Lend me your Screams

Log Info

• Title: Lend me your Screams
• Emitter: Cryosanthia
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Aya, Seyardu, Bannon
• Place: A03: The TarRaCe
• Time: Tuesday, July 06, 2021, 8:16 PM
• Summary: Cryosanthia is performing as the Sith'Machine with <Band Name Here> in the Tarrace. Aryia is there to watch, and Seyardu has been soaking in the Baths. The silverscale gives the whitescale a cool greeting. Bannon is also present, having a drink and celebrating his new found religiousity. Cryo goes back up on stage and the band commences another set, the first one a song about Ea going up in flames. Conversation continues, with Seyardu wondering at the wastefulness of making alcohol. Beer she can at least see a sense for. Bannon explains it's conducive to finding one's happy place. The Golem Band moves to their next composition, which is eerie, unsettling and seems to incorporate the recorded screams of dying people and their last words. Everyone listening is disturbed, Bannon and Aryia interrupt the piece, with Aryia nigh-wordlessly chewing out the lead singer, 733 Vocalizer Unit. The golem records her rant as best it can. They switch to more appropriate music. Bannon changes the topic, describing how an owlbear gave him a heart shaped bite-mark. Later, when the band stops, Cryo arrives to apologize and recieves an angry beratement in handspeech. She apologizes again and attempts to leave, only to be held to wait for the translation. Aryia will rip 733's faceplace off and beat him to pieces if they play that again. The whitescale acknowledges this, and leaves, as does everyone else except Seyardu. She finds her fajitas are cold.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* The TarRaCe *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Inside, this two-story structure has been almost completely opened up. Generous windows on both stories allow daytime sunlight and cooling night breezes to flow in as needed, while the brick walls have been whitewashed - contrasting with the dark-stained beams and supports, and the rich polish on the wooden floor. A broad strip of stone runs from the entrance to a framed doorway set into the opposite wall, with a sign above the lintel declaring that the baths are to be found that way.

The ground floor is sprinkled with tables and chairs of assorted sizes, offering welcome to guests both large and small. One whole corner of the building - into which guests are not permitted entry - has been given over to the kitchen, which serves as the domain of the famed monster chef Ligum Serforus. Mundane meals are available, but the chef delights in offering up obscure dishes made from the freshest of monster ingredients.

Opposite the kitchen a small bar runs in front of an array of shelves, displaying a broad selection of beverages (most of them alcoholic). The bar-top has been fashioned from what looks to have been old pieces of armor, fused and welded together before being polished to provide a near-smooth finish. Set above it, three human-sized statues have been built into an alcove in the wall: Tarien, Rada and Ceinara jointly keep benevolent watch over the room and its occupants.

To the right of the entrance, a small stage offers a platform for a handful of performers at a time. To the left of the door, a spiral staircase of wrought iron winds its way up to a balcony dining area, that is chiefly reserved for special events and parties.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Aryia        4'8"     110 Lb     Shadow Elf        Female    A heavily scarred mul with a tired look about her.
Cryosanthia  6'9"     291 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman.
Seyardu      5'6"     150 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint.
Bannon       5'9"     195 Lb     Human             Male      A shorter man of Tsuran heritage, with a thin moustace and goatee.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

It's evening at the Tarrace.

The exotic item on the menu is Giant Mantis. Normally this dish is a little like crab, with the limbs boiled and then cracked and liberally seasoned with garlic butter. Today's preparation seems to be a chowder, creamy and tart.

The raw ingredients might have been a little too broken and pulped for the traditional method.

It's between sets for the golem band, <Band Name Here>, so Cryosanthia is out on the floor and out of, or in disguise, depending on whether one believes she is really a Sith'Makar or war-golem. She's leaning up against the bar, with a drink only a biological would take, rum, so she's committable one way or the other.

A heavily scarred mul'neissa is already there, her having been making a habit of stopping by the place when the band plays. She's already at the bar, trying out the special chowder with a cleaned off spoon pointed towards the sith-makar looking golem.

