Fire birds and sharp sticks

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A03: Steel von IronBrew's *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

A bundle of cloth - or several layers of cloaks - has somehow slipped into the tavern from the outside. It is not that strange occurance, if one knows the exact collection of colors and layers, but certainly the first in this tavern.

A black beak juts out through and for a moment, turns around, as if unsure what to do. Then the corvid egalrin holds up his hand at the bar and waves it carefully. "Fire Bird," He calls out to the keep. Then Crik is once again, somehow upright standing bundle of cloth.

Out from the cold, snow swept streets of the city wanders in a strange figure, a comically small makari save for two leathery wings that jut out and fold behind them. one of which gets stuck on the door frame entering, where they spend a moment tugging a spike free from the wood. Grumbling to theirself, the makari wanders over to the bar and hops into a seat. nearby. "Think you're bundled up enough for the weather?" They wonder out loud.

Fur appears over the edge of the bar, from the inside/underside. Followed by eyes. Nose. Lots of teeth bared in a big smile. Big for small face, at least. "HiHi!" Rhar waves a paw energetically. "You are firebird??" She peers at the bundle of cloaks. Then sniffs deep. "Not smell fire..."

Then there's a snort from below and the wolfling (half wolf, half ling) looks down. "Oh! You DRINK firebird! On the way!" She looks to the actual person working the bar, who is already working on the drink. She didn't need any clarification.

Rhar 'floats' her way along the bar to grab up the mug when the mixing is done, or maybe just before, and then heads out around the bar to walk it over. Well, rather the very large wolf she's standing on is doing the walking. She's just standing. And delivering. "Here!"

This was not off to a good start. First, he gets attention by the virtue of the cloaks that were not supposed to give him attention. Second - second, wolves. "Y-yes, cold," A particularly deep, bass-like voice responds. Finger rubs at the beak. "Nice... wings?" He offers then - before the chaos at the bar happens. "Pause at doors. They are always trapped."

Crik for a moment considers taking a defensive position. Still as a statue. Slowly moving to the side as he gets sniffed at. What he comes up with, is climbing atop a chair onto a crouch and accepting the drink quietly. "Thanks." He replies, resisting the urge to stand and fluff up his own, hid away wings. "... is the wolf necessary?" He asks then, carefully - leaning slightly away already from the answer.

Rhar shakes her head several times. "No, he's not necessary!" She laughs and sits herself down on the lupine and pats his head. "He's Gurr! Bestestest there is!"

To his credit, Gurr doesn't seem embarassed by the title, or the patting, or the passenger. At least not overly so. He dips his large muzzle and pads back a half stride to not crowd and maybe reduce ruffled feathers, so to speak.

Crik was relaxing a touch, then a second, when the wolf slowly steps away. The mess of cloaks spread out and Crik dips his beak into the drink several times.

"Usually wolves do not hound the bar." He opens up his black beak. Nope. Another dip into the drink. "This is your establishment?" He asks then with a gesture of his hand, very carefully, as if not wanting to raise a ruckus.

Now Rhar is nodding again, and standing back up. On Gurr of course. "Yes! Rhar mean no. Gurr not hound, is wolf. Bestest wolf! Is Rhar bar. Also Gurr shop! Rhar give drinks, Gurr make strong sticks for hitting!" Intoxication and armament are best combined, right?

Gurr settles himself and lies down, and without distrubing Rhar's footing. They look to have a fair bit of practice. Her being able to grip fur with her toes helps, too. Gurr could be tired, or resting. It makes him look less threatening, at least. Especially when he now looks up with big puppy wolf eyes.

Crik starts to slowly straighten at that. Strong sticks for hitting? Made by a _wolf_? His black beak opens and he quickly dips good solid mouthfuls of the drink into his guts. "Do these... sticks fit in..." He gestures at where his arm shoudl be under the many cloaks he was wearing. He pauses, then wriggles his arm free, then regestures at his forearms. "... sleeves?"

Meanwhile, his black eyes look down to gauge if he dares to lower his foot down. Which he does. Carefully and very quietly.

Ears perk. Maybe four of them, but Gurr's are much more conspicuous than Rhar's. "All kinds sticks!" Rhar splays her arms wide, then moves her hands close together. "Long sticks, short sticks, sharp sticks, heavy sticks... big round sticks to protect! Hard furs to protect, too!" More big gestickulating with her arms as she describes. "What kind of-hey!"

There is suddenly more flailing as Gurr promptly moves back and wriggles, disengaging himself from Rhar, which finally unbalances her and drops her to her rump on the floor. The lupine then stands and pads his way back behind the bar.

Crik pauses to consider, a moment that lasts longer than it takes for Rhar to stop gesturing and Gurr to start lope off, leaving the former onto the floor. After that, he finally turns to look - and with a brief confusion, lowers his gaze. "Short, light sticks!" He exclaims. "Something to knock out a person with! Trip them! Surprise them between the eyes and pull down shinies from above!"

There's another pause, and Crik tilts his head. "... where did the wolf go?"

"Warn first!" Rhar calls at the bar with a tone that somewhere between annoyed and amused. Maybe both? Then she laughs at the question as she stands up. "Rhar think Gurr get gear. He like show off."

A snort follows, but it's not from Rhar; too loud and it comes from behind the bar. From whence the lupine returns, now bearing a small painted sign around his neck via a loop of rope that states 'Gurr's Gear.' He also has a short length of metal in his jaws, which is relinquished atop the table after he pads to it. It looks to be a dagger-in-progress, blade roughly formed and flattened from round bar. It bears toothmarks and is shiny. Possibly from wolf drool.

Gurr then sits and looks to Crik, head tilting.

Crik was not surprised that Gurr reappeared with a literal sign around his neck - nor questions how that sign was put on the first place. Or the fact that this was a blade in progress.

Instead, nearly reverently, the corvid picks up the piece of metal, black beak opening as he gives it a long look over. There's a bit of a sway and suddenly there's a knife, short and with an oddly thick blade, held in one hand for comparison. "... this will make for a great stick." He replies, then hands the bar back. Attempts to. Holds it to the wolf by the very tips of his fingers.

"Does he do requests? Nobody would suspect a stick covered with bite marks to be a weapon." He holds open his beak.

Rhar nods, but her "Yep" is partially drowned out by Gurr's single, deep chuff. Just the one, and his tail is swaying eagerly after. He recognizes and accepts the return offering by Crik, though he is carefully slow in his movements and gingerly takes the work-in-progress back. After which he lies down again and begins gnawing upon it.

"You want one like that stick?" It's now Rhar's turn to take over, since she's the better talker of the two. Most of the time. "Any magically bits and bites on it? Gurr do all the sticks!"

Crik considers, then bops his head up and down. He pulls open his cloak proper and takes out a tiny notebook, making few thick scratches on its tiny pages with a tied up pencil. Then the notebook is snapped shut and it just... disappears.

"I will return," He tells Rhar and/or Gurr. "I have needs for a stick." The corvid states - and for a second, it seems like he might caw ominously. Yet, there's a hurried glance and then he hops off his stool. "Soon!" He calls out, before disappearing into the crowd.