Character Hilbert Inn

Dining area

A newcomer cautiously entered the foyer, looking around in extreme puzzlement.

He was of "European" heritage and appeared to be somewhere in his thirties - it was difficult to tell as his tanned face had the weathered look of someone who had spent more years outdoors than in - with a lean and wiry build that suggested a life of regular hard exertion. He was clean shaven and his dark hair - evident when he turned to look about himself - was long and tied back in a ponytail.

He was dressed in black tricorn hat, dark slate-coloured frock coat, white shirt cuffs barely visible, grey waistcoat, matching breeches that came to just below the knees, long white stockings covering his lower legs and black leather shoes with silver buckles; the white cloth around his neck was almost too plain to warrant the name "cravat" and was fastened in a simple waterfall knot, the end tucked into the top of his waistcoat.

He was obviously equipped for travel: on his back was a leather knapsack with a rolled-up canvas tarpaulin tied to the top and his haversack and powder horn both hung at his right side. He was carrying a flintlock musket in his left hand and at his left side, mostly hidden by his frock coat, was his sword and pistol. About his neck hung a chain from which dangled a number of different-sized brass tubes.

The reception desk was currently unoccupied but the dining area held a number of people - in all manner of unusual attire - most of whom were obviously busy in conversation. His eyes settled on one person - with long black coat and orange braids - seated by themselves and occupied only in eating. If he were to interrupt anyone, this was probably his best choice.

He quietly approached the orange-haired woman's table and positioned himself so that he could attract her attention. The smell of the beef soup she was eating invaded his nostrils and reminded him that everything he had eaten that day was on the side of the road not far from the inn. His stomach gave a growl.

"I apologise for intruding upon your meal," he said, "but are you able to tell me where on Earth I am, please?"

Dining area - Crestfeather, James

Crestfeather had many physical traits; being a Skylands troll, she had jade green skin with darker flecks dusted across her body, long, pointy ears pierced with blue star earrings, a broad nose that she always thought looked like the number 7 turned upside down, long limbs on a too-short torso, and awkwardly large hands and feet.

Did this stranger not notice any of it? Did he care? She wasn't sure if she should be wary or trusting. She slowly lowered her spoon. "Who are you?"

Edited by NoonboryKedabory on Jul 23rd 2023 at 1:14:16 PM

Dining Area

Receiving a question instead of an answer caught James off guard. Had he broken some local taboo by not introducing himself first?

The situation was every bit as strange as those described in Gulliver's Travels, from his sudden, inexplicable and acutely unpleasant arrival in this place to the unusual appearances of some of the people - not the least being the woman from whom he hoped to gain useful information.

The strange colours of her hair and skin could be dyes, paint and powder - though to what end, he had no idea - but then he noticed that not only did her hands seem disproportionately large, her ears were long and pointed.

The fanciful peoples encountered by Gulliver seemed mundane by comparison.

"I do apologise if I have inadvertently given offence. My name is James Turner, arrived this day from the Virginia Colony..." he looked briefly vexed and then continued, "that is to say, I arrived in London, but 'tis clear that I am no longer in London." He gestured towards the main doors with his free hand. "London is gone - the Thames, the streets, the buildings and the people - and in its place is a wilderness and a road and, against all expectation, this inn. I'm not entirely sure I'm still in England, though it eludes me how I could possibly be anywhere else."

He decided against going into detail about his arrival - what little he could remember of it, he would just as soon forget.

"Are you able to tell me where I am, please?"

Dining room - Crestfeather, James

"Your guess is as good as mine." Crestfeather finished off her meal and stood up. "All I know is that I ended up here while searching for my family."

Her family. Crestfeather had been separated from them fifteen years ago in the Great Troll War. She had spent much of her youth wondering about them; her caregiver, a cruel mage who hated trolls, was useless in giving her information. From the day she escaped, she vowed she would search the entire world for clues; photos, trinkets, records, anything. She just wanted closure.

