but trusty."
Terra is changing her perfume or hair color because what the hell had she done to attract this much attention? It takes a moment for her to stifle the sigh that threatened to arise at the sight of the figure. She paused to let him catch up but encouraged their walk to continue by moving forward, hands stuffed in her pockets as opposed to reaching for a weapon. She couldn't hurt him any more than she could hurt Grot for reasons that were disturbingly similiar. Maybe it was time for a vacation from the Row. "I don't like being followed." She reasoned, to serve as an explanation for the behaviour he had witnessed. "You're many things but stupid isn't one. You knew who he was, didn't you?" She's careful not to say any names because she's aware of Hanan, looked towards the captain with a smile. "Shopping. What else?"
Domastine said cryptically, and keeping to his current guise, "The Sea Goddess cares for all its inhabitants, be them visitors or residents. I am but one who follows her teachings." The words from beneath the hood were soulless, though it could have easily been one of the particular religious old men that simply lose all trace of even being human at one point. The words themselves, however, were straight out of a bull's rear. He knew nothing of the deity of the Sea Shrine, but by the looks of others around him, neither did they or he was ironically saying the right things. A cordial lower dip of his hood was offered to Hanan. "Blessings of the Sea Goddess upon you."
Hanan caught sight of Grot Kingsley, towering like he did over so many heads. He didn't look happy, did he? Come to think of it, what the hell was he doing here? She couldn't do anything, not with Terra here... gods, was he going after Terra? The man wouldn't hurt a woman, but there were some who'd call tossing a hood over her head and tying her up 'not hurting.' Her eyes narrowed. She'd keep an eye on him. "Shopping for virile young sailin' men? Fine. I'll keep quiet around Red." A small, tight smirk. The monk--yeah, he had to be a monk--got the edge of it. "The Sea Goddess' a good friend of mine. Best lay I've had in ages. I bless the sea, damn it, not the other way."
Domastine did not give the slightest sliver of a damn to anything said about a religion that was not his own. However, he need to at least say something in the mannerisms of the role he played. "The Sea blesses all. If it is as you say, then I pity you. For you have experienced her blessing firsthand and will not find a greater lover on this mortal plane." Not exactly monk-like to be alluding to sex, but nevertheless the passive agressive response expected of them when their deities are insulted.
Terra also spotted Grot over it all but quickly shifted her eyes. She wasn't in the mood for a second meeting between the two. So she nodded towards Hanan, "Oh thank you," for keeping the secret she supposed. Honestly the empath is distracted between the previous encounter and this one. What? The Ghost was pretending to be a monk? Terra's eyes rolled. Could she just ... be home now? "You're right. Sure," said towards the cloaked figure since neither would get answers out of the other. But she couldn't resist adding, "Maybe you should try being a sailor, try your hand at playing an instrument."
Hanan was peering over Terra's head at Grot, so it took her a moment to reply. What the hell was he getting into? A fight? Well... at least that'd mean she'd get another chance to see if he's got any damn skill outside ambushes. The bastard refused to spar her. That was nearly unforgivable. So as far as she was concerned, his current level of skill was 'Red can beat me up.' Heh. "You're right about the sea, monk. No lover ever did compare..." She glanced to Terra at the latter's comment, smirk deepening. "We've got enough of those. Gods damn it, I won't regret never hearing another mandolin. I used to play--chords. Sound's ruined now."
Domastine made no intention to play into the bait handed to him by Terra. Two fingers of his white gloved hand rose up as if in a prayer and the voice behind the mask answered back plainly, "I do only what is required of me. No more. No less." Hanan's drawn attention to the noises from the rable behind them was enough for the spectre to a gesture of blessing as a form of his departure before making his way towards the crowd and further past.
