RP:The thunder rolls, and the whiskey pours

This is a Rogue's Guild RP.

Location: The Hanging Corpse, Vailkrin

Summary: Following the Blood Bowl match between Gorehilt and Khitt, the rogues gather at the nearest tavern: The Hanging Corpse. A place Leoxander had not expected to set foot in again. With the help of friends, a new memory is made and two recruits join the underground company.

After the Duel

Loravelle is just fine with hanging back with Mahri and Lita. She didn't want to get her hands dirty anyway or risk touching those jellyfish. For all she knew, she might be allergic and somehow get even more sick. After turning to cough, she wonders if she's about to get scooped up for another piggy back ride or if Mah and Lita will let her walk to wherever they're headed after Leo takes care of Gore.

Mahri glances at Lita, nudges her with the point of her elbow and inclines her head towards Lora, "Walk or carry? We can go to the Hanging Corpse. It's not far." Mah's not sure what Leo would think of that, but oh well.

Lita winces at seeing that last blow against Gorehilt's temple. Yikes. She glances at Mahri and then to Lora. "You get one arm I'll get the other? Best of both worlds."

Leo finally made his way to the fallen greenskin, side kicking a jellyfish or two out of the way once he got near Gorehilt's prone frame. That little extra touch from Khitt was amusing, helping the man up onto to knock him on his arse again. "Come out'a it, mate." The rogue crouched down and rested his arms over his knees for a moment, glancing toward the spear that had been dropped on the rock now known as Gorelandia. Trying to coax the woozy warrior to open his eyes, Leo would be next in offering a clasp of hand and pulling his weight to his feet and back to try to get Gore' up onto his own plated boots, eventually stooping to pick up the polearm if there wasn't some sort of enchantment-to-the-wielder protection preventing him from retrieving it.

Mahri didn't miss that hit by the way, she's just got other things on her mind. Glancing down into the arena, she made sure Leo had the half-orc in hand. It looked like he was handling things well enough. "Sure," to Lita while she stood, albeit a little slower than she'd have liked. "C'mon Mouse. Let's go."

Loravelle blinks. “The C-Corpse...?” She had a bad experience there once, but it was entirely due to her own stupidity. Visiting Vailkrin entirely alone because she heard there was a library nearby worth visiting. In Lita and Mahri's company, she trusted she'd be safe. “I'd like to walk, please...” She thinks she can handle it. She's pretty tough. Ask Gorehilt. ...Ask him later when he's feeling better.

Gorehilt is kinda woozy, but the orcish blood is strong in this one. Some sort of autonomous post-battle reflex reacts to Leo's guiding hands. Gore woozily gets to his feet, grimaces against the pain, curses a lot, tries to flex his swollen fingers, then curses some more. The pain helps jolt him back to reality, and he's soon standing on his own two feet. The spear, meanwhile, isn't easy to look at, and the first time Leo tries to grab it, the spear might foil the lycan's depth perception or hand-eye coordination. It could take a couple tries to actually put his fingers around it, and it feels awkward and unbalanced in Leoxander's grasp. "Medic." Gorehilt laughs, groans, laughs again. "Seriously, which way." Beside his hand, his face has a lovely knot swelling up that could definitey stand some attention.

Lita gives Mahri a dubious look and then glances back at Lora. "Sure but any sign of trouble and you get carried without complaint, deal?" She'll move to Lora's other side, putting the girl between herself and Mahri so they can help her down the stands and away from the arena. Loravelle said, "I'll squeak like a mouse if there's danger..." You was initially a little confused by and had to glance at his empty hand after two tries before he snatched it quickly like the spear was trying to duck and avoid his grip, but he wasn’t completely unfamiliar with people putting some failsafe on their choice weapons to avoid it being lost or stolen. A firm thump on the back, not too hard mind you, but right about where he’d been punched with his coating of armor and he said. “You don’ need a medic. You need a drink. But we’ll see what we can do to patch you up or hit the healers if it’s that bad.” Handing over the dizzying spear, he kept a hand on the half-orc to make sure he walked forward and didn’t topple that way or backward. Blue eyes raised to see the direction the three dark haired women were heading. “Looks like the ladies’ got their destination in mind. An’ I got somethin’ for you. Shall we?”

