[center][hider=Concerning:][@TemplarKnight07][@DepressedSoviet][@Fyre Unholy][/hider][/center]"Georg!" cried the barkeep. He'd rounded a corner or two and begun shouting at the kitchen staff back there. He was pleased nonetheless; when he got a hold of good, fresh produce, he made damn sure, to the best of his abilities, that that was the first thing he sold out of. Scraps had to be thrown away before they festered, and what did the mutant wood-pigs ever do to deserve such fine dining, anyway? What did he owe them? He'd feed these [i]rindsrouladen[/i] to someone's pet dog first.

When he was done shouting he switched back to English, having returned to the bar with a heaving belly. "Anyway, where are you people headed after you're filled up?" He left the question aimed ambiguously at everyone and no one. Some of the men in this room were pure cowards, he knew; something out there spooked them and they hadn't left a small radius around the village since. They poked at the hills and forests trying to find their bravery lying in the mud, and then they ran back to the bar to get drunk and the old hamlet to sleep it off. He didn't judge them for that, but it meant no interesting stories, and certainly no new employees. He couldn't offer well-paying jobs to those people.[hr][hr][hr][center][i][color=#785D62]M[/color][color=#7E6566]e[/color][color=#856D6A]a[/color][color=#8B756E]n[/color][color=#927D72]w[/color][color=#988576]h[/color][color=#9F8E7A]i[/color][color=#A78E7B]l[/color][color=#AF8F7D]e[/color][color=#B88F7F].[/color][color=#C09081].[/color][color=#C89083].[/color][/i][/center][hr][hr][hr][center][hider=Concerning:][@Xandrya][@Hostile][/hider][/center]"Take it easy, baby, easy! This isn't a holdup."

Marcel was true to his word; there really was honor among thieves. Or he at least found some value in his relationship with the courier, a reliable and trustworthy employee. He tried to make it clear that people who didn't fuck him didn't need to fear a fucking in reply. Either way, no one shot her, and once he waved them down, the French bulldogs appeared to relax around the outsider, despite her visible weaponry. When he sent her away, a fraction of the money she carried with her was hers, no questions asked.

Then again, when he sent her away, and she was out of earshot, [i]then[/i] the highwayman evidently found his scoundrel side.

"Follow her," he murmured, as he watched her leave[sup]1[/sup]. "Not too close or she'll see you."[hr][hr][hr][center][i][color=#785D62]M[/color][color=#7E6566]e[/color][color=#856D6A]a[/color][color=#8B756E]n[/color][color=#927D72]w[/color][color=#988576]h[/color][color=#9F8E7A]i[/color][color=#A78E7B]l[/color][color=#AF8F7D]e[/color][color=#B88F7F].[/color][color=#C09081].[/color][color=#C89083].[/color][/i][/center][hr][hr][hr][center][hider=Concerning:][@SilverFallen][/hider][/center]Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Third is enemy action.

Or so they say. Nonetheless, the air repeated itself in an ugly, mangled loop of noise; someone nearby, someone [i]in the farmhouse[/i], was snoring. It reverberated down a staircase and around a corner; yes, someone was inside, and if he was alone, his guard was down. Like the chain of a broken chainsaw, like its sputtering, smoke-choking engine. But why? This place couldn't possibly be a long-term settlement, a stronghold; the walls were thin and papery as a wasp's nest, sooner to fall to a light rainfall than a battering ram! So who was he? No; if she was a careful stalker, she had to assume the worst. So who were [i]they[/i]?

Some kind of rovers, if they couldn't make permanent shelter of this place. Treasure hunters, burglars, scouts to a larger hunting party; the list of possibilities was long. To some it was frighteningly so.

[hider=Miscellaneous Mentions:][@TheMadAsshatter][@Oxenfree][/hider][hider=Footnotes][sup]1[/sup]This godmod was performed with the player's consent.[/hider]