Grot cursed under his breath. Excited bastards grew more excited. Naive clowns, never seen more than a brawl at the pub. They thought this good sport. Even started to open the path between Kingsley and the other. A lanky man. Fast, likely, two sabres on hip. Eh. Few of the younger bastards were looking about, a messy circle of young men, watching. This was going to be ugly. Cleaver raised, rested flat against his shoulder. Nearly nipping at his neck, big thing. Length of his torso. An intimidating sight, the size of Kingsley, the size of that weapon. It was light in his hands, at least. An extension of his body, he'd heard that somewhere. A more distinctive, more sickening clank of dual sabre coming from a metal sheathes - crowds meant City Patrol, meant more killing or him getting an arrow or a hole poked in him from a pike or a feckin' spear. He didn't have time to stare down this idiot. He made the move. Limp was light by now, but injuries were obvious. Finn's man was not so arrogant as the bandit, to under-estimate a man because he was injured or hurting - nay. He met the onset of assault with equal stride. Three seconds, utter silence took his part of the market - a deep breath before the plunge. Then, then they met. They began to dance. A waltz of fury, death, fear, blade the arms. Legs moved together in unison, circling - the clatter of steel meeting steel was loud. Grunts, yells - Kingsley was using the cleaver to parry and attack. This lad was faster, moving back just before the follow through. Every god damn time. Sweat beaded his dirty face, making lines through the dust and make up that remained from prior eve. Two minutes, two minutes later of deflect and attack, attack and deflect, and Finn's man made his mistake - Grot managed to get a quick kick into the chest, fell back to the ground below. Finn's man came up after the recoil, both blades coming downward on a stroke toward either arm. Kingsley cooly, coldly, brought his own blade up from under and took off the bastards hands. Both of them. Not a killing stroke, viper fast - and the head was rolling. There it was. Just like that. That god damn cleaver was razor sharp. From the top of a headless torso, blood spewed in a shower - and unluckily for Kingsley, the body fell toward him. He was showered in it, the blood of the man he killed. The youngsters, a few repulsed - most cheered. No time to waste, not a god damn second actually. "Get the feck outta'tah way!" How long? Til more? Til Patrols? Got back up to his feet, began limping out of there with that same weapon in hand. Not the sort of man you want to mess with, covered in blood, with that thing as a weapon.
Hanan's jaw dropped, just slightly, just enough to part the woman's lips as she watched the big man at work. She'd won freedom with a blade and had one strapped to her hip ever since. Even Terra might have heard swift feet on the floorboards, late at night, she going through drills with a scabbarded blade, lunge, thrust, all that. She was, at heart, still a fencer, a swashbuckler, though she barely ever got a chance to fight with sword of late, the row being prone to fights where a pair of brass knuckles or her boarding axe were more useful. That, what Grot had just done, across the square was poetry to her. The monk was virtually ignored as he left on his way. Not that Hanan stepped away from Terra to help Grot out. Rutter could clearly handle himself. "Did you see..." She looked to Terra. "Ruttin' hell."
Terra : The change in the air was unmistakable. The throng of people seemed to have formed a semi-circle around what promised to be the most-talked about show on the Shores. Instead of pushing her way through it she watched as the Ghost chose to depart, considered doing the same before the steady hum and charge of the people would threaten the mental barriers constructed for her own safety. She had turned back towards Hanan to inform the Captain of her desire to leave before things got out of hand and that's when she watched it. From this vantage point she could still see, despite the crowds of people who were torn between cheering and dispersing, she was a witness. Fresh blood is easy to scent across the way, no matter the distance, and the only thing that kept her from inching closer was that dreaded sensation which was coiled tightly in the deepest part of her stomach - had she been the cause of that death? Had she went along with the demands, would that have spared the life of that poor fellow that lay slain in the square? And how many more would collapse? Guilt was more addictive, more intoxicating than the scent of blood and as Hanan turned back around to see what would come of the situation she headed the other way - ran, really.