She signs with one hand. "Louder, I like it when my ears ring," she gestures with a rare smile. <Handspeech>

"Of course!" The Sith'Machine says, copying the hand gesture of pointing up and shaking up, "I'll tell them louder."

She, it, tilts her head and looks at Aryia, there is a quiet whrring of her lenses. Up on stage, 733 Vocalizer Unit steps up to the microphone and taps it, "Okay, we're starting. All wandering entities please take your place."

It is looking directly at Cryosanthia.

She gulps down her drink, "Oop! That five minutes really was five minutes! Gotta go." The glass is set on the bar and she glides over and through the stage door.

It had been a while since Seyardu had been anywhere near the Colosseum district. There was too much on her mind to even think of relaxing, and yet, speaking to others in her time off from work had brought the importance of relaxing for ones sake more to the forefront of her mind. She had been aware of the band that was getting scheduled frequently at the pub, so in advance, the sith-makar had been soaking in the public baths in the back. So before the band was starting, the silver sith was walking out of the building, feeling refreshed. she waves to the bar counter, at the war golem that was running off, before she joined them at the bar counter.

Bannon glances between Cryosanthia and then to Aryia, squinting his hands as if to read the handspeech presented before he looks back towards the Sith'golem. The man looks fairly glazed over, with a pint and a bowl of the chowder sat in front of him. It seems he might have had more of the pints than the chowder. He then blinks again and states flatly, "Huh. I've never seen a war golem drink before." He seems forlorn at the prospect, looking back towards the bar as he listlessly stirs his chowder with his spoon. "But why," he asks, seeming to beseech the sky with the question.

The stage door pops open long enough for the Sith'Machine to wave at Seyardu, before it, she, disappears again. A few moments later <Band Name Here> has assembled. 733 Vocalizer Unit, Panflute on the wind instruments, Stringbox on strings, and the Sith'Machine on drums.

They briefly flash internal lights at each other, synchronizing.

The shadow elf gives a sharp wave to the approaching silver scale, glad to see her once more. As the band member vacates, a new seat opens up and she pats the spare spot. "Peace on your nest," she greets with a hand while the other was occupied with shoveling chowder into her face. <Handspeech>

She regards the glazed man with a heavy shrug and a shake of her head. She did not know why a war golem would.

But she new the truth behind a smirk, hidden behind chowder.

"Peace on your nest, Aryia, and you as well." The silver sith makar greets with a sharp toothed smile as she took the spot. "One war golem I know of, Toha, I believe their name was, was telling me some of it. They do not need to eat, but some have mechanisms installed that low them to eat and drink, and more important to them I would say, taste as we do. It is a bit unecessary for many though, but some wish to experience it."

As Aryia signs once more with the handspeech, Bannon's eyes flash towards her just in time to catch the greeting. He then lackadaisically looks back towards the silver sith-makar, blinking slowly as he listens. Finally, he shrugs his shoulders with a slow lift and then a fast drop, "I think they lack the biology to get to the point of the beverage, though, and that makes me sad." He then reaches out, picking up the pint and taking another quick glug of the beverage, "Less for me, but not for a good reason."

The golems' lights finish flashing. They are synchronized. A haunting, drifting melody that is very string reliant starts. There's a light syncopation of the drums underneath it, nothing overwhelming.

733 Vocals commences to 'sing', which seems to be more playing recorded voices which are both male and female, from what sounds like a lecture on the nature of the planes and outsiders.

There's a sudden increase in pace from the drums. 733 switches voices again.

It's about time...

It's about time...

It's about time..."

That this WORLD goes up in flames!

The scarred woman bobs her head in time with the music, her holding up a thumb towards the stage in approval. She raises a brow at the growing drunk man, her tilting her head to the side and glancing to her scaled friend beside her.

