RP:Sophie the butcher and the drow slave

Setting

The hanging Corpse Tavern 17th September 2011

Sophie followed by a slave of all things

Sophie the gentle healer enters the hanging corpse. She is very unusual amongst the patrons of this establishment, but it is far from unheard of to see the elf here. What is completely unheard of, to those who know the kind Sophie, is that crawling after her on his hands and knees is a man. A drow male wearing a slave collar. Sophie pats the terrified looking slave's head, and heads over to the noticeboard. She nods politely to Valentin having met the butcher here before.

Internally he prayed she had been struck mute

Valentin was hunkered over the bar, a glass in one hand, and seven empties lined up which he had earlier shooed Steadman away from after what had been a lengthy glare duel - ended only when Steadman tired of dealing with the stubborn vampire. The butcher casts a dour look in the elfmaid's direction, and raises his glass slightly in silent greeting. Internally he prayed she had been struck mute, as his head still thundered with the pulsing agony of magical backlash from his earlier overextension of his own abilities. The butcher downs another glass in one quick slug, grimacing as the movement adds to the overall discomfort, then points to Steadman, and the shelf. The barkeep fetched another glass, filled it, and cast another annoyed look as Valentin placed his empty glass next to the others.

Sophie gently pats the slave's, completely bald head once more speaking calmly to him in the drow language, sadly her words just seem to terrify the poor wretch more, he cowers away from her. She heads over to the butcher, commentimg about her companion. "The poor guy hates being out in public, even with gauze over his eyes to protect them from the light. but on the whole, keeping him with me is better than leaving him at the refugee camp with the sage elves. There is much hatred of his kind there. I am unable to prevent the elves throwing stones at the poor wretch even when I am present. I cannot bear to think what they would do were I to leave him alone there.

Valentin wants a pair of pointy-eared heads in matching black and white.

Valentin grinds his teeth. Not only did the bloody wench start making infernal noise, it wasn't even in a proper language. If he didn't know that the sound and sensation of the impact of his cleaver passing through flesh and bone would be like a hammer smashing into his skull, the butcher would bloody well have himself a pair of pointy-eared heads in matching black and white. As if she'd read his mind, the infernal woman starts speaking in comprehensible language. No, wait, if she could read his mind, Valentin reasoned unreasonably, she'd not speak at all. Shadows Fend, but someone was going to die soon if he couldn't drink away this blimmin' headache. He downs another glass, and repeats his silent instructions to Steadman. He'd paid well in advance for the privilege of silence, and his cleaver had convinced the other patrons to shut up or leave. The tavern was eerily quiet, apart from the sound of Sophie's kind-hearted prattling. Each compassionate word like a nail in his ears and eyes. "Death'd be a mercy." She'd probably assume he was talking about the drow.

Tryn looks around with a groggy grunt. He shakes his head a minute trying to compose himself.

Sophie sighs dejectly. Sadly the butcher is not the first to have encouraged her to slay the drow, for so she indeed interprets his words. "I plan to heal the man. The pschological wounds he has suffered from years of abuse run deep, but with time, and patience, he can learn to be free and happy once more. He tells me he was born a free man, and only enslaved as a young adult." The gentle elf is completely unaware of how annoying the butcher finds her compassionate words and of the murderous thoughts of making a grotesque ying-yang from freshly severed drow and surface elf heads. The healer orders mutton broth and bread from Steadman, for both herself and the drow slave, who has now curled up on the floor by the surface elf's feet. She doesn't offer such food to the vampire however, asking instead. "Can I offer you some blood wine sir?"

Tryn steps from his chair and table where a puddle of drool seems to have magically formed through the night. He wanders over to the board and reads over the latest notes.

If he could get away with a murderous rampage without his head imploding in agony

Valentin pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as the woman prattles on about the useless wretch on the floor. Damned drab plow barely had any meat on it. Valentin would be 'free and happy', he reckoned, if he could get away with a murderous rampage without his head imploding in agony. Sophie's question was answered by Steadman who brought over the elven-blood wine Valentin had already ordered. An order which Valentin repeats with pointing finger as he drains yet another glass to try and at least put some kind of pleasant haze over the magical-backlash inflicted hangover. Steadman indicates via pantomime that the butcher's tab was almost up, and the vampire growls and fishes out several more coins which Steadman takes. Valentin's need to respond to Sophie is forestalled by the expedience of, in exaggerated fashion, examining the drunkard who'd just awoken.

Sophie regards the half elf who seems to have spent an uncomfortable night collapsed drunk on his table kindly. The healer calls over to Tryn. "Do you feel unwell sir? I have herbs to help allivated headaches, and to encourage your body to re-hydrate more effectively. I make no charge for healing, nor for medicines." Steadman arrives with the two bowls of nutricious broth she had asked for. The surface elf puts one on the floor by the drow slave. The fear-filled wretch makes no move to eat, however, until she actually verbally gives him permission so to do. He then devours the strange - to him - food ravenously, like a starved dog.

Heard b'headin' works too. No headache, innit, on account o' no head.

Valentin grunts as his tolerance of noise deteriorates "Heard b'headin' works too. No headache, innit, on account o' no head."