She still remembered their faces, even just faintly; her mother's golden eyes, her father's proud smile, that little wrinkle in her grandmother's nose every time she laughed, and that tired, yet warm twinkle in her uncle's gaze. Whatever happened to them, wherever they were, she had to find them.

Then she snapped back into reality. She was standing in the dining hall of an eerie inn, with a man who seemed as if he had come to her from three hundred years in the past. "Look, I wandered a little too deep into the Glow Leaf Grove, and suddenly I was here. I can't tell you anything more."

Dining Area

The woman's first two sentences struck like blows and James sunk onto one of the chairs at the table, his mind reeling from the implications.

After a pause, the woman clarified the circumstances around her arrival. James remembered the acute discomfort immediately prior to his sudden departure from London and the aftermath of his arrival in this place and sincerely hoped her experience had not been as bad.

"Twas the same for me. I was on my way from the docks to find a suitable place to stay for the night and then suddenly I was here - or rather, just off the road about a quarter of a mile hence."

He looked around at the others in the room, noting the differences in their clothing. The lack of a consistent fashion or style made it likely that they, too, had just as suddenly found themselves here and he wondered where they might have come from.

Now she was standing, the woman's strange proportions were even more noticeable and, for the first time, James began to seriously question whether her skin colour was the result of artifice or her own natural colour. James was certain that, in his travels, he had seen every possible skin colour and physiology, and this woman didn't match any.

"If I may ask, what is your name and whence did you come?"

Dining hall - Crestfeather, James

"Crestfeather," she introduced herself. "It means 'weary, but stubborn'." She glanced around the room. "Although I don't suppose you need to be stubborn to end up somewhere like this."

She pursed her lips together as she tried to recollect. "I was born in a place called Siggefield, but it was blown to pieces during the war. After that, I was shut up in a mage's hovel for years. Once I grew up, I left, and I've just been wandering since."

She shook her head. "Sorry. You don't need the whole autobiography." She circled around this strange man. "You know, I don't meet many people who aren't hostile to trolls."

Dining Area

Crestfeather - an interesting enough name. Even more interesting was that she only gave one name and no indication whether it was her family name or personal name.

James had no idea where Siggefield might be or which war she was referring to - there were so many to choose from and his own involvement in King George's War had only come to an end some four years earlier.

The mention of a "mage's hovel" puzzled him. To his knowledge a 'mage' was a magician - from the Latin, Magus - a supposed practitioner of magick... Did she mean someone skilled at legerdemain? Or could she mean that, as preposterous and contrary to all reason it sounded, this hovel-dwelling "mage" was capable of performing magickal acts beyond the scope of nature?

Whichever it was, he scarcely had time to contemplate it when she commented that she didn't meet many people who weren't hostile to "trolls". He was familiar with "trolling" - sauntering about or loitering - but he inexplicably understood that she was referring to some species of non-human entity with which he was not familiar. He gathered that Crestfeather was speaking from personal experience and that, therefore, her unusual colouration and proportions were due to being one of these "trolls" to which she referred.

Whatever trolls were, if not human, they looked human enough at first glance in dim light and they obviously were intelligent: possessing language and the ability to make sophisticated clothing. James was certain that if there were another intelligent species on Earth, he would have at least read about them by now, which caused him to suspect that Siggefield and the war that destroyed it had not been on Earth.

In answer to her comment, he gave a shrugging gesture with his free hand. "Why should I feel hostility towards, ahhh, trolls? Until this day I had never heard of trolls, nor had I met any until now - and I suspect that none of my countrymen have, either. We are not at war with trolls; we aren't even at war with the bloody French at this moment."

Edited by Wolf1066 on Jul 27th 2023 at 6:24:08 AM

Dining hall - Crestfeather, James

"Consider yourself lucky," said Crestfeather. "Around Skylands, war is the leading killer of trolls."

She looked wistful. "Honestly, I'm glad it wasn't me. I was only four when the Great Troll War started; my father hadn't even shown me how to build a landmine yet."

She played with one of her braids, looking embarrassed. "Truthfully, I still don't know how."

