The Hamlet Streets

[Unter]

"Hmm... hmm..." François stares at the sword for quite some time, looking both at the kid and at the sword. After 5 long minutes, he finally take the sword and sit on a rock.
"Kid, you pack quite a punch. I tought you may have needed some exercise to get some muscles, but it's all right. So. Now, I want to know you. What's your name?" He says, with an inquisitive stare.

[rumsztyk]

-George-

"Ah, fuckin' seriously?! To the Abbey?" George half-moaned, half-cackled, seeing Duval bring the bottle with them. "You have no sense of decency, Duval. I like that." He wagged his finger at him accusingly.

Though he winced at the end, just a little, walking in silence for a moment. He was mulling over the words until he spat it out. "Does that not bother you, at all? That Grace murdered someone in cold blood?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------
-Milo-

People told him he was strong, he thought nothing of it. Weird enough, considering he was all skin and bones. He shuffled uneasily when the pause took longer than he thought, nervously looking around.

"I'm... Milo."

[relentless]

Duval sighed as he mentioned his little comment, stopping and holding his hand out to him, motioning for him to stop. He would turn, stuffing his hands into his exterior overcoat pockets before looking at him directly with a somber expression.

"Trust me when I say this George..."
Duval wets his lips as he looks up at the grey sky, then back down to George, his expression probably as serious as it could get.

"At some point in your life, you'll kill a man in cold blood. Doesn't matter who you are, or what you stand for. One day, you'll get your hands dirty. Does that bother me? Not really, as long as its not mine. Y'see, Georgie ol' pal-"
Duval wiggles a finger at him as he takes out that full bottle of rum, pulling out the cork and taking a little swig of it. He swirls it about in his mouth, before he grimaces a little, swallowing it still, then his expression turned to delight. He plugs the bottle back up, puts it back in his pocket and shoots George a happy, quirky smile.

"Life's life. Grows back, don't it? Buuuuut, in a way, I'll be more careful around her. More observing, for what you've said. Tis' a shame he died, but look around you!"
Duval says as he does a slow 360, panning his arms about quickly as he skipped on the spot before finishing his performance, facing the audience.

"There's no sense in mourning the past. It's best to move on, swallow your troubles..."
Duval paused, a grim expression flowed through his face for a moment. That moment, caused his entire demeanor, his appearance toward George to flicker. To George, he would not see a jovial expression.

But one of grim rememberance as marked by a slight grimace and cringe on his face. Though, it would soon disapate, clouding it back up with a happy expression. Without a word, he turned back around, mumbling the final words of that sentence,

"To choke it out.."

He waltzed off slowly toward the Abbey, before sparing a glance back toward George.

"Y'happy? You depressed bloody bastard, c'mon! The nuns will be so delighted to see me... especially after giving them a baptism, hehe."
Duval cackled happily, flashing a quick, jovial smile at George as he meandered his way to the steps.

[Unter]

"Alright Milo. Why are you here ? Why have you come in this town ?" Francois asks, with a deadly serious face.
"Your purpose is the only thing I want to know, whatever your story is."

He proceeds to stare at Milo's eye, looking to intimidate him a little.

[lightningfast]

Mordecai gasps upon the woman drawing a weapon. "I mean you no harm! I merely have a business proposition for you," he begins, "And it does involve bloodshed. A lot of bloodshed."



With that, Mordecai rolls out his map and begins walking towards a bulletin board in the center of the town square. "Walk with me, please. My friend... er... potential apprentice and I," he says, gesturing to Fen, "We're looking to collect some ingredients in the Wealds, while completing a quest for the Darkest Manor in order to earn enough gold to rent a place to stay. At least for the time-being."

Mordecai picks a piece of paper from the board and smirks. "Perfect." It described a simple search-and-destroy mission, one that gave a reward for each monster slain. "It wants us to clear out and map this area of the Wealds. Shouldn't be more than one trip, thankfully. So, what do you say?" He turns to the Hellion woman and hands her the sheet which describes the mission in more detail.

[stealthclaw]

Hearing of more bloodshed certainly placated Katja for a few moments, watching Mordecai with suspicious eyes. She followed along behind them, watching their every move. The masked one looked young, just from her height, and stance alone. Clearly the girl was easily to intimidate, given her constant glances back at the tailing Hellion. When they stopped to examine the board, and Katja watched Fen take a step back, she looked up to the man. At least he had his head on straight, it seemed. For now, anyway. There was something about him that made Katja wary, He seemed to know his fair share of things, and she worried that it could lead to her being backstabbed later. Assuring herself that it was just her conscious and her past planting seeds, she refocused on the conversation. At that point, Mordecai had handed her the paper.