"Perhaps, but when you can not process the taste, that is the first step to enjoying them. You do not add peppers to a meal in most cases, except to make the meal more palatable." The sith-makar adds, resting her arms on the countertop. At least the stools at the bar meant not having to deal with the backs of chairs. "I am still not sure how I feel about the effects of the alcohol itself aside from the taste. Many seem to enjoy it, however."

Bannon nods his head slowly, "Right, and tasting the alcohol is fine in most cases, but then you have the case of spirits. The trick there being not to taste them. It's really counter-productive in most cases, or at the very least tolerated. And then, after a relatively short time, you get the other affects that some would say are the best part of that particular libation." He then reaches out, picking up his pint, taking another glug of the brew before he turns to look towards the band for a brief pass, his eyebrows popping up as he comments, "Well, aren't they energetic."

There's an internal flashing from the Sith'Machine, the visible circuitry of her open housing lighting up as a drumstick is flipped and twirled in the air.

The song continues, fast and loud, not exactly dinner music but the group is a frequent performer. 733 Vocals slips into a chorus, using a young human voice:

If you're awake, please join me.

All the things I see are things I see.

I listen to the sound, of nervous breakdowns.

I'm waiting for the sign...

To leave this place behind...

Where no one knows my name...

We'll both break down and simulate sadness,

Our last... goodbyes.

"They are very good. I like them a lot," she signs simply back to them, not sure if they could actually understand what she was gesticulating about. She holds her chowder in hand, swaying from side to side. <Handspeech>

"The band is good, but I have little to compare them to, really. The spirits I still do not get." The silver sith-makar replies, turning to watch the band. "The beer, it is made to make the water safer to drink and easier to store. But the spirits, they take so many crops grown to make a tiny amount of liquid that has little practical value for consumption, and most is not used for cleaning properties and dulling pain. Perhaps I do not get the appeal of it myself, simply. How is the food today, Aryia? The mantis is some sort of insect, is it not?"

Bannon cranes his neck, looking around the Sith towards Aryia and nodding his head, "I know what you mean, but I've made a minor study of the Otyugh colony that seems to exist in the sewers of Alexandria, and honestly, I don't even think they have noses." He then takes another sip of his beer, a simple smile spreading across his face. His mood seems to be taking a turn. He nods to his sith-makar barmate and then replies, "Maybe that's not a bad thing." He then blinks, "Oh, I should finish this." He turns back to the bar, retrieving his spoon and digging back into the chowder.

The song continues, with the 733 emitting strange ringing noises and distorted voices.

The world stands still... for a moment.

We'll catch a glimpse of eternity.

We'll forget about our selves and share this moment.

... for a moment.

The song ends with the strange voices one more. Immediately the band launches into another piece, which has a wind-like background, a loud four-beep sequence which gradually turns into a regular rhythm.

733 Vocals 'sings' some more, again words and phrases on the edge of understanding.

Aryia answers by making some noise within the chowder. "Blub blub blub!" they say, or bubble. She pulls off her bowl, face a bit of a mess before she wipes it off with her sleeve and nodding in an answer. The elf holds a thumb up to give her rating. "Luxury item. Exported a lot. Fun to have, not fun to overdo." <Handspeech>

She claps as the band switches over to a new song, her twirling her stained spoon between her fingers like the drummer.

"Still strange. Barley can be used for soup and other uses, wheat for bread as far as I am aware. I guess if people want it, it is worth using for the value it has to others." She replies with a brief nod, turning to the bartender, and ordering some food. The fajitas that were recommended to her before. "I did not know there were dangerous things like that in the sewers, though."

Bannon tilts his head as Aryia forms the bubbles in the soup, grinning quickly. He then nods his head, "I've never seen an Otyugh do that, but I'm sure given clean water, they could. They have the anatomy, I suppose." He looks towards Seyardu and chuckles, "The value of spirits is that it's like a shortcut to your favorite place. A place where you can feel like your floating, even when you're falling over. Where people look ten times better, are either a lot funnier or a lot funnier looking, you think you're a lot smarter, and can improvise dances never seen before." With a smirk, he pushes the beer mug towards the other end of the bar, "Some of us just prefer the longer, more expensive way."

