Log:A Mouse, An Elf, & A Dragon

A Mouse, An Elf, & A Dragon
It's how good stories start?
Participants Clarice, Velvet, Weaver Utridge	21 May, 2018 ...walk into a bar. There is no punchline.
Location Crossroads Cafe
There's a soft squeaking sound at the counter. Clarice sits at a stool by herself. A cut above her right eyelid has been stitched up, albeit crudely. Her lip was split, but is healing. A fight? A scuffle? It's hard to say, but it's a hard life for a Mouse out in the quiet, deserted streets of Fort Brunsett. That squeaking ain't coming from her. There's a coffee in front of her, hot. Near her right hand, a pad of paper. In her fingers, a pencil, which she taps gently, rubber first, on the counter. Tap. Tap. Tap. Rhythmically, like the falling of rain outside, pitter-patter, drip-drip. It coincides with the incessant squeaking noise. It's coming from the spinning cake display by the register. There's no one else here at the moment. It's late at night. Whatever staff remains is working on preparing for the day to come, leaving Clarice to her own silent devices. And writing. But she seems to be staring off into space, as she neglects her drink, her surroundings, her pad of paper. Tap, tap. Waiting for Godot, or inspiration. Whatever plans Velvet might have had for the night have been put on hold, so instead it's time for some caffeine and people watching. Whatever plans Velvet might have had for the night have been put on hold, so instead it's time for some caffeine and people watching. The dark silk clad woman steps in through the front door of the place, quietly making her approach to the counter. She tosses out her order, pays, and then steps to the side. She spots Clarice, giving her an upward nod in greeting. "Why is it that every time I come here there's some innocent looking woman with her face all messed up?" The door swings open, and it interrupts the ongoing cacophony inside. With the threat of more rain looming above he's wearing a long peacoat and hat he's more than happy to take off when he's past the threshold. "I was hoping those fires might've lasted just a bit longer, but I swear if it keeps raining I'll do it my goddamned-" Weaver's voice trails off into silence at the sight of the two women, and he clears his throat. He's quick to throw on a smile that's all charm without an ounce of mirth behind it, flashing those ever so sharp canines of his. The draconic clears his throat while taking his hat off. "What I mean is that I thank God that things have finally become safe in the area again." The Mouse snaps back to attention, eyes darting to Velvet. There's a moment of caution, then hesitation. Self-awareness kicks in a moment after, as her body untenses and nerves relax. "It's how good stories start?" Clarice's suggestion comes drily, as she lifts an eyebrow. "How often do you come here?" She sets her pencil down, and picks up her cup of coffee. Her sip is short; her expression is inquisitive. She perhaps has not noticed the Dragon in the room yet. To be fair, caution is probably the best reaction anyone can have to a Velvet. The woman smirks as she watches Clarice's body language shifting, observing it without commenting. Her drink is made, so she takes it in hand and starts to make her way towards the mouse. "Many good stories have some form of violence," she agrees. "Tell me, does this one end with 'and then the woman she just met beat the tar out of whoever put their hands on her?' Or did you fall into a river face first as well?" Which must have been what happened to the last woman. Her eyes drift towards Weaver, offering him a warm smile of greeting. Weaver a slow wave to Velvet as he moves to sit down beside her. His attention soon turns back to Clarice as he gives her a bit of long, undue scrutiny. His visage is emotionless, although there's an obvious glint of curiosity in how he's staring. Velvet's comment gets a nod as he points out, "I don't think every beat up woman you meets gonna have a problem with falling into a river." Beat. "I hope so, at least." His shoulders rise and fall in a short shrug after his jest. In response to Velvet, the Mouse shrugs her shoulders. "I didn't fall into a river." Beat. "But no one actually put their hands on me." Oh, how mysterious. "Suffice to say, something happened, and I came away with an injury." Shrug. "No story, really. No plot. I'm not one to fight, really, so I suppose I've deflated the air." Says the woman who is wearing boxer's wraps over her hands and fingers, even as she enjoys a nice, hot, late-night cup of joe. Of which she takes another small sip. Clarice looks aside from Velvet to the Dragon, and nods in his direction. An acknowledgment. "Are we going to trade stories, then?" She picks up her pencil with her free hand. "I assure you that mine is, without a doubt, the most boring. But you two seem