Gorehilt seems a lot surer with his trusty spear in hand, and he employs it as a walking stick. Leo's appeal to machismo works, and the half-orc assents to the suggestion with a sly, if somewhat lopsided, grin. "Now we're talkin. How about a scotch and water, hold the water." With his grit and courage back in hand, he follows, cracks jokes, and continues to make occasional denigrating comments about Khitti's mother. Also. He definitely grabs a bottle of antivenom on his way out. Acting tough will only get you so far, folks.

Mahri , Lita and Lora find their way, at Lora's pace, to the Hanging Corpse. When she opens the door, Steadman looks up with his one good eye and both brows go up in surprise at seeing the trio. Especially that this time Mahri isn't alone walking in. She slants the barkeep a glance before leading Lora and Lita towards the fire that seemed to always be famished these days. "Sit," she orders Lora, but actually helps her into a seat, making sure she's warm and comfortable.

Leoxander tracked the trail that was hard to miss in the women’s wake. A vampire, a human, and a lycanthrope walk into a bar… and when the rogue realizes their choice of destination he stops in front of the building to let Gorehilt either go on ahead a few steps or maybe question Leo with a look. His eyes lift to the old sign on the blackstone building. Nine hells. Well, this had to be one of them, at least. His hand tightened around whatever he might be holding in it and he reluctantly continued forward with that knot in his brow and his eyes narrowed suspiciously, a solemn frown evident on unshaven features.

Lita leaves Mahri to make sure Lora finds a comfy seat at the fire and then she makes her way to the bar instead, after a round of drinks for them and Leo, since he'd be fixin' to join them. Whiskey for herself and Mahri, rum for the pirate and a hot tea for the mouse, all balanced between her hands as she makes her way back to the fire to hand out glasses.

Loravelle doesn't want to be too slow to be frustrating but she doesn't want to push herself, so hopefully her fast-ish walk is a good enough pace for the ladies she's walking with. She has to ask them on the way to the Corpse, with Lita being a vampire and Mahri being a lycan. “What's it like being so...so speedy?” Once they're inside and she's led to the fire, she does just as she's told and sits down in whatever seat Mah helps her into. “Thanks.” Her eyes linger on the piano nearby and how a terrifying vampire tried to 'teach' her how to play. She shudders, but for now she's feeling safe, hankie in hand to blow her nose if she needs to. Leo entering has her attention then, and she isn't sure what to make of his frown. Did something happen out there? Did Gorehilt- Dang orcs. She figures getting up will get a look from either Lita or Mahri (or Leo, even), to sit right back down, so she sorta flounders in place, uncertain about what to do. Sneezing seems to be the thing to do, because that's what happens a moment later. Lita finds a seat soon after, groaning softly.

Mahri takes that drink from Lita with a mumble of thanks, taking a seat as well near Lora to keep an eye on her.

Leoxander scanned the interior of the building slowly. Phantoms of his past could be seen through his mind’s eye in different places throughout the common room. He hadn’t stepped foot in that place in so long. He’d been there when the stone fortified the exterior, when the underground tunnel was built. Mahri would have the most insight to what Leo might be feeling in that moment, but he kept his words to himself and tried not to betray too much from his eyes. Gorehilt was probably walking a little easier, or to the very least would need to help himself to some of the antivenom he’d collected on the way out, so the rogue made his way toward the fire and grabbed a chair from a table along the way, turning it around in order to have the back to rest his arms across while one of his hands collected the rum Lita had ordered him. A heavy sigh from his sun spotted nose came prior to a quiet mumble. “Looks almost the same…” Save the lack of Maladroit in the rafters, the ghostly pianist, the sin-eater and her soldiers gathered for some banter or plotting. It was hard to believe just how many years had passed.

Mahri said to you, "Almost."