On stage, the song goes dark. The music is still lively and energetic, but 733's recorded phrases have a background to them that's unsettling. Mechanical, mechanistic, with a lot of clanging and clicks. These seem to be part of the location of the voice sample, and not added.

Which makes the lyrics themselves unsettling. They are screams, yelps of pain, and a disturbing "Help Me."

Almost, perhaps certainly, last words.

There's a visible discomfort amongst the diners. It's not helped by strange shadows that have started flickering near the ceiling and at the edges of vision.

Aryia's enjoyment of the song slid from fervent to disliking it heavily. Eyes cast down into her bowl as she cringed with each beat. She ends up covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut, sleeves sliding down to show abrasion scars on her wrists. Her lips move to say something. But it's completely drowned out.

There was a bit of confusion, Seyardu did not know music that well, but she saw the effect that it was having on the elf nearby. So the silver sith-makar left her seat, and was waving at the band, attempting to get their attention, but not wishing to bring it to the elfs. Hopefully They would be able to get the message.

GAME: Bannon casts Detect Magic. Caster Level: 1 DC: 12

Gone is the glazed look in the eyes of the swashbuckler, his jaw is tight as the screams, cries, and the pleadings play through the sample. He casts his head quickly left and right, trying to spot the shadows the dance across the ceiling before he growls. Picking up the bowl of chowder, he tosses aside manners and begins to power chug and chew a few more bites from the bowl before he sets the bowl down and slides off the stool. He turns quickly, squinting his eyes and calling out loud enough to be heard over the cacophony, "Laughing One! Your Ruffian asks that turn your gaze upon this room and tell us the joke that removes the wool from our eyes and reveals the magic of this place, and I really don't think I'm asking all that much. Get off yer ass!" His eyes flash momentarily as his left hand settles on his hilt of his sword. He looks around the room quickly, studying this and that even as the disquieting sounds play around him.

The message is received.

There is disharmony on stage. 733 VU waves back at Seyardu, as the Sith'Machine drummer is flashing it's lights and going off beat, way off beat such that Panflute and Stringbox can't keep the song cohesive. It stops abruptly. The sudden silence also unsettling after the disturbing cries.

Light signalling commences, and it seems the drumming unit isn't able to adequately respond, resorting to hurried stage-whispers.

"Switch. To 'Time to Move On'. Biologicals don't want apocalypse warnings while they are eating." Or, anytime really. They're upsetting.

733 turns back to the audience of diners, "Accepting the specialist input. 'You guys aren't ready'. Commencing next set."

The shadow elf digs her fingers into her head and grips at her long ears like a punching dagger. As silence set in, a faint, flanged noise could be heard coming from Aryia as she breaths erratically. Finally, she glances up. Expression harrowed with two fresh streaks of tears staining her scarred cheeks.

Bannon casts a baleful glare towards the band, his face hardening for a moment before he turns back to the bar with a quick sweep. He comes up to the bar, and settles his arms against it, his head turning towards Aryia. He seems to consider the state of the Mul for a moment before he leans forward conspiritorially, "There once was a band of machines, who peppered their songs with loud screams. Their lyrics were tragic, as was their use of magic." He then ends grandly, with a broad grin, "Gifted with sense? By no means!" Tarienites...

When the music died down, the silver sith-makar gave a thumbs up, before she sat back down on the stool. She pat one of Aryia's arms, shifting it just slightly so so they could notice the music had ended.

"The song is finished, and I don't think they will be doing that again. Are you alright, Aryia? Do you need some water?" They asked with that perpetual neutrality to their tone. She reached into her bag for something, and the first thing she could find was a roll of bandages to offer to the mul.

"That was a good rhyme to create on the spot. Are you some manner of bard?"

The next song still isn't dinner music, but it is fast paced and energetic and one the band has played before. 'Ignition', which involves a decimal countdown and the word "Ignition" said is a deep, loud tone.

