RP:The Gravedigger Meets Hanan, Tests The Living

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Kelay Tavern

Gravedigger pushes the tavern door open with his elbow, his hands occupied keeping balance of his pick axe and shovel. Wearily he trudges his way inside, tracking a decent sized trail or dirt and dust in his wake. Clumps of mud fall from his tools with every step taken until finally he finds a seat at an unoccupied table, which is where he gently sets his things and sits, hoping for a brief respite from his duties.

Hanan comes straight in, makes a beeline for the bar, and grumbles something inaudible. Mesthak gives her a look. She takes a deep breath. "I said whiskey. It's usually whiskey. Or rum. But that's just the one ruttin' syllable, so..."

Gravedigger lifted his gaze to Hanan, his ever-vigilant ears eavesdropping on her words. The man would stare but only for a moment, hoping to catch further conversation and perhaps feel a bit more from her.

Jerica swings her feet because she's so bloody short and the chair she sits on is so tall. The tips of her toes just barely brush the basket set down beneath her feet as she eats that bowl of stew and sips from the steaming mug. Jerica appears rather oblivious to her surroundings.

Rowen the invisible rat is hopping along much like a tiny kangaroo. The sound made by her locomotion must be rather odd. The compulsion to move in this manner is a side effect of the suspiciously cheap potion of invisibily she has quaffed. Another such is her annoying bout of hiccups. 'The Mouse.' hops up onto the table beside Jerica. A disembodied voice will seem to address her. "Are you -hic- Miss Jerica?"

Hanan was frustrated, and angry. Perhaps the Gravedigger could pick up on that. She just gave him a singularly surly look and turned back to the bartender. "See? Was that so hard?" Mesthak cleared his throat. Hanan grumbled again and passed him the coin. Jerica got a look--all the few feet of her--and a bit of a smirk for that. Huh.

Jerica has her spoon dripping with the gravey of stew half way to her mouth when that voice comes. Chocolate brown eyes dart around to find the source, "Y-yes?" Jerica makes it a question. Hanan's look was seen and wondered at with a furrowing of her brow before she lowered the spoon and picked up a napkin to wipe her mouth. The man with the burial tools was an interesting sort, she though, but as he hadn't appeared to be a threat to the diminutive woman, all of four feet and six inches tall, she paid him no mind. It was the voice which held most of Jerica's attention. "Wh-who are you?"

Gravedigger inhaled deeply, knowing this familiar force permeating from the pirate that he had experienced so many times before. Though the undertaker was still grasping for how he could help use this to control his curse and undo it, he proceeded to feed. Steadily breathing, he begins consuming the forces of Hanan's anger, allowing them to provide adequate sustenance for the moment. The ditch digger by no means had uses of influencing the livings' emotions yet, though once his skills were mastered through his work with the dead, soon he hoped to be able to. For now, he would simply take what he could get, hoping that the surly vampire would provide more.

Hanan was giving Gravedigger a weird look. She had no idea what was going on. All she knew was that the man sitting near her was making her feel funny. And she'd heard him sniff her. Damn it. "Ruttin' hell. Quit lookin' at me that way." She gave the man she presumed to be some kind of creepy hobo another angry--delicious?--look before rising and walking to one of the back tables.

Rowen the hiccuping rodent whispers to Jerica. "My codename is The Mouse. I tell none my real name. I am the director of a certain, friendly little organisation. It has come to my attention that you are one who might perhaps be worthy of joining our ranks. Can you follow me please, to somewher we can perhaps talk more privately?

Gravedigger closes his eyes, continuing to inhale intensely, allowing her hate and annoyance to fill the metaphorical stomach of that particular emotion. Due to his curse of duty and numbness, it may take several more years for the Emotion Eater to fully be able to harness such feelings once more. Usually he would absorb the anger or despair, two powerful emotions, that were remaining within the dead that he interred; the living were a bit more difficult...but he was learning, and for now, the nameless nomad would cease before drawing any further attention. He had his fill. "I do apologize. It will not happen again." The words may come off a bit strangely. The corpse collector was usually prohibited from expressing emotion, though his speech is tinged with the same sort of anger and annoyance Hanan had just recently been experiencing.

Jerica stares straight ahead , probably looking as though she stared at Hanan, as she answers the 'voice', "S-s-sure. I suppose. I think it's going to be hard if I can't see you, though." Jerica has already forgotten about her meal and is putting on her cloak, the hood being drawn up even as she slides off the chair using the basket as a step. That is soon picked up and slid into the crook of her arm.

Hanan growled. "See that it doesn't. Leerin' and... sniffin' women in bars tends to make you look bad." In her seat at the back table she let her nostrils flare, dug some papers out of her pack and began to go through them. Oh great, now the short one was staring at her. "Yeah?" Surly again.

Rowen the insane rat hadn't thought of the difficulties of showing someone the way while invisibel, she thinks for a moment or two. "I'll whistle a merry little tune as we go along -hic- so you -hic - know where I am." It never even occurs to the lunatic than a few verbal directions would be far less effort than continuous -save for hiccups- whistling.

Jerica stops staring as soon as Hanan spoke at her. "Oh! I-I'm s-sorry, Miss. It's just--" How does one say they are hearing a voice without sounding crazy? They don't. "I'm sorry," she mumbles and ducks her head, waiting to be told just how she is to follow that disembodied voice.

Jerica knew, then and nods. Can a bodyless voice see a nod?

Rowen can see well enough, the invisible rat hops off to the south whistling cheerfully.

The undertaker then left to find work, a bit closer to his ultimate goals even though there was exponentially more progress to be made.