Katja squinted down at the paper with a frown. The details of such a mission seemed a little... Odd, but she'd take it. A search and destroy? Easy enough, with all the hunting she had done in the past year or so. She looked up again at the man with her cold blue eyes, handing him back the paper.

"Sounds easy 'nough," Was Katja's brisk reply. "Though, I gotta' ask. Yer apprentice seems a lil' young. Are you sure bringin' her is a fine idea?"

At that Fen was flustered. How had the woman guessed she was so young? The Plague Doctor huffed a sigh, crossing her arms.

"Hey now! I'm not that young! I'm just short." Fen argued, and Katja snorted.

"Ay, sure. It is nothin' worth worryin' about now. So as long as you won' get in my way of a kill, I'll 'ave no problems with you." Katja stated firmly, the look in her eyes daring either of them to say otherwise. If she was to babysit these two doctors on their sample-gathering trip, she wouldn't stand for her kills being interfered with. "Ar' we going to depart soon?"

"I uh, I'd say not." Fen commented almost nervously, "We shouldn't take a three person group, I don't think that would be safe enough."

Katja snorted. So they believed in safety in numbers? What imbeciles. "Fine. Where d'you expect to find another person, hm?"

[rumsztyk]

-George-

He snorted, seeing the people mass leaving the Abbey. "Fuckin' hell. Should've stayed in the Tavern..." And with that, he did a 180 spin and started walking back.

Despite Duval's reveal, George did not fret. Quite the opposite - he wasn't beaming, but the usual smirk was firmly planted on his face. "Thanks for dropping the facade, Duval. I needed that. Misery loves company, y'know." He rolled his shoulders in a relaxed way, giving Duval a side hug with his right arm. His left brashly intruded Duval's privacy, retrieving the bottle. Uncorked, it fueled George's inebriation, who then shared the goodness with his friend. A firm grasp on Duval's shoulder prevented any movement. "Drink! The night is long, and we're the bloody kings of this place."

------------------------------------------------------
-Milo-

They entered the realm of uncomfortable questions. Milo looked away from Francois, his hands once again twitching nervously. "Running... from bad people." He blurted out.

[Vanitypirate]

The surrounding Weald was much like a seal that contained the madness of the Estate: very little escaped through the dense thorns and fauna of this veritable Forest Styx that separated this Underworld, save for what passage one could buy to convince a single, mad stagecoach driver, to ferry oneself into the heart of this land. Indeed, one had to pay for the privilege to curse oneself to this domain.

And, gods, did Ponytail have to pay a lot of coin.

The stagecoach rattled its bones to a halt, generously not too far from the tavern. The hunter tossed some coins in the direction of the driver for his service, and quite happily fled the scene before he became subject to any more of his mad cackling.

He breathed in the air: crisp, damp, on the verge of Spring. A good sign, he supposed, despite the doom-and-gloom nature of this ramshackle town. His bare hand draped about the sling of his rifle, he reasoned that this, surely, was not the worst he had seen.

But it was very dire, and that was a good sign.

He walked slowly, taking it easy on his legs, tense and stiff from a long journey, and it never hurt to appreciate his setting. For something so Northern, the clothing and appearance of the locals was bizarre: strange people in bird-masks, women in pelts, soldiers in armor.

Of course, Ponytail was accustomed to strange locals. He assured himself that he would do quite fine here.

[Kidney]

A note, as high as a squeal from a hog, or as low as quiet thunder. It was beautiful, so strange that a string could be turned into a tool for the entertainer's work and the crowds pleasure.  The wind blew, and the caravan stopped violently. Hugo's back hit the wood, and with a yelp he nearly dropped his lute. He clamped it tight to his chest, and leaped down. He had been holding onto the caravan for about half a day, and now he leaned back, almost hitting a right angle as the vertebra cracked and he let out a choked groan. 
He shot up, a short 'Woo!' came with the ring of his bells, and now he flipped his lute to the right side. He turned, a little giggle escaping him, seeing a man standing near the 'van. He reached behind his vest, pulling forth a smoothed claw, the pick. His bells rang, stepping hard to enunciate the rings. You have this Hugo, now, start with the high notes.
He struck a high note, plucking individual strings to bring a pleasant beginning to a amazing song. He spoke, a voice peering over the edge of deep, but retaining the boyish quality of a man with a distaste for hard work and whiskey. 
"The Spaniard's wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring..." Bring it lower, ensnare your audience. 
He plucked strings lower now, but brought it a little higher again, his gloved fingers gliding across the neck of the lute.

[lightningfast]

Mordecai glanced briefly over at the man playing a lovely tune on his lute. He questioned whether it was the time and place for such things, but enjoyed the sounds nonetheless. He appeared to be playing the song for a young man in a nice coat. The doctor smirked, looking the man up and down, noting his impressive weaponry and gear. He looked like someone who'd seen their fair share of hunts, despite his young age. Seeing this opportunity, Mordecai approaches.