like -- " Shrug. " -- I don't know, the sort of people who have stories to tell." She taps the lead point of her pencil on her pad. "And I do enjoy listening." "I'm glad you didn't fall into a river. But I feel it's important to point out that someone can cause you plenty of harm without ever actually putting hands on you. If you need them dealt with, I'm happy to help." Because of course she is. Velvet rests a shoulder against Weaver as he joins her, settling her weight against him. "I have a lot of stories, but not all of them are fit for public consumption. Most of them aren't probably." Weaver nods along as Clarice speaks, and gives a small nudge as Velvet sounds like she might get stabby. "There was that time you beat me at Aspire. I don't think you were around when I fell down the steps at Red Clover." He lifts a clawed hand, likely asking for a pause. "That sin't as bad it sounds. I was only half drunk, and I fell after I slipped on sombeody's skateboard." He taps at his chin until an ivisible light bulg brightens up over his head. "There was all the stuff you did to help with the fires, too." "I'll be fine," replies Clarice laconically to Velvet. She turns her attention to her pad, on which she scribbles down a few short notes. Words, really. She takes a sip from her coffee as she does so. "I don't mean to be blase, but I've made it this far on my own. I'm careful." The Mouse's attention shifts over to the Dragon. "What's this about fires?" she then asks. And then, she waits for a response. "You mean the time you cheated to try to beat me?" Velvet reminds Weaver with an upward tick of her brow. Clearly she doesn't intend to let him forget that bit. She smirks, bringing the cup to her lip as she sips. "The fires that have been kicked off around town. I've just been helping where I can. We have. One at a barn, and the other was right by the apartment complex I live, so it's not like I wasn't going to do anything to help, right?" Her eyes wander over Clarice and the injuries, but she doesn't say anything else about them. "It's rude to stare," the man that was once doing the same points out. Weaver nudges her with his elbow as he straightens up with a cocksure grin. "I didn't cheat. We didn't say no to us being us, and I play to win." His chest swells with the boast. "Anyway, yeah. Fires. Wildfire that hit Tam bigger, hotter, and just a bit earlier than usual. I wish I knew what caused it, but, man, was it something to see. At least while it lasted." Dutifully, it seems, the Mouse takes notes. "Mm." She takes in a breath slowly, and then murmurs, to no one in particular, "I suppose that's not out of the ordinary, this time of year." Clarice scribbles a couple of other things as well. To be honest, she doesn't seem to be bothered by the injuries in the slightest. The coffee doesn't even seem to aggravate the previously-split lip. She may be tougher than her exterior shows, else dull to pain. "Still, I wonder." The Mouse blinks twice, and then sets her cup down. "It's been a long day, I think. I'm not -- I'm not really thinking as clearly as I'd like." She frowns for a second. "I didn't catch your names. Either of them. If you said them, I may have missed it." Or maybe they were never offered. "You cheated," Velvet argues with a good-natured grin. "But it sure didn't help you very much, now did it." The woman looks smug as she sips from her cup, relaxed. "I didn't give my name," she says. "I'm Velvet. And you are?" Weaver scoffs, and is quick to point out, "There were no rules. Ergo, no cheating." He harrumphs all pride and nothing else. That vanity remains when he announces himses properly. "Weaver Utridge. Just Weaver's what I prefer. Not too many titles or that other bullshit either." "Clarice." The Mouse seems like one of those perfectly normal, natural people that doesn't mince words. Blunt, and to the point. "I would've remembered both names. Guess I didn't ask." She reaches into her blazer, and pulls out a few bills to pay for her coffee. "Didn't mean to bother the two of you tonight, but thank you for letting me share the space for a bit." She puts her pencil and pad into her blazer too. "And thank you for the concern." About her injuries. And then, the Mouse gets up to her feet. Well, down, really: she hops off the diner stool, and her diminutive stature becomes more apparent. "Suppose I'll be seeing the both of you around here if I swing by more often?" Beat. "The Collective in Fort Brunsett's becoming a bit uppity." There's probably a joke in there, somewhere. "Still lost." Because Velvet just wants to jab that knife a little deeper, and he's already being prideful, so why not? The good nature doesn't leave her though, head bobbing as Clarice stands up. "Pleasure. But yeah, I'll be around quite a bit. If you ever need anything, I can be pretty easy to find when I wanna be."