Grot was dripping wet. Rain? Nawr. Cloudy outside, sun was setting. Blood man. Some of it his own, new cuts, new scars on arms. A slash across the chest went deep, feckin' hurt - but he'd made it. Three, was it five? More lay dead in his wake, his, and his men. Brute attracted brute, magnets, and his best. He was the smartest among them, let that serve as a testament of exactly the kind of men these were. Murderers. Thiefs. Killers and weather-worn. One had a distinctive limp, one had a gash on is forehead. Most were in good enough shape, like Kingsley. Stitches in his future, this much was true. Came around the corner from the shopping district. Straight into a patrol looking for just them, streets were already starting to empty - not many knew what was going on. It had gone from fighting Finn's men, to fighting patrolling guards, to fighting Finn and Rynvale guard to them fighting eachother and back again. A constant flurry of slash, hack, death, mayhem. Finally, he could see the feckin' dock, the feckin' ferry ~ he'd have to fight his way through. Gods if Red heard, if he was coming with a merry band of killers - it would be over. But first, the patrol. Surprise was evident on the faces of each party, they nearly bumped into eachother right at the corner. The clash of steel was a song of deathly melody, shouts providing the vocals to an opera of sand drifting into the sea, only to return on another swell. Death. Life, however you look at it - three against four. Elite men at that, Grot lost one. Saw him die, spear through the god damn gut that had him falling to the ground curling over. Kingsley screamed, raged, took the god damn guard's head. Figures the last hurdle would be the hardest, still felt like wolves were on his back though. From a balcony, an arrow came - another down. Was he going to die here? Two of his men, two of his best, two of his god damn friends - dead in the street, an arrow to the skull and a spear to the gut. "Raaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwrngh!" The last guard died. Finn's man in the balcony, the smart bastard didn't have another chance. The Razor, his companion, darted around the corner. Kingsley had a new gash in his leg, broken bone saved only from quick action. So close. So close. Thirty feet to go, a few of Red's men at the dock to kill.
Hanan was trailing Kingsley along the streets--always keeping just far enough away to blend in, ducking into just the right alley and peering around. She wasn't lifting a finger to help him. This wasn't her fight, and she sure as hell wasn't going to help him kill Red's men... or would she help Red's men fight Grot. She wasn't Red's employee. Damn, Kingsley was good with a blade... it helped make up for his complete and utter lack of sublety. And... Her eyes narrowed from a particular alley when she saw him start to fight the Rynvale guard. Those weren't criminals, those were Arien's men. Arien. The idiot! She found her hilt in hand, had begun to draw it before pausing, thinking better of it. Gods damn her. She couldn't help the law. And she really couldn't help Grot now. If she jumped in, well, there's the guard on their collective ass. Then again... might they assume this rampaging bastard had something to do with the n'er do wells at the Barrel? Hanan growled, watching him. No. She very much doubted those lawboys would distinguish between a Cenrili thug and a thug from Rynvale's own row. Shyte.
Grot did it. Made it. The last of Red's dead, redemption assured. Feckin' hell. If he left for Gualon, he'd come back with those sea dogs on his ass AND Finn's men. Likely the buggers on the northwest part of the city too. Rest. War? Turf dispute, they'd call it. Kingsley called it having his god damn throat slit in the middle of the night. Good thing only the trusted knew of his hovel. "Run! Feckin' run fer'it Desop!" Desop, the other male. They certainly ran, the ferry-worker had eyes wide soon as that cleaver, dripping wet, was put to his god damn throat - arrows were starting to pilter down from up the way. Yeah. They'd caught up with him. "You move this hunk of wood or I'll cut yer god damn throat right now! MOVE!" Kingsley was bleeding pretty god damn bad from his chest, his leg, his arms, neck. The blood from that first kill. The blood from that decapitated fool. It was dried. Sticky. Coating his face and upper torso like some ill-mannered war paint. Only helped get the point across, ducking behind mast and deck-rail when he could - he cut the god damn rope tying them there, the captain of the vessel had no qualms with feckin' casting out with arrows coming every couple of seconds, whizzing by. Grot turned, took cover behind a crate - went to yell at the god damn captain again, only to see an arrow sprout from his throat. Kingsley didn't know how to control a damn boat, but he was about to learn real quick-like.
Hanan slinked out of the alley once Kingsley had moved on, nudging one of the corpses with a foot. Arien's men had paused over some of Red's... she couldn't tell if they were alive or dead, that's how bad Kingsley's razor struck. Damn it. Damn it! She trotted a bit up the road to the docks, just far enough to see Razor put that blade to the ferryman's throat and get aboard. Then the rain of arrows. Hanan gulped. Damn that guy... that idiot. He might get himself killed. Or bleed out. All she knew is that the boat was likely to leave. He was mobile when he got on there, at least. Hanan blended into the crowd that had been swift accumulated--this was the dock district, you always got a crowd for a good battle--and waited. The waiting, you see, was the hard part.