Was all this worth saying? She was essentially admitting that she belonged to a species bred entirely to kill each other. She quickly changed the subject. "But y'know, maybe I just wasn't built for war. Maybe I wouldn't have made a better thespian. When I was young, my uncle barely had time to visit, but when he did, he would read me Shakespeare."

Dining Area

Skylands. Another unfamiliar place-name. Similarly, he had never heard anyone speak of the "Great Troll War" until now, despite having heard of many wars.

He was quite familiar with mines, fougades and grenades and their use in war and the idea of women being engaged in warfare did not surprise him - after all, there had been the famous "Mother Ross" and, more recently, Hannah Snell, both of whom had served and, furthermore, qualified for the Chelsea Pension due to the injuries they received in the line of duty. For all he knew, some of the smooth-faced young men in his regiment may also have been women seeking missing husbands or wanting to live their lives on their own terms or driven by necessity.

He was, however, surprised when she mentioned Shakespeare.

"How is it you are aware of Shakespeare? I have never heard of your Skylands or Siggefield or trolls until this day, and assumed you to be no more of my world than we are of this strange place... yet you mention something very much of my world."

Dining hall - Crestfeather, James

"Skylands isn't that disconnected from Earth." Crestfeather huffed. "We have radio, too. That's way more recent than Shakespeare."

She collected herself, then focused back on the memory. "My uncle always read from this collection of abridged stories...I think he brought it just for me."

She passed her dishes off to a passing busboy. "I don't remember any of my family's real names. But I do remember that we always called my uncle "Sticks". Not sure why."

She began to notice how thin this Turner fellow was. "When was the last time you ate something?"

Dining Area

To James' surprise, it seemed that there was some sort of communication between Earth and Skylands, though the word she used was not one with which he was familiar. This, in itself, raised several more questions, as he was certain he would have read or heard if there were any other known worlds - The Gentleman's Magazine, which James read whenever he could get a copy, would certainly have mentioned it.

The question about when he last ate reminded him of both his growling stomach and the unpleasant details of his arrival. What to say? How much to tell her?

There were, in his experience, two broad types of women: those of a delicate disposition in front of whom you could not mention, let alone discuss, certain things, nor use certain words; and those - like the women who accompanied the regiments, or the pioneer women of the colonies and the native women of the Americas... or, indeed, those who had assumed the guise of men and joined the regiments as soldiers - who worked hard, fought hard and faced hardship every day, so had developed a more honest outlook on life. Crestfeather, with her casual talk of wars and making mines, seemed to fall into the latter category.

"I had a hearty breakfast aboard ship this morning before arriving in London. However, the process of coming here made me unpleasantly giddy and I cast up my accounts. ^Translation vomited My guts think my throat's been cut, but I'm not certain I dare eat anything lest I flay the fox ^Translation vomit yet again.

Edited by Wolf1066 on Aug 2nd 2023 at 1:18:53 AM

Dining Hall - Crestfeather, James

Crestfeather was the sort of person who came in a shell; she would be aloof when you first meet her, but once that shell is broken, one would discover her more kind, gentle side. Of course, she didn't understand exactly what this man was trying to tell her, but still, if someone hasn't eaten since breakfast at this late hour, that must mean they're hungry, right?

No one likes to go hungry. That was one of few complete phrases she remembered her father saying to her as a child; he said it to her while cooking a stew one night. She has thought the pot he was using was far too big for just her, her parents, and her grandmother, but now whenever she thought of it, she realized the point he was trying to make; that the large stew pot would feed them for several days, gently simmering over the fire.

"Well, don't just stand there, sit down and order something." Spying a waiter walking around, Crestfeather attracted his attention to come over to the table.

Dining Area

James assumed Crestfeather was being figurative when she said "don't just stand there", given he was seated - more accurately, perched uncomfortably sideways - on the chair onto which he had earlier sunk in shock. He was still gripping his trade gun as though his life depended on it.

Crestfeather did have a point, there was no sense in remaining hungry.