Lita had never spent much time in the tavern but she understands ghosts enough to give Leo and Mahri space for the memories. She sips at her whiskey, mulling over the duel they'd all just watched. "Any chance they're actively tryin' to get someone dead in that arena?" She asks of no one in particular.

Gorehilt had stopped outside to take a leak. The antivenom was doing its work well, and he was surprised to discover that his hand had already returned to its original size and mobility. Talk about modern medicine! What will magic accomplish next? He'd also managed to score a little bit of balsam to rub on his head, but that wasn't quite so miraculous a cure. The knot was still there, and perhaps all the more noticable for being shiny with oil. Ah well. Gorehilt joins the others at the bar. "What have we got," he surveys the bar and finds his shot waiting for him. "Rum?" Appreciatively, he holds it to the light. "Ah yes. Good, uh, color. Quality." Gorehilt gulps the shot gratefully and sets the empty shotglass down on the bar, ready for another. "I know nothing about rum."

Mahri might be having the same thoughts as Leo while staring into her has yet untouched whiskey. "Yeah..." she says to no one in particular before tossing it back. Anyway, shaking herself out of those memories, the lycan turns to Lita. "Do you really think so?" The two could have died in their fight and not by the hand of the other, but simply by virtue of the nature of the mirrors in the maze. Luckily both seemed to be mending well at the moment.

Mahri glances at Lora and notices she seems to have nodded off. Good for her.

Leo studied Gorehilt for a moment upon his return, not bothering to point out he could have killed two birds with one stone during his pit stop, as he seemed to be recovering with the aid of that counteractive antidote. Still seated backward in a chair facing the fire, he wasn’t all that far from where the half orc settled at the bar. After a glance at Mahri to acknowledge her single worded reply he looked to Lita. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Look’it what you two went through.” Finally back to the half-orc and he tried to get his attention. “‘Ey, Spike. Come on over here if you can get your busted ass out’a that stool.” Inviting him to the group around the fire mostly for Loravelle’s sake, to stay warm. Although she was showing a lot of signs of improvement after Mahri’s healing.

Lita glances towards the half-orc as he makes way for the bar. She would have gotten him a drink too if she thought he'd be joining them so soon and not lingering at the healers a bit. "Bring a bottle o' whiskey." She calls after Leo's invite, taking another drink from her glass. She glances towards Lora, seeing the girl has nodded off. "Just seemed our match was a bit more tailored towards it was all. Though I don't envy the jellyfish pool, for sure."

Gorehilt double takes over at Leoxander, surprised to find him somewhere other than the bar. You know. The part of the tavern nearest the liquor. "Yeah, be right over." Orange-red eyes scan for the bartender, and one quick jingle of coin later, he's soon refilled his glass and nabbed a bottle of whiskey to boot. "Alright guys," joining the others, he finds macabre sort of stuffed ottoman to sit on, with only a little difficulty, "bottle service, as requested." He offers Lita the whiskey, though if he reaches for it, he'll teasingly snatch it away. "That's for bein' trouble," Gorehilt playfully chides her before offering Lita the bottle in earnest. Eyes sweep the snoozing Lora, the mysterious Mahri, and eventually land on Leoxander. "I know, it's rough. I'm gonna need you guys to keep drinking until I look halfway decent again."

Mahri leans back in her chair and eyes up Gorehilt. She didn't know him. He fought well though. The rest, she'll decide on as she goes. "You have a decent look?" she quips, one brow raised questioningly. Lita rolls her eyes playfully at Gorehilt but well played. "It was a good match." She congratulates him. "Not sure any amount of liquor would fix that though." Nodding towards that lump on his skull.

Leoxander felt the mood lighten for Gore’s remark to Lita. He still hadn’t discussed the situation but there really was no need to. Lora was on the mend, he’d managed a few bells of sleep, so he wasn’t quite in the grouchy mood she would have found him in yesterday had she not gone with Xiem. In the end, it was in the past, and hopefully a lesson on impulse learned when it came to their human book keeper and her fragile (in comparison, hell… overall) state. The tavern seemed empty and safe enough to talk in subtle terms as he redirected his attention to the half-orc. “Win or lose, you showed yer brass out there, kid.” Gore could have been older than Leo, physically, but it wouldn’t put a damper on his use of that term. “Been keepin’ an eye on you in these matches. I think it’s about time we extend an invitation to some work an’ profit.”