"Goodday, sir," Mordecai says, extending his hand and bowing slightly, "You look to be a capable hunter. What if I were to tell you that we were about to venture into some of the dangerous, corrupted forests around the manor, home to some of the most monstrous and disgusting beasts in the region?" A devilish smirk appeared on this face as he hoped this was the proper line of reasoning to use.

[Vanitypirate]

The singing, Ponytail had to admit, was quite lovely, and rather contrasting to the overall macabre backdrop of the Hamlet; it was like using a sweet perfume to mask an unpleasant odor.
The hunter had not much coin left to spare, and his hand slid into his pocket in order to reward the man, when another fellow ghosted up to him, looking much like a phantom himself, all dressed in his pale coat and snow-white skin. The jet hair certainly did not help the man look more sun-kissed.

Still, he gave his most cordial smile and, perhaps against his better judgement, took the man's gloved hand in his own bare one and shook it.

"G'day." Ponytail's accented voice was clear and confident, betraying his fluency. The youth puffed his chest and nodded emphatically, letting the hand that searched for coin rest in his coat pocket for that time being. He rose his chin and continued with the flash of another proud grin,

"Ah, yes! I'd say you'd have found quite the right person to tell." His grip was firm on the glove, his pinkish hand rose and fell upwards and down before releasing. "I would say that I'm rather more than capable."
His green gaze drifted past the man, toward the figure with the odd mask and the woman in leathers. He suspected them both to be surprisingly more tribal, what with their seemingly ritualistic mask-- a shaman, perhaps?-- and wicked glaive. These were not the type of individuals he'd have expected to find this more civilized man in cohorts with.

"By 'we', I don't suppose you mean the woman and the birdie behind you, do you?" He nodded again, the feather in his hat bobbed with the movement, and made a short, choppy gesture to the people in tow.

[Kidney]

Reel them in, Hugo. Reel.
He plucked low notes, striking a chord among them. "But the Spaniard's knife, it was made of black steel, and it's kiss was a terrible thing."
He swung his right foot out, pressing his back against tavern and giggling under his breath. The ring was loud, meant to catch attention or at least half of it. He went back up, increasing his pitch and ascending his strings, a upward chord to higher tones. "The Spaniard's wife would sing as she bathed, in a voice that sweet as a peach."
He smiled, using the end of the lute, bent rightly towards himself, to push over his mask of Comedy. The leather slid and now what once was a half-mask with an angry brow now sat a intricately engraved smiling porcelain face.

[stealthclaw]

At being called a 'birdie' Fen cocked her head to the side, not helping her case any. "Birdie?" She was heard muttering. Katja had one hand on her hip, observing Ponytail through thinly veiled distrust. She knew little of the man as it stood, and his small companion with the mask.

"Yes, tat's who he means." Katja told Ponytail bluntly, one hand still on her Halberd, holding it like a walking stick. "Is that a problem?" She asked almost menacingly, snarling close to that of an animal. The brand on her arm seemed to catch fire again, reminding her that she was in no position to start threatening people. Alas, the fire in her heart won over her senses, and she found that she didn't care if the locals ended up disliking her.

The young plague doctor behind Mordecai was very uncomfortable with Katja's demeanor, taking a small step closer to Mordecai.

[relentless]

Duval jumped a little, stuck in his little world as George embraced him with an embrace of fellowship. He looked down at the bottle, then to George, then to the Abbey, and then back to George once again. A smirk slowly grew on his face, his teeth beared, glinting at him.

"Don't minnnd if I do!"
Duval tittered on in a slow manner, gently grasping the bottle and taking it out of George's hands, then giving himself a nice mouthful of rum. He swished it around in his mouth, and swallowed, unconsciously his body shook a little as the alcohol filled him with an energetic buzz.

The thrill of life, coursing through him like it always had. That familiar whizz of joy, and sin that he relished at all times.

"Kings? Bah, kings have a stick up their arse... smooth bastards like us? We have our own sticks in a womans box! Hehehe!"
Duval cackled as he let his left arm wrap around George's back, giving him a firm, manly pat on his shoulder before resting there. He then hoisted the bottle up, as if he were holding a sword gesturing for a row of cavalry to charge the enemy... except this time he was motioning for George to make his way forward.

"Onnnwaaard!"
Duval said loudly in a jokey manner, letting out a joyful giggle as he took a couple steps forward, though he would need the co-operation of George in order to actually move.

[Unter]

"Bad people ? What kind of bad people ?" said Francois, his eyes colder and colder as time pass.
"In what trouble have you gotten yourself into ?"
The more Milo talked, the more he was curious.