James rested the trade gun against the table. An observant person would note that it was half-cocked and that tufts of a rather grimy feather could be seen clamped between the frizzen and flashpan. He then stood and took off his haversack, powder horn and pack - stowing them on the floor near the table - in the course of which it may have been possible to catch a glimpse of the wood-and-brass grip of a second pistol tucked beneath the right side of his frock coat.

By James' reckoning, it was likely still morning - no time at all had seemed to elapse between his giddy stumble on a London street and him emptying the contents of his stomach amid the trees down the road, and he had barely been on shore long enough to get used to walking on a surface that did not shift beneath his feet - but it was probably late enough for an early dinner. He was certainly hungry enough.

One of the first things James had done after his arrival was to check his possession and money, in case his situation was the result of foul play. He was therefore assured that he was still in possession of coins totalling a few pence short of a crown.

The waiter approached in response to Crestfeather's summons and James considered what he should order. He had not seen the inn's bill of fare, but he reasoned it would not differ greatly from most inns he had frequented in the past. He dug his purse out of the leather pouch on his belt and counted out six copper halfpennies. "A thruppenny ordinary, if you please."

The waiter nodded and accepted the coins without comment.

James turned to Crestfeather, "although you have already eaten, would you care to join me for an ale? Or a coffee, perhaps?" His hand remained in his purse, ready to pay should she accept.

Dining hall - Crestfeather, James

"I don't drink coffee," said Crestfeather. "And I don't know the laws around here, but in Skylands, you have to be twenty to drink, and I'm only nineteen."

Still, she remained at the table, and took back the seat she had been sitting on when she had her soup. She didn't exactly know what a thruppenny was; some sort of old-timey meal, perhaps? She had a few gold bits stashed in one of the pockets on the inside of her coat, should she change her mind.

She took out one of her braids and began to redo it, tighter this time. "So, what's the deal with the French? You mentioned them earlier."

Dining Area

James stowed his purse back in his pouch and took a seat opposite Crestfeather. Her question was phrased strangely but he was able to comprehend. He gave a curt humourless laugh. "Britain and France have been warring on and off for centuries, neither side appears to need any excuse. The most recent war started because King Louis the Fifteenth of France saw the death of Emperor Charles the Sixth of Austria as an excuse to challenge the Habsburg Empire while our King George the Second supported the accession of the Emperor's daughter, Maria Theresa, to the Austrian throne. Charles the Sixth died back in 1740 but our king didn't formally declare war on France until 1744. Up to this point all the fighting was in Europe but in May that year the French and their native allies commenced attacking our colonies in North America."

He paused as the waiter returned to the table with his "threepenny ordinary", a simple, yet substantial and nourishing, meal consisting of meat, broth, a small loaf of bread and ale. It was exactly what he expected three pence would buy him at an inn.

The tip of the knife was rounded, so it seemed he had no recourse but to use the fork to spear his food. He tore off a piece of the bread to soak up some broth and continued talking between bites.

"I was a Tow Row ^Translation grenadier in Thomas Farrington's Regiment of Foot ^Translation infantry at the time and so I soon found myself on a troop ship bound for the colonies to defend them against the French aggressors. The fighting didn't stop until Britain, France and the Dutch Republic agreed to a treaty in 1748 - but that did nothing to diminish the tensions between the British and French in the Americas nor, I suspect, in Europe. We shall probably still be fighting the French hundreds of years from now, the enmity runs so deep." He gave a shrug, "It seems to just be the way of things, but it involves me no longer. I took my leave of the regiment not long after the end of the war and travelled to Virginia to see to my father's interests in that colony."

At the mention of his father, James was reminded of why he was returning home. A sad frown settled on his features and he ate in silence for a while.

"In truth, I spent more time in the woods than in attending to my father's affairs and would probably be there still, were it not for my father's poor health."

He looked up at Crestfeather. "You said you were searching for your family, when you suddenly found yourself here. Were you separated from them by that war of which you spoke?"

Dining hall - Crestfeather, James, ???

"Yeah..." Crestfeather's answer was blunt. "I was only four when the Great Troll War started. My family shut me in a bunker to keep me safe, then went off to fight. Haven't seen them since."

