RP:Troubling Encounter
Troubling Encounter
Summary: Poell attempts to passively enter the tavern, though a drunk, enraged Rawnie has other intentions. This short encounter marks one, of a possible many.
Poell sits complacently atop Daisy the cow. Mortar and pestle set before him. Obscure materials mashed into an orange goopy substance. Obviously satisfied with his work, Poell takes his experiment, pouring it into a vial which he produces from his bag. This sits faithfully at his side also atop Daisy. The substance slides, no, shivers as it makes its awkward way into the vial. Bits of it slide down the side of the vial, though Poell sticks them back in quickly. He nods, placing the vial into his satchel. Taking Daisy by the neck he clambers down off the cow. Making his way towards the tavern.
Rawnie had long since stumbled from the tavern, drunk as a skunk, and now finds herself seated on the grassy earth skirting the northern side of the road. Knees are drawn up, bent at an acute angle, and her akimbo'd arms rest on the precipice of the bends. With her forehead pressed into the smooth, cinnamon colored skin of her forearms and garbed in ratty jeans and an equally cultured shirt, the woman seems to be the drunken fool's other half; the idiot's expression of intoxicated worry also falsely belays this point to on lookers. The thought of companionship and the definition of devotion filters through every nook and crevice of her brain, beating at her and cutting her morals away. While onlooker's can't gain access to her thoughts and emotions, her rage manipulates her enough to believe that every passer-by is mocking her with prominent affections of love in the form of hand-holding and stolen kisses while secretly passing on words of her unfortunate love life. Oh woe is her, and soon to be Poell as well, for as soon as he hops down from the cow and lands onto the packed earth underfoot, she bolts upright, easily knocking the drunken fool looming over her onto the ground. "Wha' did'ja say?" She growls towards the halfling, inky eyes narrowed into threatening slits while her canine teeth elongate with a premature and partial transformation. She doesn't allow him time to answer, because with speed not unlike a feral wolf, she tears across the expanse of distance, her right arm cocked back and her hand folded into a boney fist. One
two
seconds pass before she's on him, that hand fired forwarded to slam into his jaw with a powerful, angered right hook. Should it connect, it would possibly break or disconnect the bone from its hinges.
Poell is far away. His mind was on secret formulas and explicit instructions for Alchemical lore he had stumbled upon just days before. It was all that he could think of, and so, his attention was far too unfocused for him to notice the drunk lady, until he heard the angered growl that come from her direction. Poell didn't hear her exact words, so he stared confused at her for a moment. Green eyes squinting in the afternoon sun. To his surprise she was running at him, quite rapidly in fact. So fast in fact the small man only had time to snap his goggles over his eyes, and dawn his hood over his head. To any other viewer, Poell seemingly, just flickered in, then out of vision. His figure having disappeared. To the sharp of senses, a soft pitter-patter of feet could be heard. Beneath his momentary shield of invisibility Poell was thinking quickly. This woman, obviously drunk, had wildly tried to attack him, assault him more like. Probably kill him. He had no quarrel with this enraged woman. But he assumed if he made any slight notion to reappear the consequences would be just the same as if he hadn't turned invisible at all. So he remained hidden for the moment. Standing fifteen yards behind the now, hopefully, confused woman. He let himself remain hidden scampering off to the west. Saving this fight for another day, while he was away he would have time to process the troubling encounter.
Rawnie stops dead in her tracks as Poell vanishes, her fist still cocked backwards due to the mere fact he disappears before she could throw the punch. The drunken fool, who has finally managed to gain his footing back, rushes to Rawnie with soothing words and gentle pats. Unfortunately for him, she turns abruptly, pivoting smoothly on her right heel to slam her fist into the grill of the fool, knocking him out and back on his arse. If he’s lucky, he’s kept all his teeth. And while her drunken human self wants to curl up and sleep of her stupor, her wolf rages for her to give chase to her victim. However, the haze that the alcohol has put over her senses, her wolf can’t track a scent and her heart beat thuds in her ears, drowning out the pitter-patter of furry feet hustling off. Despite this fact however, Rawnie gives chase none the less… in the opposite direction.