Nortengaal had trailed behind the others, not unlike his actions after the last duel. This time however he wasnt trying to be unobtrusive, he was simply later than the others, and had correctly guessed that with folks much less torn up than before they’d gone to the nearest tavern for the afterparty. Walking into the establishment, he gives a second for his eyes to adjust to the difference in lighting and scans the patrons to see where the group might be. Spotting them, he first heads to the bar to procure a couple - lets make it a few - bottles of whiskey, then makes his way over to the assembled folks, pulling up a chair and unceremoniously injecting himself into whatever conversation was happening while passing out bottles as folks want them, keeping one for himself. “Helluva fight out there. You take a punch really well.” There is a joking tone to his words, but he’s genuinely impressed with the half-orc. Greetings are given to everyone in turn after that. “Howdy Leo, Lita, Mahri. You’re all looking a sight better than when i last saw you.” He’d offer a greeting to Lora as well, had she not been snoozing away by the fire already.

Gorehilt finds himself repaid, and in two part chorus at that, for his teasing stunt with the bottle. He takes a conspicuously delicate sip of his shot and looks up at the ceiling. "It's worth trying, is all." Fortunately, before anyone can elaborate on his looks or the disputed possibility of remedying thereof, Leoxander pushes the conversation forward. Gorehilt looks into the fire. Reading his face and posture, one might guess that he's not quite sure what to do with the compliments, being more used to coarse banter and insults. "Work, huh?" Thank Vak, a topic other than Gorehilt's positive qualities. "Well, that's a weakness of mine, boss. I just can't say no to a job."

Lita lifts a hand to offer Nortengaal a friendly enough wave as he joins their little party. How had Leo talked her into being some sort of social? "Dealing with this one's the only real job," she tilts her head towards Leo with the words, a faint smirk offered in jest. "Anything you get paid for is just an extra bit of fun."

Mahri reaches for the bottle of whiskey for a refill just when Nortengaal walks in. Silver-grey eyes look up at him a moment before finding something more interesting in the fire. She sniffed, but didn't make any comments about bear rugs. "Thanks," comes out instead. She remembered him at the house they'd occupied but nothing after she'd worked her healing on Lora. Her attention is brought around to Lora and she can't help but laugh a little at that jab towards her alpha-brother. "He's not that bad, Ace," she had to at least put out a token defense on his behalf.

Leoxander raised his glass to Nortengaal’s arrival, particularly bearing… (get it, bearing?) gifts in the form of alcohol. He let what filled his glass slide down for a hard swallow, a few shots worth, and sought out either Gorehilt or Nort’ to refill it with one of those bottles, holding it out in their little collective pow-wow. “Don’t take us type long to bounce back, mate.” He remarked, but glanced toward his fiance who was out like a neglected fire, still a little flustered in pale cheeks but gratefully not suffering a coughing attack every few minutes. Another smaller drink once he received some more whiskey to nurse (or gulp down), and with an arm extended over the back of his backward seat, he let the dark, disc-like medallion drop on its chain, still secured in Leo’s grip. There wasn’t much audience present he didn’t trust, so he didn’t have to be entirely secretive and subtle, light from the hearth flickering across the glossy, seemingly blank and black surface. He afforded Lita a squint of his eyes and a sweet smirk, sarcasm in his expression as if to say ‘very funny’. Back to Gore’, despite that Nortengaal had joined them. He’d been observing the werebear, too. “I ain’t gonna get into too much detail right yet, but this’ll come in handy if you decide to flock with us.”