She tied her new braid. "Honestly, they're probably all dead. But until I get a definite answer, I'll keep looking, even until I'm ninety." She looked firm. "My family means a lot to me. I won't give up on them."

Her train of thought was interrupted when a third newcomer stepped into the dining hall. She turned up to see a fair-skinned girl, no more than fifteen, looking around like a lost puppy. Crestfeather, untrustworthy of this stranger, pulled the hood of her overcoat over her head to conceal her green skin and pointy ears.

Edited by NoonboryKedabory on Aug 1st 2023 at 12:36:49 PM

Dining Area

James admired Crestfeather's determination to keep hunting for her family, even if they were already dead. He was no more sure of his father's fate than she was of hers.

It had been almost four months since Thomas wrote the letter informing him of their father's declining health, during which time anything could have happened. When embarking on the return voyage, he had had no idea if his father was still alive or, if he was, whether he still would be by the time he got home.

Now, he had to work out how to get home - or at least back to England - from wherever this place was.

Without warning, Crestfeather looked up and then covered her head with her hood in a manner that suggested she was hurriedly concealing her features for some reason.

James looked where she had just looked and was surprised to see nothing more than a young woman who, from her expression, had probably unexpectedly found herself in this strange place, just as he and Crestfeather had.

He turned his attention back to the remains of his meal and to Crestfeather. "In whose care did your family leave you when they left? A trusted friend?"

Dining hall - Crestfeather, James, ???

"No one," said Crestfeather. "Everyone was busy fighting." She glanced to the side. "And in case you haven't noticed, we have company."

The girl at the door looked around, and despite the numerous other attendants in the room, she had to choose their table. For Eon's sake, thought Crestfeather, why? Aren't there any free tables in here for you to sit at?

Of course, the girl paid no mind to how strange her situation was. She apparently didn't think it was rude or even out of the ordinary to be joining the table. But then again, with all the strange, unfamiliar faces in the room, she just went with the nearest people who seemed unthreatening.

She innocently picked up a menu. "Do you think the food here is, like, organic?"

[Sparring Circle (Gabe; Mort, Caroline)]

Dammit.

Mort realized what was happening a fraction of a second too late. That fraction would be enough for Gabe to strike.

The distraction and knuckle strike was a dirty trick, but he respected that. In his youth, he might have been fast enough to not be distracted, or he might have taken the hit and kept on trucking, but Mortimer was suddenly and painfully reminded he was nearing seventy. He grimaced in pain, dropping his staff, and put his hands up. "Yield!" he said, "yield!"

Despite his loss, he seemed to be in an excellent mood. "Fuck that," he said. "You really are good. Maybe in my prime, but..." he shook his head, "who knows? Well. Next round of drinks are on me, ya got me fair and square." He massaged his knuckles, muttering a string of curses.

Caroline said, "was it worth it, Mortimer?"

"Yeah," Mort replied. "You start getting me more recruits who fight like this lady and I'll be a happy man."

"That reminds me," Caroline said. "Didn't the guillotine meme crew have a good showing in that brawl up Northeast last month?"

"Fuck you," Mortimer said with a laugh. "Fine, recruits who fight like this and haven't been boiling their brains on CorpNet, of course."

Edited by KillerClowns on Aug 3rd 2023 at 9:07:08 AM

Gabe: Inn, outdoor sparring circle also switching tenses here too

Gabe kept her cane pointed at Mort until it became clear to her that his surrender was genuine, whereupon she switched grip and dropped the tip back down to the floor to lean on it again—and looked for all the world like she'd have collapsed if she'd gone a moment more without the support, her prompt shit-eating smirk at having won the match somewhat spoiled by a pained wince.

"Good match." the divergent nodded in what for her passed as genuine admiration, though rather than stick around in the ring for post-game smalltalk, she instead opted to hobble back over to her seat and sit down again. "Appreciate tt-the offer, but I can't dd-drink. Well, shouldn't. Meds an' all."

