Times Are Rough

After the heroes return to the embassy from the amphitheater, Storm listens to their plans and departs when everyone else departs.

She heads straight for the tavern, not paying any attention to anyone who may be following her. Her eyes are on the doors of the tavern and nothing else. She walks a straight path and people in her path jump or back out of the way before she reaches them as she does not divert her path in the slightest.

Inside the tavern, a disaster awaits. Storm heaves a heavy sigh as she looks around at the over turned tables and chairs, the discarded mugs and plates scattered around, and then at the back wall. Her shoulders drop as she notices the bareness of the back liquor wall. Seeing other people cleaning up the tavern and righting the misplaced furniture, Storm moves to help them.

After straightening up the tavern, Storm trudges over to the bar. She sets her sheathed swords on the counter in front of her. The barkeep steps around behind the bar.

"Aye. Norm'ly, I'd give ye an ale on tha house. But..." 

Storm waves him off. "Future I owe you, sound good?"

The barkeep nods. "Aye, Miss Storm."

Storm cringes. "What did I say about that? You know me. Just Storm is fine."

Storm reaches into her pouch and pulls out a few copper. The barkeep shakes his head.

"Well, uh Storm, yer a fine patron o' this here bar but a few copper aint gonna buy shit no more."

She sighs and pulls out more coins. "What'll this get me?"

He slides the coins off the counter and turns to fix her a drink. When he turns back, Storm accepts the drink and gives it a sniff. Her nose scrunches up but she takes a long drink from the tankard anyways. When she lowers it again, she is still making a face but then shakes it off with yet another deep, heavy sigh.

Storm folds one arm against her chest, covering the swords, and the other hand holds the tankard. She says nothing as her eyes glaze over and she loses herself to her thoughts.

 

Vesta’s voice drifts down the stairs ahead of her, lilting in the Ramtovi tongue, light with laughter as she speaks to her companion. When she steps into the room, she’s smiling brightly, her hand laced with Zukar’s. She leans in to murmur something else to him under her breath, a playful grin tugging at her lips before her attention shifts.

“Storm!”

The moment Vesta spots the draconian, she’s moving in her direction and tugging Zukar along with her.

“I should’ve known you’d be here,” she says, amused. “We were on our way to the Mage’s Guild, but I’d love to sit and chat first.”

She slips into a nearby seat, pressing close to Zukar without a second thought, her shoulder brushing his as she settles in.

“Are you feeling any better? I know the room with the door was bothering you pretty badly."

Before Storm can answer, the tavern door opens.

Nill rushes inside in a blur, trying not to be noticed, but just a bit too frantic to pull it off. Her eyes dart across the room until they land on Storm, and immediately she makes a beeline for her. In one quick motion, she scrambles up the barstool and clings onto Storm’s back. Then, she goes perfectly still. Her expression is carefully blank, but her breathing is erratic, her shoulders tense, and her heart races like a trapped bird.

She says nothing.

Storm bristles when Nill leaps onto her back and let's out a sharp snarl then says through clenched teeth. "Off. Nill. Please."

Then she turns her head to face Vesta and sighs. "Hi. Fine. Tired. Bad booze."

She looks at the barkeep. No offense." 

He shrugs and goes back to cleaning the bar.

"Sorry if I'm a little... Grumpy." She looks back down at her tankard. "You wanted to talk?"

Zukar sits down with Vesta but says nothing.

 

Nill reacts immediately to the draconian’s snarl, flinching hard as she jerks backwards. She stumbles onto the floor, frantically searching the room for another place to hide. Finding nothing, she bolts.

Vesta startles at the ordeal, her hand tightening reflexively in Zukar’s as she tries to process what just happened.

“Nill, what-”

But the pixie is already out the door.

Vesta stares after her, hesitating for a moment as if considering following, but ultimately shrugs and stays where she is. Her attention shifts back to Storm, lips curling into a slight frown.

“If you’re in that bad of a mood, I won’t bother you with it.” She says, her tone neutral. “I’m trying to avoid another conflict with the party.”

She rises from her seat, smoothing her skirts as she does, then reaches back for Zukar.

“We can just head to the Mage’s Guild, esha vel.”

"She startled me." Storm groans and drags her hand down her face. "I'll find her."

Storm turns around on the stool and picks up her swords from the counter at the same time. "Sorry. Not trying to pick a fight. I'm just..."

She shakes her head and walks, very quickly, toward the door.

Before Storm reaches the door, the doors swing open and a tall, blonde haired woman steps in. She has long pointed ears and bright blue eyes. She and Storm nearly collide, both bouncing back in the nick of time. 

"Shit. Sor-"

Storm drops her swords. Then steps back. 

"Storm?" The woman's eyes widen and she steps forward.

Storm stops. Then she quickly scoops up her swords while she reaches out and snatches the woman by the arm.

Then Storm freezes again. "Y-you can't be here."

"Well, to be quite honest, I'm not entirely sure how I am here. See, I-"

Storm turns and begins walking back through the tavern, elf in tow.

"Storm, I can explain-"

Storm snakes her way around Vesta and Zukar, her eyes briefly catching Vesta's before she snaps her eyes forward again.

"If you'd just slow down-"

The draconian pauses only briefly to throw some coins on the counter. 

"Taking a room." She says gruffly and heads up the stairs.

 

When Vesta catches Storm’s gaze, her brow lifts slightly. She doesn’t move at first, just stands there, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer abruptness of it all. Her eyes follow as Storm drags the elf upstairs, confusion flickering plainly across her face.

“Wha-” she starts, the word slipping out before she can stop it. “Who…?”

The question hangs there, unanswered.

After a moment, she exhales and lifts a hand to her temple, rubbing lightly as if to stave off a headache.

“Not my business… not my business…” she murmurs under her breath.

She lets the thought go with a small shake of her head before turning back to Zukar, her expression softening as she slips into the Ramtovi tongue.

“Sometimes I really regret coming to this city, you know?” She admits quietly. “There’s always something happening. Too much. All at once.”

She throws a hand up in exasperation before her other hand finds his, her fingers lacing together with his.

“Let’s just go, shall we?”