RP:Wolf Heads Wolf Heads Rolly Polly Wolf Heads
Part of the Rest in Pieces: Vailkrin! Arc
Summary: Mahri confronts Larewen and issues a threat in response to Larewen's challenge in her search for wolf corpses.
Kelay Tavern
Built and rebuilt, torn apart and set like stubborn bone, this tavern is the pinnacle of Hollow's entirety, wrought around the premise of peace, equality, and consummate amity. And of course, the old place had seen all of the three, but so much more. Dire markings of claw and steel cut deep into wall panels and floorboards. Set against the land's usual motif of destruction are signs of comfort. Twisting shadows and smoothing out a careful blanket of light with soft, quaint fires, a candelabra dangles down by thick cords, gripping the circular holder. Each twists up, converging upon the center, where they snake about one another and form a thick, secure anchor to Kelay Tavern's high, accommodating ceiling. The candelabra rattle now and again from the inn patrons overhead, pouring down globs of wax to the center of the room, which is wide and unobstructed. Cheaply carpentered tables and chairs grow outward around the bare dancing area, keeping to the rounded theme, and also keeping to a dwarven barkeep's avariciously born taste for 'economical' furniture. Hardly any expense has been wasted on the actual upkeep of the public center, as can be garnered from the smell of deep pine, rich tobacco, and even richer spirits. Stairs twist away dimly near the high bar. And atop that side rests the inn logs, quill, and ink. This establishment's fine keeper, Mesthak, can be seen smiling out from his post at the bar, straight across to the room's always crackling stone-wrought hearth. Behind him, atop lofty shelves, sits an array of dark, amber, and clear liquids. Food smells waft from somewhere near at hand. A carefully printed and hung sign details the purchasable items here in the place of merriment, loss, laughter, and life. Also, tucked into a corner near one of two windows closest to the tavern doorway is a thickly papered bulletin board. A sign has been added next to the board that reads, 'The management requires patrons be fully inebriated at all times and that no curing spells be performed in this tavern-Thank you'.
Mahri walks in, nothing fancy at all, glances towards the board to see if there had been any reply to her note. She almost laughed seeing the drawing over it, but that was quickly went away as she found the note below then. "Well, t'en," she murmurs then turns to look into the tavern. Silvery gray eyes were, for once, clear and without drink to cloud them. Shame, that. Her voice rose above the din despite it's raspy huskiness, "Which one o' ye is askin' feh t'e bodies of wolves?" One arched brow raised as she waited.
Larewen sat upon a stool at the bar, one leg crossed over the other beneath her her gown. A booted foot tapped a silence cadence as she sipped at a glass of wine. She was waiting for someone to bite. For someone to entertain her. Anyone. Pride had control of the reins and her assault on Vailkrin was pushed to the back of her mind to satisfy the wrath that followed the discovery of her vandalized note. The elf swirled her glass around, carmine fluid sliding around the inside of the stemmed bowl a moment later before turning upon the stool to face Mahri. "That would be me," she answers, her voice the stark opposite of the lycan's. It held a haunting note to its silvery sweetness. The corners of her mouth turned up, pearly fangs made visible.
Mahri waited patiently. She was capable of doing that, y’know. She didn’t have to wait long before Larewen made herself known. The wolf wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the vampire. Her stroll into the tavern was slow and easy, she didn’t have a bloody care in the world. She’d sidle right up to the stool next to Larwene and settle on it, crossing one leg over the other all civil-like. Propping her right elbow on the bar-top and resting the side of her head in the upturned palm of same, she casually queried, with an undertone of mild curiosity completely belied by the hostility in her eyes, “Now, why would ye be goin’ and doin’ t’at fehr. What have my wolves e’er done t’ ye t’at ye be puttin’ a bounty on t’ere ‘eads like t’at, eh?”
Larewen regarded Mahri from head to toe then back to her head, and for a fleeting moment there was a sort of recognition that crossed her gaze. A passing familiarity, but from days that were long ago. Days when Larewen's mind had not been touched by the darkness that it embraced it so deeply. Days when Larewen's heart still held warmth, before the shadows that shrouded her cold, ever-beating heart. It didn't linger and madness soon resurfaced. "For an experiment, why else?" she replied, sweetly.
Mahri hmm’d thoughtfully at the answer. As for herself, she might have seen Larewen before, hanging around the old crew, but it was such a blip on her own memory as to be...well...not remembered. At least, not right then. Back to the present. “Aye, well. Y’know t’ere are any manner of creatures ye could be experimentin’ on, aye? I’ll say t’is once, t’ ye face so’s t’ere’s no misunderstandin’ ye ken, leave t’he wolves alone or we are goin’ t’ be ‘avin’ some problems, us two.” As if to accentuate her point, the woman withdrew a dagger. Not the silver one she’d had before. How she missed that dagger… but it would do the trick all the same.
"Then I suppose we'll be having some problems," Larewen replied, non-chalantly. As she spoke, mismatched eyes settled on Mahri's own. She drained her glass and placed it on the bar, nudging it toward Mesthak for a refill. "You see, my experiment is exclusively requires lupine bodies." Her tongue pressed against the tip of one fang and she tilted her head at an angle. The corner of her mouth quirked upward into a sardonic smile. "Besides, I never specified that those collecting on my reward must kill the wolves themselves. A diseased corpse is just as good as a fresh one; a decomposing one just as good as a hunter's spoils."
Mahri held that gaze not once flinching. “An’ now, t’at’s a problem, idn’t it.” Getting up from her seat, Mahri slides the dagger back into the sheath strapped to her thigh. “If I find anyone poachin’ wolves in the forests, t’ey ain’t comin’ back, Blood Drinker.” The promise hung a moment while Mahri made sure that Larewen understood what it was she was saying before turning her back to the older woman and walking to the door. Odd, she hadn’t asked for a drink or Mesthak to refill her flask. If Larewen answers, the wolf will likely pretend not to hear as she walks out the door. Man, people are going to be disappointed that a fight didn’t break out.
All that follows Mahri is a laughter like the tinkling of bells. That said more than enough what Larewen thought of the general populous.