Case in point, she reached down into a khaki pocket, producing another bottle of pills before unscrewing the cap and downing one, washing it down with a sip of her drink. "If I dddo, it ain't gonna be hott-hotel booze." she shrugged.

"...and not in tth-the middle of the day."

The crew of the Valiant Tailor: Dining Area, Bar Side

Through the front doors of the place walked a motley group who, to anyone who'd met Gabe or Hralia, might have looked distinctly familiar—like them, most were dressed in lowkey unglamorous practical wear and work uniforms that, while cleaner and of a different style, suggested a similar working-class background to anyone with a keen eye.

Taking point was a 5'6 biped who looked rather like an anthropomorphic hare or wild rabbit, male, grayish-brown furred, and carrying himself with an abundance of very likely unearned confidence as he strode up to the bar. His outfit seemed to reflect this attitude in contrast to the others, consisting of a navy blazer overtop a white polo and black slacks, with comfortable sneakers.

Following after was another rabbit, female, bearing what seemed to be a close familial resemblance to the first, though she carried herself in a distinctly less relaxed manner. Her outfit was rather more practical (and seemed to emphasize a far more well-honed physique than her sibling), comprised of a black tank top, work boots, and a gray jumpsuit with a red stripe down the right side, its upper half hanging down around her waist, tied-off and out of the way. Though fur coats made it somewhat hard to tell at the best of times, neither of the rabbits seemed to be much older than their mid 30s.

Next was what for the most part looked like an unmodified but similarly athletically-built human male, 6'0, dark-skinned and clean-shaven, appearing to be somewhere in his mid 40s with braided locs tied back into a loose ponytail, his outfit much the same as the rabbit woman's. Setting him apart from a baseline human, though, were two cable ports identical to the ones Gabe had set into his right temple, as well as a right arm consisting of a chrome-plated prosthetic just up past the elbow, its shape closely approximating his flesh-and-blood one.

Not all of the group was humanoid, though. Perched up on the human's right shoulder was a long-bodied quadrupedal creature resembling what could best be described as a theropod dinosaur approximating a weasel◊. The size of a large cat and with a thick prehensile tail balancing them on their perch, their body was covered in a ruddy striped coat of short fur-like feathers that left their pointed, scaled snout exposed, flanked by two large green eyes. Their feet were likewise scaled and birdlike, with digits on all four that seemed adapted for grasping.

What set them apart from a wild animal or a pet was that they were clad in what would seem to be a vest-like garment in the same color pattern as those jumpsuits, fitted to their frame. That they were looking about the place with clear intelligence behind their gaze helped a great deal, as well.

Arriving at the counter and flagging down a bartender, the jacketed head of the group began rattling off drink orders as the others took up an out-of-the-way table nearby, not paying anyone else present much mind beyond a good-natured wave from the human.

Edited by Chortleous on Aug 4th 2023 at 10:23:51 AM

Dining Area - Crestfeather, James, ???, the Crew of the Valiant Tailor

"Who are they?" The young girl asked, watching the odd gang by the bar.

"Who are you?" Crestfeather retorted. "You never introduced yourself, you just sat down like you own the place."

"Oh. Right." The girl picked at her nails. "I'm Brianna. Some people call me Bri. I was supposed to go out and, like, meet with Dylan in the forest, but I got lost and ended up here instead."

"I see." Crestfeather tugged at her hood.

Brianna continued to watch the newcomers. "Maybe I'm crazy, but I don't think they're human."

"You walked into a sketchy inn in the middle of the woods, what did you expect." Crestfeather rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'm Crestfeather, he's James."

Dining Area

To James, four years old seemed to be ridiculously young to be left unattended - a human child would certainly not survive if left alone at that age. Did these trolls age and mature faster than humans? One would think so, if she had been left to look after herself at only four years old and was capable of doing so. This, more than the differences in proportion and skin colour, made her seem obviously non-human.

James was taken aback when the newcomer sat down at the table without so much as a 'by your leave' and was about to comment on it when he was distracted by the arrival of a strange group - two of whom no one could possibly mistake for human, for they looked for all the world like large rabbits, but dressed in clothes of an unfamiliar, fairly utilitarian style.