It's very danceable.

Aryia was not in the headspace right now for any reassurance. Instead she was filled with a mixture of fear and anger. The elf hops out of her seat and jabs a finger towards the singer of the group. She inhales deeply, and speaks.

Well. What comes out is a smattering of breathy noises, sputters, hisses, and pops of the lip. But no actual voice. She was so quiet that no one really other than those next to her could hear even a quarter of what she says. And a fraction of it even less as the next song starts up.

"-t - t- -ct- f-ck? - t- f-ck d-d - p- t-t? - g-t - - - -c- b-t - - t- f-ck-d g-ds d-d - t-k t-t -p-t- - f-ck-g Ch- s-v- p-t -s t- b-st t-ng t- p- - - - p-ck-d f- -f -gn-nt p-p-? - -t t- g-v- - - -t-s? - s- - - -t- -f- - -d b-k - f-ck-g c-st- -ss b-ts - -f C-s-th- w-sn't - t-t st-g- -ght -!"

She coughs near the end of it, a hand clasps on her throat to massage it before she sits down forcefully and turns back to the bar with a sour expression. She looks to Bannon, milky white eyes staring at his poem with a 'does it look like I'm in the mood' grimace.

She doesn't answer Seyardu, but she slams a fist on the bartop and jabs a finger towards one of the liquor bottles in the back.

"Not the kind of thing for a pub. Not that I would have thought so, but I will keep it in mind." The sith-makar notes, shaking her head. "You should have some tea or something before the alcohol though. Easier on your throat that way."

The band, at least 733, does notice that Aryia is angry, and ranting, and not making much noise. The golem spreads its arms wide, in an instant all stop playing. Except the Sith'Machine, who takes three beats to catch up to what is going on.

A parabolic mic is extended and aimed at the Shadow-Elf, picking up and recording her rant. "Sample documented." 733 vodes.

With a click the song resumes exactly where it paused.

Bannon watches Aryia as she closes in on the stage and makes noises at it. As she seems to finish telling them what for, Bannon lifts a fist and shakes it towards the band, "Yeah! What she said!" He then turns sliding back onto the barstool with a chuckle. Looking towards Seyardu, he shakes his head, "I've been a lot of different things, but never a bard. These days, I'm a Tarrienite Ruffian." An inquisitor. He looks towards Aryia again, his face somber as he switches over to Handspeech much easier than he might have let on earlier, 'What just happened?'

Aryia blinks. Stares at 733. Then scowls heavily before flipping a rude gesture towards them. She turns her back to the stage, fuming.

"No tea. I want liqour." Her drink is poured out in front of her, but she reaches past the cup and grabs the bottle. Before the barkeep could make a fuss, she slaps a few gold coins onto the table to cover it. If she had an idea of whatever a Tarrienite Ruffian was, Aryia made no indication. <Handspeech>

She downs a shot, then glances to the moving hands beside her. "I don't know what sick fuck thought that sound scribing someone getting executed in a Charn slave pen was a good idea but I will personally rip their arm off and beat them to death with it," she vulgarly gestures, her usual elation to finding someone new to sign with gone for the time. <Handspeech>

"Then please, do not cause more trouble in the pub than currently." The sith-makar replies with a glance back to Bannon. Perhaps taking the definition literally. "You just finished telling me not to drink in excess Aryia, so please do not do so. I do not know the context for getting that sound, but yes, it seems in poor taste to use it. War golems can struggle with context sometimes, much as I do."

The band keeps playing, and this time manages adequate dinner music. Slow instrumentals, heavy on the strings, letting Stringbox take the floor. Panflute adds in chipper, piccolo and flute notes, reminiscent of the fae flitting about.

Bannon waves a hand, attempting to stave off any concern of the sith-makar, "Not at all. Rest assured I only ever cause as much trouble needs causing." He then looks back towards the Mul and squints. As she finishes gesturing, he nods his head, "I don't think anyone can say whoever thought of that idea was over-burdened with an inordinate amount of sense." He then tilts his head, "How did you know that was what that sound was?"