Gorehilt greets Nortengall with a simple, "cheers, thanks," and a raised glass. He takes a shot to the bear man's health, refills his glass, then adjusts himself on his ottoman. The strange black medallian instantly deepens Gorehilt's interest, and he watches it curiously in Leoxander's hold. "Yeah?" The half-orc's eyes flicker between the heavy-looking trinket and Leoxander's expression. He tries, briefly, to read something from Lita and Mahri, too. "Sure, I appreciate it. Count me in." Extending his green hand palm upward, he agrees perhaps a little too easily to accept the curious talisman and whatever binding promises it may or may not entail.

Mahri 's not giving up much. The decision is all Gorehilt's.

Leoxander unceremoniously tossed it the half-orc’s way before he took a pause on their back and forth to glance toward Nortengaal. “Don’ worry, big man. I got one fer you if you want it.” This perhaps wasn’t as risk free talking in the Hanging Corpse like this, but true to its title it was still and lifeless save their impromptu crashing. If there were ears in the rafters or the shadows, there wasn’t much they could take beyond the fact that Leo was up to something and collecting others for the ride. Just another day in Lithrydel. Although he hadn’t consulted either of his commanders regarding his decision, he’d known the Ace and the Alpha long enough they would support him in it. “You’ll get word in due time where we’ll be to hash the details out, an’ if you change yer mind, so be it.”

Lita feels a little more forgiven in light of that smirk from the pirate. Maybe she'd built up enough good will with the mouse in recent months to afford a mistake in getting used to the girl's mortality. She wasn't likely to make it again, now. She watches the green one take the offered cloak, maybe a bit apprehensively, and she offers Gorehilt a softer smile. "It's not a blood oath or nothin' but it does ask a spot of loyalty. Same time though if you want out, we won't beg you to stay, we'll respect your wishes. Just keep in mind you might not be privy to open arms if you feel you've made a mistake after."

Nortengaal opts to just drink from the bottle in his hand as opposed to using a glass - more efficient this way really. Less dishes for the staff to deal with too. He’s just considerate like that. Letting out a chuckle he nods with Leo’s words, being of that type himself he gets it. “True that. Sometimes you forget what it's like to not have such luck.” He shoots a glance back to Lora, leaving no question as to the sort he might be referring to. She seems to be doing much better though too, following Mahri’s healing the night before. Made it here on her own two feet at any rate. Crimson eyes track over to the medallion in Leo’s hand being offered to Gorehilt. “That looks fancy. Wonder what it does.” He thinks to himself, taking another drink. Nothing happens when the half-orc takes it in hand, so whatever it does, it’s safe to touch. Eyebrows raise a bit at the offer of one of his own, and he cracks a grin. “Sounds like funs to be had, count me in.”

Gorehilt catches the medallion. He holds it by the chain, studying it in the firelight as it spins one way, then the other, and back again. "Not a blood oath." That's a curious warning to offer. Some other oath then? "I'm sure I'll get it figured out." Gorehilt might have quipped a sharper comeback, but he finds himself disarmed by the resurrances and smiles. "Careful, Nort," he warns the bear. "They're being modest, gracious, and sincere. Nothing good can come of this." He lets the chain slide through his fingers a few inches before dropping it carefully into his coinpurse. The mouth of the leather pouch is just wide enough to let it slip through. "Nah, I said I'm in. I've got a good gut feeling." To emphasize his point, Gorehilt pats his abdomen. "It's a done deal."

Leo might have scoffed at Nortengaal’s chosen word of ‘Luck’, in the past, but he didn’t have much to complain about. Witnessing the way he and Mahri had recovered from wounds in the past, Lita’s tolerance for pain to the point of dragon’s blood, and seeing Lora’ nearly succumb to hypothermia, it was always on his mind how he was going to keep their fragile Mouse away from harm. He hadn’t accounted for the flu. A second ‘shadowy-disguise’ trinket on a chain was produced from pocket - he had come prepared for their recruits, and he passed it Nort’s way, but wasn’t about to show them all the secrets of that pendant just yet. But as Gorehilt studied his and if the therianthrope did the same, they would see the faint insignia of the four-crow design come to some life, in range of the one he wore around his neck, and wherever Lita and Mahri kept their own. The battle bruised half-orc riled a low chuckle from the wolf. “Quick, this one.” He commented to the ladies as he took another drink from his glass.