Grot let out a cold, harsh laugh after they'd moved out of range of those god damn arrows. "Sailin' off into tah'feckin'sunset eh Desop!!?" Didn't hear a laugh in return, god damn it. Sailing back home, with two god damn corpses for company. Such is the life of a bandit. Now how in the hell...do you stop these things?
Hanan watched that ship move away, hands balled into fists. He'd better have taken cover--true, rutter deserved to die, but he didn't have her permission. She inhaled, exhaled, then turned out of the crowd, shouldering her way free of it. The Barrel. Red'd be at the Barrel. She'd better let him know whose shyte hit the fan.
At the Broken Barrel…
Hanan glared at the nerdy elf after Terra left. She just... wasn't in the mood for nice. She'd just watched a slaughter. A single, hard look, and she was pacing inside, shoulders hunched. Where was the bastard? Where was Red?
Finn had fully intended to make it to the docks when he’d bypassed Terra earlier, but the damned alarm that had set the night adin within a few steps toward the eye of bloody storm had caused him to fall back into the shadows, looking for a route, any route past the increasing presence of armed guards as they rushed towards the source of calls for aid. “Dammit..” the curse had been soft and violent. There would be no street clash tonight. Not if he intended to avoid the sweep of the law. The hell was goin’ on out there to provoke such a reaction? Brow furrowed on his rugged face. The law didn’t care about shore rats demolishing of each other. Time to puzzle over it later. He needed a drink, though he’d be subtle about his re-entry. The servants entry finger pressed against lips. His alibi, if it came to that. He’d been here all night. And so he’d merge with the restless crowd of customers, meandering through the collection of drinkers until he settled into the seat at bay window that he’d made his own. Eyes swept the interior. No sign of Terra..had she come in? And if she hand’t..why not?
Terra really was not having a good day. Not a single damned encounter had been a good one. So safe to say she felt the need to approach Simon for a drink as though it would ease the bad news she was sure to hear. It couldn't get any worse... right?
Hanan saw him first--or got to him first, anyway. Hanan was pulling off her appropriately Red hat as soon as she saw his face through the crowd, she shouldering the taller patrons--let's face it, if they were guys and not dwarves, they were all at least a bit taller than she--out of the way. She was tense. Everything about her was tense, from her brow to her shoulders to her damn clenching fists. "Red, I need to talk to you. Now." Her voice fell to a whisper. She'd cut to the chase.."Kingsley's gone on a rampage. Bad enough to bring Arien down on you."
Terra is feeling pretty guilty as she trailed after Hanan because really? She could only imagine what this pertained to but knowing her luck it was one of the three she had ran into this afternoon. Muscle in her jaw twitched when she happened to overhear what Hanan was saying. Drink from Simon was downed in one long and large swallow before she took to watching the pair in absolute silence. She had not a thing to say about any of this.
Finn’s focused gaze had tracked the captain as she ploughed her way across the room, and whatever had been left relaxed about his nature was long gone by the time she reached his side. He was expecting trouble, and he got it. “Gods damn and blast it..” he spat out softly. “The hell has he done?..We’re set to work that heist- Elf won’t leave the manor if shyte’s afoot mate.” His voice was kept low, husky, as he swung into alert seated posture. Chin nudged her into taking a seat, before eyes lifted to find Terra’s over her shoulder. Something was nit right with the sparrow either-his instinct thrummed it. His brow lifted in silent appeal and question. “Doin’ all right sweetheart? Didn’t get caught in the cross fightin’ aye?..” Sweetheart. Used on purpose..He’d not feel right until some of the tightness left her pale face.