"I'm pissed off and I want to drink now. Just because I said something doesn't mean it's some holy text or whatever." <Handspeech>

She gets some water as well, her maintaining some foresight before pouring herself another drink. One of her long ears twitch at the question.

Aryia takes another shot, and the cup thunks back down onto the bartop. "Take a good look at me and ask that question again," she signs to him, finishing with gesturing to herself, sleeves moving down again to show abrasion scars once more on her wrists mingling with the others littered on her body. <Handspech>

"Well, you were just saying that. But it doesn't seem like you're drinking for fun, so I do not know."

The sith-makar shrugs, taking the plates that were in front of her. "I do not know what to make of that. And I do not know what to say either, other than that I hope you can still relax after this."

Casting a look down to Aryia's scarred arms, Bannon maintains a neutral face as he reaches out to pick up his freshly refilled beer to take a long sip. He sets the mug down and then replies with his own gesturing, "Scars happen for all kinds of reasons, and not all of them logical. It doesn't make sense to assume." He pauses for a moment and then continues, "For example, I have a scar on my buttocks in the perfect shape of a heart. I got it from an owlbear when it nearly killed me. Still not quite sure how that happened, as I was barely conscious." <handspeech>

The band continues with the dinner music.

Casting a look down to Aryia's scarred arms, Bannon maintains a neutral face as he reaches out to pick up his freshly refilled beer to take a long sip. He sets the mug down and then replies with his own gesturing, "Scars happen for all kinds of reasons, and not all of them logical. It doesn't make sense to assume." He pauses for a moment and then continues, "For example, I have a scar on my buttocks in the perfect shape of a heart. I got it from an owlbear when it nearly killed me. Still not quite sure how that happened, as I was barely conscious."

Aryia's frustration abates slightly, nostrils flaring as she downs some water. There is a raise of the brow at the story, but she doesn't make any mention of it. "Fine. I was in those pens for a very long time. Happy?" she answers. She glances to her scaled friend and shakes her head. "Maybe tomorrow. That really, really pissed me off." <Handspeech>

"Tomorrow is good at the very least." The sith-makar replied with a small puff of air. She was getting bothered by the talk herself, even if they did not show it. "I would not mind a change of subject myself, at the very least. So, why was the owlbear trying to attack you? I have heard of these creatures, they are not natural, are they? Some people seem to find them cute looking, though I have heard."

Bannon nods his head somberly at Aryia's explanation, "Fair enough. I'll take your word for it then." He then considers it for a moment, "Perhaps you and that wargolem had a shared experience, or maybe that wargolem was working for the Charn. Either way, sounds like there might be questions that need answering." He looks towards the Sith-makar and nods his head, "And a change of subject may be just as well." He then sighs, "The owlbears... Where to begin?" He seems to consider it for the span of a sip of his drink before he adds, "My team and I were undertaking a very important mission for the Society of Progressive Arcanists. We were out in the forest, and were blindsided by these two owlbears."

Aryia's eye twitches at the mention of them working for Charn. Between her calloused hands and her physical threats earlier, if that fact was true, there would be metal bolts flying and a guard would have to drag her out.

She instead sips on her drink, tuning out the band. The elf sighs heavily, then nods. She'd seen one of those in action before. Not a pretty sight. Not during, nor after.

"And then?" she asks, rolling a hand to know what happens next. <Handspeech>

"Society for progressive arcanist? I have heard of that place. Have not been myself, however." The sith-makar nods as she turned to a tortilla and everything she had in front of her. She wasn't sure what the color of the peppers were, so she just put them both on at the same time. "But yes, please go on, if you wish. It seems there was a lot that happened between being surprised by them, and afterwards.