The only human-looking member of the group seemed to have a partially metal arm... which would have looked more normal if it wasn't capable of moving as though it were alive.

Perched on the man's shoulder was a strange creature such as James had never seen. Strangely, it too was wearing clothes and seemed to be looking around alertly and, it seemed, intelligently.

The man gave a wave and James found himself instinctively giving a friendly wave in return.

James was so distracted by the group's appearance that he was only vaguely aware of the conversation going on at the table; barely aware that Crestfeather had asked who the new arrival was and that the new arrival's name was "Brianna". His attention was drawn back to the table when Crestfeather introduced herself and him.

"I'm thoroughly bloody betwattled ^Translation surprised. confounded," he admitted, shocked enough not to moderate his speech in front of the newcomer. " 'Tis indeed a strange place that all manner of creatures visit."

Edited by Wolf1066 on Aug 5th 2023 at 9:24:49 PM

The crew of the Valiant Tailor: Dining Area, Bar Side

Everyone who'd sat down seemed to sense the gawking, though it was the most outwardly human of the group, Weston, who chose to break the ice, leaning back in his chair and looking over at the one in the old-timey getup specifically. "Hey, you guys act like you've never seen a human divergent before." he chuckled... before realizing mid-sentence that they probably hadn't.

That one guy, he reasoned, might have just been really deep in-character, like a historical reenactor or something. This was going to be a hell of a thing to have to explain otherwise—at least there wasn't much malice in those odd looks.

He instead simply opted for introductions. "Weston, pilot." he indicated himself before pointing to the seated rabbit, who was watching things out of the corner of her eye, having said little and, if anything, gotten noticeably less comfortable with the looks since she'd sat down. "Keiko, security."

He then nodded to the weasel-like creature, who had since hopped off his shoulder and taken up a seat of their own, sitting on their haunches with their tail curled around them and out of the way. "Tavi, engineering."

"And that..." he said at last, pointing to the one at the bar who'd begun to bicker with the bartender over something or other, "...is Sotaro, our captain. The Valiant Tailor, salvage vessel."

"The Valiant 'Little' Tailor," Tavi corrected wryly, as if she were mocking someone else's delivery of the title. "Sotaro says it was a literary reference, but the guy at the registry rejected it because it was 'deceptive'."

Weston shrugged. "Yeah, it is a pretty big ship."

Dining hall (there's too many characters to list at this point)

"Uh..." Brianna raised a hand. "Brianna, Blooming Blossoms."

Blooming Blossoms was the little flower shop she owned back home. There, she kept beds of ferns that hung from the ceiling, a few rows of seeds, and in the back, an emergency allergy kit; flowers are sweet, but also tricky little things.

Brianna had locked up the shop and was heading out into the forest nearby when she'd ended up here. She was supposed to be meeting with her best friend Dylan. But why in the middle of the woods? Well, Dylan had previously been known as a notorious thief, breezing through towns and oceans with no exact home. But since meeting the quirky gardener from the beach, he'd found his true identity and place in the world, but still hadn't broken out of his sour reputation.

Brianna looked between her table friends. "Well? Aren't you gonna, like, introduce yourselves?"

[Sparring Circle (Gabe; Mort, Caroline, Koyel)]

Mort groaned. "C'mon, you too?" Aseyu, her whole family, Caroline... somehow, his only drinking buddy on Qorisa, a country famed across the planet it was on for its whiskey and mead, was Koyel. He rubbed sore knuckles. "I gotta insist on buyin' you a drink, but I never said it had to be alcoholic."

Caroline walked over to Gabe and Mort and said, "humor him. He's a creature of old habits."

Koyel also made his way over and said, "hold on, what am I missing?"

Caroline quickly explained, "alcohol interacts poorly with the medicine Gabe's apothecary prescribed, so she has to do without."

Koyel nodded to confirm his understanding. "Huh," he said. He seemed about to say more, but thought better of it.