Sophie said OOC, "Rp in the Corpse Jolie my dear Tin Tin is dreaming of beheading Soph and her drow companion (not that Soph is aware of this)"

Tryn having spent that past couple of moments at the note board of the tavern, turns back around and runs his hand over his face. Then uses his index finger to dig at the corner of each eye before turning to the one that had offered such to heal him. The robed male shrugs with out saying a word and walks to the bar. He waves Steadmen over and and whispers into his ear. As the man tends to his order Tryn reaches into his pocket and draws out a small dagger and quickly stabs the blade into the wood of the counter. Tryn shoots a sly look over to Valentin before the dagger fades away to coins that ting when they fall to the wood top. The half-elf offers a nod of thanks to Steadmen once the order is brought to him and he returns to his seat.

Valentin casts the half-elf a dour look "Check th'coins again, Steadman. They ain't legit" And the butcher was now seriously considering vile murder against the bastard who had made him have to speak so many words all in a row.

Sophie the gentle elf jumps in shock as Tryn, ignoring her kind words stabs a dagger into the bartop. The collared drow at her feet lets out a cry of sheer terror. The healer, doesn't notices the transformation from blade to coin. She is rather embarrased by having the ex-slave behaving in such a way, fearing that the butcher might assume that she forces the pathetic drow to behave in such a degrading manner. She therefore tries to explain. "The surface world and freedom are confusing for the poor fellow, he doesn't even have a name. When I asked him, he said 'I am a worthless slave, I have no name. I derseve no such honour. My baldness is a sign, symbolic that I am the most worthless of slaves, deserving only of suffering.' The scars on his brutalised mind are terrible, he finds it less frightening to curl up on the floor at my feet, he fears he will be punished were he to sit at a table, like a person."

An attempt to defraud The Corpse?

Tryn sits taking casual bites from the chicken and sipping from the milk enjoying this "breakfast" of sorts. Steadmen does indeed test the coins, even taking them to his mouth and biting to ensure they are solid. The bartender shrugs "Real enough for me" the bartender says before returning to his work. Tryn nods his head in a cocky manor and then offers a two finger salute to both Valentin and Steadmen. Still remaining silent through the ordeal.

Th'little git is a useless banker

Valentin growls and decides the stabbing sensation each insipid word sent through his skull was not going to be made much worse if he gave vent to some of his own 'explanations' even as each growled word forced through clenched teeth inflicts its own brand of agony. "Listen, you prattlin' twit, I couldn't give a tinker's damn 'bout some drab plow and 'is pathetic excuse for a wretched life. If the bastard ain't strong enough to fight t'the death, then th'little git is a useless banker an' should save someone else the hassle of puttin' 'im out o'all our miseries." The butcher then sees the two fingered salute and takes a hold of his cleaver as he growls at Tryn "Right, mate. Settle the bill proper-like or it's on. You. Me. Here an' now"

A cure for baldness perhaps?

Sophie is immensely shocked by the butcher's cruel tirade against the wretched drow shaking with fear at her feet. The unnamed. 'worthless' dark elf, whimpers in abject terror, he cowers away from the vampire, and crawls aropund to hide behind the healer who he believes to be his owner, he cannot accept that Sophie has freed him. The surafec elf gently touches the drow's bald head once more speaking kindly to him, trying to assure the frightened man that she will not harm him, nor allow the vampire to do so. He flinches away from her touch. The kind hearted woman, assuming that Tryn is naturally filled with compassion for the terribly ill-treated drow male speaks to him of his troubles. "His head was shaved and the roots of the folices posioned to prevent any hair regrowing, when he was punished by being demoted to the lowest status of 'worthless slave.' To be hairless is very humilating for a drow, I am trying to find a way to repair the damage, that he may grow a full head of fine white hair once more. I feel the psycological benefits for the poor fellow should I suceed will be worth all the effort."

Jolie limped down the stairs wearing an expression that was liable to curdle that milk in its glass. Her ribs were visibly bandaged under her short-hemme3d shirt, and various abrasions decorated the rest of her skin. "Noisy bastards...." was muttered low enough to remian unheard by all but the sharpest ears.

Tryn || Steadmen starts to speak "his payment was sufficient for what he had purchased..." the bartender eyes Valentin "I think maybe..." the bartenders voice is silenced by the sound of a dagger being stabbed into the table. Tryn lifts the dark colored chicken to his mouth and downs the rest of the meat before shooting down the glass of milk and standing. His eyes locked onto the butchers. Head tilted to the side as almost saying "What are you going to do?"

Once Cabal, always Cabal

Sophie is concerned for her dearly beloved old friend Jolie, obviously injured - again -. The gentle healer heads over to her leader "Once Cabal, always Cabal. You going to let me look at your wounds my friend? Please?" Incongrously, a terrified looking, bald headed, drow make wearing a slave collar is crawling on all fours, close behind Sophie. She grins, looking rather embarressed.

Jolie stared at Steadman. Stared at Tryn, and then turned back to Steadman. "You on drugs.. again?" she asked the one-eyed keep with a snap at the end of each word. "Next one gets lax with a coin, cut his bloody throat."

Jolie turned her vicious persusal on the drow, but it would soften as it rose to Sophie. "No thanks, pet. You know I can't bear that healy feely magic anymore. I'll go see Jobbie later."

Sophie smiles gently at her old friend. "If ever you need anything. I am here for you, you know that. The healer can see that Valentin and Tryn may soon be about to try to tear each other apart, and decides this would be a good time to check on stock levels at the Soph Shop. "Take care of yourself, Jolie." She nods stiffly to the butcher, still shocked by his callous uncaring attitude towards the unfortunate drow, then heads outside, the nameless wretch crawling meekly after her.

Jolie said to Sophie, "See you soon..." she eyed the drow, frowning. Since when did the healer have slaves? "Perhaps tomorrow."