Bannon turns his head to the side to follow the hands as he's invited to continue. He takes a deep breath, considering, "Well, we were out picking very important material components for the Society, and we were overrun by a herd of goat. They threatened to eat up our supply, so the Druid that travelled with us was able to entangle them. The damage had already been done, however. Just then, two owlbears that had been hunting the herd ambushed us. I attacked one, and it grabbed my, but I was able to put my rapier through its heard. The Luckbringer we had with us was able to heal me, thankfully, as the second one got a hold of me and mauled me. The rest of my team had been able to take it down before it finished the job. And next thing I know? Heart shaped scar on the perfect ass of a perfect ass." He smiles proudly, "It was as if the Coyote was setting me up."

Aryia nods along as the human tells their story. But as she reaches for her water, she pauses. "G-ts," she repeats with a click and a hiss. Her hand diverts towards the liquor instead.

Shot.

"F-ck-g -t- g-ts."

She sighs. "Good thing you got out. I learned it's important to have people around you that you trust to help you with things like that. But what coyote? There was a ccoyote involved?" <Handspeech>

"Was the druid not able to speak with them? Regardless, I agree." Seyardu asks, but she moves on, seeing the elf reach for the bottle. "I have heard of normal bears, and people find them cute as well. They sound dangerous, however. A lot of animals here that I am not used to in the slightest. Things you would never find in a jungle. Were you able to find what you needed in the end? That sounds like it caused a lot of trouble for your task."

Peering towards Aryia over the course of a sip of his beer, Bannon places the glass back down and nods his head emphatically, "I was very lucky to have the people I had with me that day. I set out to learn to cook goat a few days later. I got to be a fairly good hand at it, too." He then shakes his head, "Not a coyote. Coyote. One of the many names of Tarien, whom I serve." He turns his head towards Seyardu and shrugs, "It might be they were hungry and not up to talking. Don't recall, to be perfectly honest." He then grins, "We didn't get as many as we could. The goats trampled and ate most of the plants we were after, but the Society had to make do, considering the trouble."

Tarien's name slaps against her face and slides off, her expression revealed to be stoic. She had no clue who the hell that was. Though she seems pleased that the goats were elimiated. "I have no idea who that is." <Handspeech>

"Tarien is ... a god. Not an unpleasant one, but strange." The sith-makar explains, leaving it at that. "At least in the way softskins refer to them. Food should not go to waste though, and that is good. Especially fresh meat."

"He's a silverscale." Cryosanthia says, appearing suddenly at the table. The music had died down, the band broken up for the night, "The Laughing Knight."

She waves a hand, "The joke is he's both a Knight and a Dragon, and well you know how the Knight and Dragon stories usually go."

Bannon gestures over his shoulder, "Go to the Temple sometime. You can learn all about him." He then looks towards the sith-makar and nods his head, "I think, amongst certain cultures, that's not an unfair description." He then hmms, "Speaking of, I had best be getting back." He reaches into his coin pouch, plopping a few down on the table to cover his drink and food. He slides off the barstool, looking towards Seyardu, "Disassemble the band if they get out of line again, will you?" He then looks towards Aryia, lifting his hands and making the gestures that form the Handspeech for, 'Keep your chin up.'

He looks towards Cryosanthia, and shoots her an almost evil grin, "Usually ends up with someone eating good."

Aryia blinks and looks down to about her hip height. It looks like several things click in her head at once, and her hand drags across her face. "Of course. Yes." She leaves it at that. Though the sudden appearance of Cryosanthia makes the shadow elf flinch in suprise. <Handspeech>

The elf at the bar nods like she knows. But it was clear that she did not have the slightest fucking clue what Cryo was talking about. Though, that did get a small smirk out of her, the Aryia giving a small thumbs up to Bannon as he started to go.

The whitescale nods at Bannon, then smoothly slides up near Aryia and crouches down. She's about to touch her shoulder, then withdraws her hand. Her head faces her, eyes intently focused.

"Hey," Cryo says softly, "I'm sorry. I told Seven-Three-Three it wasn't a good song, but It gets stuck on Its creative vision. I"m sorry it was so bad."