Lita is not of mind to argue with Gorehilt's observations. "That gut feeling is what happens when you drink somethin' stronger than the swill of brandy, is all."

Mahri was rather interested in Nortengaal's reaction to the movement of the crows on that pendant. Since they had a sort of had a business arrangement before this, she wondered what division he would choose. Mahri also kept hers close, usually around her neck and under her shirt, but for the fight she'd tucked it into a pocket cleverly hidden in her right boot.

Gorehilt wags a finger at Lita as if to say "don't diss brandy like that" before taking another welcome swig of whiskey. Whether or not his guts were being adequately pickled right now would be entirely beside the point. "So now this is the part where I ask 'so what were yous all doing in Frostmaw' and then you go 'don't worry about it' right?"

Lita said to Gorehilt, "Far as you need to know, digging graves."

Mahri got up to wander towards the bar when Gorehilt has asked his question. She wanted to know why as well but she could hear them just fine. And perhaps she had a few words to say to Steadman as well, that sent him down to the cellar for the rest of the time they were there. Going behind the bar, the she-wolf picks out a few bottles of liquor. Rum, whiskey, brandy were brought back to the table. A quick check on Lora and an adjustment of her layers to make sure she was comfortable then she's sitting down again.

Nortengaal turns the pendant over in his hand, studying it in the flickering lights of the nearby fire. He’s not sure at first if what he witnesses is just a trick of the light or something more, but as he pays it more attention he’s sure he sees the movement of an insignia on the pendants surface, sponsoring a quirk of an eyebrow and quiet “hm”. It would seem theres more to this thing than what it appears, fitting given what it represents. The bearman is interested to find out just what this thing can do, but for now he slips it over his head where it comes to rest against his chest next to the ankh he wears. Raising his bottle he clinks it against the glasses and bottles of whoever cares to join in his toasting the new arrangements made with a simple “Cheers!” before taking a long drink. He’s fully prepared to make his way through a few bottles this evening, he hasn't had a good drunk going since that night in the Jolly Roger where Leo rattled his brain around.

Leo shrugged as he twisted his upper torso to set his empty glass on the table in reach, only to retrieve Loravelle’s stolen wooden case from his pocket to place a rolled, potent herb cigarette between his lips, searching his pockets for matches or a light. His firestarter had been forfeit as a gift and it was proving a damned nuisance. He spoke while holding it between his lips for a moment. “Tried to tell you. There’s a bloody hole ripped up in the center of the city, an’ who knows how much worse it’s gotten since we left. Better to keep track of this s**t than go on the panic an’ words of others.” Finally finding a book with one match left, he struck it to light the end and tossed the rest like a small projectile into the fire before he took a drag, smoke exhaled with his next words. “You ready for your debut, bear-man?”

Lita usually has her pendant tucked into the sheath with her dagger but since she's in far more casual dress today, it's tucked into one of those bizarre coat pockets with whatever odds and ends have found there way in there over the years. Honestly, Ranok's creations are a little daunting sometimes so there's no telling what she might find in there if she tries hard enough. The pendant is probably safe though. Hopefully. Dark eyes track Mahri's path to the bar before she's leaning forward to refill her own glass from one of those bottles Nort had brought over.

Lita said to you, "Reckon we're gonna have to get everyone together for another round after seein' what happened up there. Just in case?"

Gorehilt finishes his shot, rubs his head, and grimaces. "I see. Yeah, I think," the half-orc stands, "I'm really starting to feel that fight. I'm calling it a night, chums." The knight heads upstairs where he presumes he'll find some rooms. Gorehilt exited upwards.

Mahri piped up, "But make sure Lora has the right clothes this time." She'd get them herself if she had to, probably had some fur cloaks and such from Frostmaw tucked away somewhere. Plus, she wanted to go to see if she could find the ice dragon she'd bonded with years ago. She hadn't had a hint of that dragon's voice in her head for weeks now.