Hanan fell eagerly into the seat. She didn't even order a drink. Arm propped up on the table, leaning forward, gloves and scarf still on, she ran her mouth. "Worse than that." Ran her mouth in a quiet, rushed tone, it should be noted. "Rampage. Cut down a bunch of your men--the one who was tailing him, I think he was yours, got beheaded and de-handed right in the middle of the ruttin' Labor Market. He and a few of his boys moved right through the streets to the docks... no sneaking, no nothing. Just that giant blade and hackin' and slashin'. Your guys tried to stop him... got cut down. Arien's guard tried to stop him... they got cut down too. Beheadings, Red." She gritted her teeth. "Sliced the head off a guard in the middle of the damn street. I don't know how many of yours made it, looked like the guard were bending over a couple, but they won't get stiched without questioning." She inhaled. "Kingsley might be dead." Something suddenly dead in her tone, there. "If he is... deserved it. Rutting bastard. Elf won't know the difference between him and you."
Terra placed the mug on a passing girl's tray and watched as Hanan seated herself. She's silent still as she took the place of Red's legs on that bay seat, side of her leg pressed against his as she settled in the small space. His question goes without answer, especially since she is listening to the tale Hanan spilled about Grot's adventures throughout the island. If she had escorted him to the ferry, would the situation have been any less extreme? Lips pressed against one another again. She didn't know those people, not a single one, and she owed them nothing. Yet the feeling couldn't be knocked off. One hand fell to the pendant on her chain and it was traced up the length and down again while she watched their reactions. It's without thought that their own feelings and restlessness creeped into hers, making the one leg jump from the tension. She needed another damned drink and a mulligan button.
“Well fuk..” Really, there were times when no other words would do. “He fukin’ cut their god damned heads off? The fuk?!” Louder now, enough that heads and eyes might turn toward their sheltered both. “The hell kind of crew do I fukin’ have workin’ for me cat, that they could let this shyte go down? He better like fukin’ hell be dead mate ..” a cold, icy growl. Pure, seething anger. Man pride is a bitch. Not that he cared particularly much about the shore scum that were his outer circle of lackeys. “Anybody hurt?..” A peculiar question after her statement, but she’d see in his eyes that he meant of their inner circle-those who would, in another time and place have been called friends. He fell back against the seat then, fingers dragging through his hair. “Somebody needs to let the Elf know it was the Cenrili bastard..shouldn’t be a hard sell. She’s knockin’ heads with the Cenrilis already. Terra’s presence at his side was welcomed, both as a distraction and as a deep need at his core. She’d been gone all day. Fingers came to rest on the restless knee, a soothing stroke encouraging her to be at peace, the act doing some good at settling his own nerves.
Hanan nodded. "I only saw one head go off a guard... but the others were so hacked apart he may as well've. Kingsley's good, Red--he's very good with that sword of his. Good fighters fell, just now. I watched it myself. In front of the whole city." Where was that waitress? The cute one? She needed to look at the opposite of gore right now. It wasn't the gore, mind, it was the implications. "Rum," she ordered, before turning back--giving Terra an appraising look on the way. How much had she seen? She remembered the elf running after the first beheading. "I..." She inhaled. Was Grot dead? Was he going to be killed? Gods... she didn't know. Just didn't know. There was a sudden panic in that recess of her brain. It stilled her words several seconds. Exhale. "You lost some good muscle." Read: nobody important. "Enough that might put a good dent in your operation, here." She could write to Arien, couldn't she? "I... did a contract for the elf, once. She knows my name. I'll send a note up. Don't know if it'll do any good; might still blame you. I'd lay low."
Lay low. Damn. If there was one thing the runner hated, it was having to ide out in his own god dammed row. “Be surprised if the Elf even knew who the hell I was captain. If she does, reckon I’ not doin’ my job nearly as well as I think. Far as she should know I’m just a merchant, and sometimes neighbor.” It was dry.. as if the runner was amused by his own cover..wealthy legitimate merchant. Still, if her gold pried loose tongues, and her intel network was sound..there was more than a good chance she’d know. “Dammit..” he cursed softly again. If he was the elf..he’d have himself brought in for questioning, at the very least..something he could ill afford. Not with that heist still in the works. Fingers continued their restless drifting over the elf’s flesh, stilling a heartbeat at the revelation that Grot was still alive. He’d withhold comment on the matter for a moment,a pensive expression entering his gold flecked gaze. I’ll need to recruit..and it can’t be Cenril.” He met the captain’s gaze. “We’ve got a job lined up..Venturil, was gonna go in via Chartsend anyway. Reckon I might kill two birds with one stone. Do the job, rustle up some manpower. Figure your ship’ll be done with repairs? Or do I need to the Chaser on the water?”
