[center][b][h1]Bork[/h1][/b][/center]

Bork nearly spit out his soup when he heard the woman’s voice.  He had not heard her coming.  Then again, she had come around his bad side.  He put down his spoon and glared at her.  [b]”Must’a missed the sign,”[/b] he grunted unapologetically at her claim that he was at her table.  He peered about at the empty tables, then up at the woman.  She was the oddest thing he’d seen in a while, he’d give her that.  Looked part cat or something.  Perhaps it was some sort of disguise or glamor; he really didn’t care. 

The dwarf started to go back to eating his soup when he noticed the weapons, not to mention the fact that she was still hovering over him expectantly.  He was aware of the fact that he was not armed apart from his dagger, and the measuring rod leaning on the wall behind him that doubled as a walking-stick.  So he wasn’t about to pick a fight, but neither he was in the mood to let some half-critter freakette push him around.  [b]”You think you could bear to share your table for a bit?”[/b] he asked, as placatingly as he could manage through his irritation.  [b]”Seems to me there’s room.”[/b]  He looked at what the woman was holding.  [b]”That’s a nice hammer,”[/b] he said.  That bit of compliment was actually sincere.

[center][b][h1]Nelf[/h1][/b][/center]

Nelthurin realized he had made a mistake as he entered the tailor’s shop:  he should have offered to switch jobs with the dwarf.  Dealing with guild contacts, even if under an innocent pretext, should be left to those who knew what they were doing.  Bork had a touch as light as a stamp mill.  He grinned crookedly, a thin ray of amusement shining through his misgivings.  The engineer would probably like that comparison.

He broke from his reverie when he realized the tailor was looking at him expectantly, waiting for the answer to a question the harbor master hadn’t listened to.  He guessed what the question was:  [b]”Good day.  I come from the abbot.  His Grace would like to be measured.”[/b]  The tailor frowned at first, and the elf briefly wondered if he had guessed incorrectly at the question, but then the man nodded.  [b]”Just a moment,”[/b] he said.  He vanished into the back of his store, and Nelthurin could hear him talking with somebody with a higher-pitched voice, most likely a woman.  Then the tailor returned.  [b]”I’ll have to get some things together.  Tell His Grace I’ll be on my way.”[/b]

[b]”I have another errand to run immediately after this,”[/b] the harbor master said, [b]”can you find they way on your own?”[/b]

[b]”I ain’t blind or cripple,”[/b] the tailor grumbled, slightly irritated at the implication that he might be incapable.  [b]”And I know where the abbot is.  Go and run your errand in peace.”[/b]

Nelthurin thanked him and headed back out.  He wanted to hurry to the tavern in case Bork needed rescuing from his own social skills.  And he wouldn’t mind a warm bite himself.

He opened the door to see Bork talking to somebody standing over him as he ate.  Recognizing who it was, Nelthurin thought:  “Just in time”.  Walking in towards the pair, he called out:  [b]”Master Bork!  I’m done with my errand.  How are you faring with yours?  -Oh, hello!”[/b]  He put on his best fancy-meeting-you-here for the catwoman.