Leoxander rested his arms across the top of the chair. It was probably about time to get Lora’ out of that city and back to the safehouse, where at least she’d have a comfortable bed. He wasn’t sure he could make the trek to the island carrying her with just a few hours of sleep. But tonight he would sleep easier. “Yeah, we’re about due for a nestin’, soon. Catch e’eryone up on what’s been goin’ on.” He took another hit from that hemp wrapped smoke, mellowing vapors rolling back into his lungs before he exhaled with his stare on the fire for now. It was easier than looking around the tavern that held so many distant memories.

Lita said to you, "You guys holed up someplace safe for now?"

Nortengaal motions towards the case of smokes with the bottle he’s holding. “Mind if i get one of those?” It seems like he just might’ve picked up the taste for them since the offered one from the other night. While he waits for the response he tips the bottle back and nearly empties it in one long go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards. “Yeah, i’d like to think so. These environmentals are getting wilder every match, i’m honestly kinda looking forward to seeing what i end up having to deal with, nevermind what the blood knight is going to do.”

Leoxander nodded Lita’s way as he stood, finished off his smoke, and tossed it into the fire with another exhale of words. “Down the road. Welcome to crash if you don’t got other arrangements. I don’t got the strength to get her back to Rynvale tonight, but I wouldn’t snuff havin’ some extra eyes on her so I can shut mine for a bit.” Mahri might be along in time. Nortengaal, too, but for once the nocturnal lycan was running out of steam and ready to collapse in the abandoned shelter they’d made work the last few days.

Mahri would have said goodnight to Gorehilt, if she knew him better, probably. But he was gone quickly enough anyway. Mahri expected that Leo would be taking Lora home soon. First because they both needed good sleep still, and because of the location they were in now. It was close enough for Lora to walk to without over exerting herself and wait for the pirate to show up. "We'll catch up soon. After the Rug's fight maybe."

Lita should linger and get to know Nort more, especially considering they might end up on opposite ends of that arena here soon. But she was itchin' to get home again. Finishing the whiskey in the glass in hand, she sets the empty glass on the table and fishes for a few coins from her pocket to add for their tab. Somebody would pay the rest eventually, maybe. She lifts a hand to Mahri's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Go easy on 'im." She grins and then flickering dark eyes Nort's way, "Give'er hell." She offers a playful wink.

Lita dropped 50 gold.

Mahri blinks up at Lita, confused. "What..?"

Leo generously produced one for Nortengaal before he closed the case. “Out’a fire, mate.” He might have to reenact the whole taking a twig from the hearth if no one had one to spare. Leo certainly wouldn’t be invoking that brand on his palm, once more covered up in a Blackguard Emblem. He actually just passed the case to Mahri in case she lingered with the therianthrope in the Hanging Corpse. “You know where we’ll be, babe.” Said to Mahri just before he scooped Loravelle up off the piano bench and carefully into his arms, her head instinctively turning to rest against his chest. “You’ll be a’right?” Not that he had to ask.

Nortengaal ’s reaction to Lita mirrors Mahri’s, in that he has no idea how to respond. It seems Leo may have had a conversation with the woman about the one the two weres had shared last night. In fact he has a nearly identical reaction to her words that he’d had to Leo’s, and nearly spit-takes the mouthful of whisky he had, instead swallowing hard and having a very brief coughing fit as the liquid nearly goes down the wrong tube. Recovering after a moment, he just gives a nod in response. Thankfully, Leo’s handing him a smoke saves him from having to respond further for the moment and he takes it gratefully. “I’ve got that covered, thanks.”

Lita really had just meant to make some joke. She was exhausted and sore. She waves a hand at the pair briefly and leans down to offer Mahri a brief hug before she'll see the pirate out the door, holding open for him since his hands are now full of a sleeping mouse.

Mahri nods, "I'm fine. I'll catch up with you." She had to make sure Steadman was doing as she'd asked in the cellar. He probably, most likely, was.

Leoxander hadn’t actually said a damn thing. Welcome, Nortengaal, to the world of being surrounded by women who were too smart for their own good.