"Songs are meant to elicit a feeling. It is important to remember that, and what feelings it may cause." The silverscale added with a slight sigh. It was vague, but there was some discomfort from the other sith-makar as well. "I do not know of stories with knights and dragons, but I do not believe you mean something of mutual understanding and sharing their food. Peace on your nest, Cryosanthia."

Bannon frowns, tilting his head to peer towards Cryosanthia, "It needs a lesson in taste. Quick." He reaches out, picking up his drink and finishing the last of it. He sets it down, bids a fond farewell to the bartender, and heads towards the door.

Aryia gave a wave to Bannon as they go. Unfortunately for him, she had zero interest in the temples. Aside from the ones her friends went to.

Just as the topics were sliding off of the shitshow earlier, it came right back. Aryia's expression turns sour again, gaze unfocusing and resting somewhere in front of her empty glass. "Next time you talk to them, tell 733 that if they play fucking slave pen executions again I will personally rip their face plate off and beat them with it," she threatens, the grip on her cup tightening. <Handspeech>

The whitescale nod to Bannon, "It is committed to Its vision, but this one will make the effort."

"Peace on your Nest," Cryo tells Seyardu, inhaling and giving her a long look. "The stories vary, they're all... unusual."

The shadow elf's handsigns are watched, with no comprehension. Lily isn't around, she doesn't have a spell. She can detect the anger and upset from the vigor of them. "This one doesn't understand. I'm sorry... I..."

"Peace on your nests," she says suddenly, turning and leaving.

"C-s-th-."

A firm grip suddenly finds itself locked on the whitescale's arm. She slowly pulls them back, and jabs a finger towards the stool. The elf snaps a finger at Seyardu to get her attention. "Translate." And she repeats her threat again. <Handspeech>

The silver sith-makar lets out a puff of air. "Aryia, they did may not have understood your stance, even if it was in poor taste. But you do not know their circumstances, either. I understand your anger and frustration, but at least speak with them at some point with a clear head, first." They ask, before turning to Cryosanthia and nodding. "Aryia is asking you to tell them that if they play that song, with the slave pen execution sounds, or any with them again, they will react violently to it. Rip off their face plate and beat them with it." She translates slowly. Not particularly enjoying relaying it, but doing so all the same.

Cryo looks between Seyardu and Aryia, back and forth, at the Mul'niessa's expression that matches her determined grip, and the silverscale's translation. "Yes. I'm sorry. I'll tell them. This one must go."

"I don't want to be here." She's unwilling to yank her hand free, though the temptation is there, and the tension from pulling away.

Her scent is strong, not so much fear as discomfort.

Once the message was relayed, Aryia let the taller woman go. She gave a half hearted wave, emotionally drained from the ordeal. "P-s - - -st," she lamely says in parting.

She looks down at her cups, face a touch flushed from the drinks and thinks for a moment. Without hissed word and a motioned sign, she slides off the barstool and heads off towards the room. Removing herself from the situation.

Released, the whitescale vanishes, moving between the tables like a professional waitress and out the door.

"Peace on your nests." Seyardu called out to the two, but they were already on their way. The silverscale wasn't sure what to make of what had just happened. She waved the bartender over, apologizing for the small commotion that had been made, and requesting a cork for the bottle that had been taken so suddenly. Aryia had paid for the entire thing, after all, and she would bring it to the drow another night. But now she was left at the bar, feeling uncomfortable.

Right, the food. At least the fajitas were good, even if they were a bit cold.

Song Refs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwBIqmpUavc&list=PLWGkQMsZKJBZZYX-KaXAMFjB0kTRjpKrO&index=2
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17KmNrG9pE4

'Aryia Hangman Solution
<OOC> Aryia says, "what in the actual fuck? why the fuck did you play that? I get you are a machine but why in the fucked gods did you think that repeating a fucking charn slave pit was the best sound to play in a room packed full of ignorant people? You want to give me more nightmares? I swear on my eternal life I would break your fucking crusty ass bolts in if Cryosanthia wasn't on that stage right now!"