Hanan was peering at Terra from the moment she opened her mouth, dark eyes searching hers. Rutting empaths. Could they really do that? "You sure? Feel him, though all that death, all the way out to Cenril? Might bleed out, even." Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. The woman's an empath, that's right. And the captain was well in range. Don't feel anything. She'd tell Red if Hanan did, wouldn't she? It was easy enough to be angry at the bastard. Maybe she could turn that to hate by will alone. Back to Red. "She'll sail, alright. The back rail's a damn mess but my men know not to lean on the patches. They're spooked by the ghost stories but they need coin more. I can get you there... but the Chaser would do in a pinch." Inhale, exhale. Hate. Damn that Grot. Damn him for being so stupid. Damn him for being close enough for her to see his wounds. "Why Venturil?"
“Comission..” came the still semi distracted response. “Fermin female that lurks around the bar every so often..wants me to get some pretty trinket for her. Damn thing has a mind of its own and gets to movin’ around apparently. Was in Rynvale last I’d heard of it.” He shrugged slightly. “Figure we might as well snag it before it takes to movin’ again. Gotta meet the rat for more details.” The captain would almost see the resolve forming on his face as he thought things through. Yes, there were any number of reasons that a trip north would not be bad..for all of them.” He glanced over at Terra where she sat cloaked in still reserve. The sparrow was tense..worried about something. The spa, and perhaps walks in the gardens or hiking the cliff face as they had done once before might relieve whatever burden she bore. “Reckon I’d not mind stealin’ another kiss topside..” he said, almost under breath. Hanan was addressed again.“Get your lads in order then..figure the sooner we get outa this mess the better. It’s a day’s run along the coast to Charstsend port..easy sailin’ and not troublesome water, far as I know.”
Hanan nodded, simply. "Yeah... that it is. I've made the trip before." Where was her damn drink? She needed it! But the waitress was nowhere to be found! And she suddenly had nothing to say. Nothing at all. Grot might be dead. Gods, why was that bothering her? She really did have reason for hatred. Perhaps she could hate him, now... why was this torturing her? Her expression in response to Terra's nod was neutral... too much. A mask. "We can set out pretty soon, soon as you need to really. I wouldn't mind headin' out myself. I've been ashore too long."
Finn nodded. “ Soon as I close out the meet with the fermin I’ll be in touch. Won’t know who I’ll need to take until I hear the details of the job. Don’t reckon I’ll need to bring everybody in this time.” He glanced toward the door. “Reckon the row’s settled enough to move out?” Every instinct screamed that Terra needed home, warmth..him?
Finn said to Terra, “Not alone..”
Hanan leaned back in her chair. "I'd say... they're probably clustered nearer the docks... not where you are. Though hey might've increased the patrols." That's what she would have done, anyway. Grot. Dead. She needed that drink. She needed... time. She needed to hit something. Bite something. Touch something. Where the hell was Yasmine when she needed her? This wasn't going to get out. And keeping from shouting or smashing something around Terra was getting increasingly difficult. Was his how she'd have to live, so long as she was in that townhouse? "I'd call it safe."
Terra eyed Hanan again and said nothing. She'd have to corner her later and pry the truth out. Maybe there were some secrets better left kept. When she stood it came with an expectant look towards Red as he sat in his seat. He didn't want her to go alone and that was fine, but they would leave sooner rather than later. "Goodnight Lady," offered towards Hanan but she didn't look down towards the Cat again, instead moved towards the center of the room and soon, if Finn joined, out the door.
That was all he needed to know really. “Then I’m takin’ her home..” Finn was pushing to his feet, eyes flickering over Terra and then back to Hanan again. Well that was..awkward. He couldn’t walk away from Hanan any more to go home..Not if the townhouse was the reference. Thank goodness for options. “Shop..it’s closer..and she’s beat..” It’d do as a cover of his desire for privacy. He needed to know what was bothering the elf..that it wasn’t..him. “See you in the mornin’ maybe..” he drawled, and then he was nudging the elf toward the door ahead of him. The darkness would swallow their silhouettes as it closed behind them.