Djahli bleated again and struggled against Pierre’s grip. He’d lost sight of Shock, but Pierre’s lifting him up actually allowed him to spot Barrel’s short green tufts of hair as he came out from under another table and scurried towards the kitchen, the little monster easily lead there by the smell of food. Upon spotting Phoebus, Djahli became more frantic, wanting the captain’s attention. He stopped struggling long enough to nod towards the kitchen before he riled back up again. Lock and Shock were still somewhere among the crowd, and if he could just get free, he could weave through the crowd and hopefully catch one of them.
The second Madame Serpente cleared the stairs to get to the drinking party, Shock quickly made her way up, now that they were empty. She climbed onto the banister at the top...and from there, the rope that held up the main chandelier. After a quick test to make sure it would hold her weight without swaying the chandelier too much, she carefully scurried up the rope and up onto the chandelier’s wooden base, taking care to mind the lanterns that hung from it and lit the room. Her weight would tilt it a little, but with practiced grace, Shock slowly lowered herself to sit on the edge, making sure to not move the chandelier too much so the patrons below wouldn’t notice the light shifting, though admittedly between the drunken environment, the dancing flames in the fireplace, and the focus on Gaston, most of them wouldn’t give it a second thought.
Just as she settled herself, Shock noticed a familiar ball of red feathers sitting in the rafters and looking down at the scene below. She grinned under her mask, confident Iago hadn’t noticed her yet. Shock tightened her legs around the frame to keep her balance, then reached into her pocket and pulled out her slingshot and a small stone to use as ammo. There was plenty of other time for trouble, but right now, she readied her slingshot for an easy target, leaning back just enough for a clear shot at his tail feathers.
Madame Serpente got one more parting shot at the little redhead before she made her way to the heart of the ruckus.
“A good, sturdy table can take a lot from an unruly crowd,” she said. “That doesn’t give you an invitation to damage it.”
A few more of the crowd gathered around the table to watch Verton and Merida’s contest, many of them amused at such a waif taking that sort of challenge. A few placed bets.
Gaston quickly found himself holding only the stranger’s cloak. He tried to catch him, but the man had already sidestepped away and pulled the cloak from his grasp. With a growl, Gaston tried to follow, to find his leggings suddenly loose and about halfway down his thighs. He barely caught his balance before he stumbled forward...only for Esmeralda to smile sweetly and sidesweep his ankles, knocking the massive buffoon to the floor.
She bowed to the cheering crowd. Gaston growled and tried to pull himself again, but tripped over his loose pants again, to much of the crowd’s laughter. He hastily stood up and tugged his pants back up around his waist. He held them up with one hand as he tried to hone in on Esmeralda. She had already moved behind him.
“Looking for something?” Esmeralda asked.
Cassim had the belt, but she wanted Gaston’s focus on her. She got her wish. Gaston turned around and spotted her.
“No one makes a fool out of me,” he snarled.
“No one except Gaston,” Esmeralda said coolly.
That got the crowd roaring again. Red-faced, Gaston tried to find Cassim again to get his belt back. He noticed the blue-cloaked thief near the strange foreign soldier he’d hardly paid a passing glance to before.
He ignored the comment, his focus still on Cassim.
“He threw that tankard and stole my belt!” Gaston bellowed. “And unless he gives it back, I’m going to--!”
“--Take it outside!” a firm, furious voice finished for him.
Madame Serpente finally made it to the front, having had to shove her way through the crowd. Most of the tavern went quiet, now that the Madame’s wrath had been evoked.
“Or I’ll take you outside,” she threatened.
Gaston turned to her.
“No one--!” he started.
Madame Serpente gave him a glare that would have sent Claude Frollo running for the hills, curse his damned soul. Several patrons bowed their heads, turned away, or quickly found something else to talk about. Some took interest in the drinking contest going on in the far corner. A few others pointed to Cassim and the soldier, quickly marking the troublemakers before the Madame could ask. They knew better than to make her ask.
“You lot,” she said coldly as she pointed to Gaston, Cassim, and the foreign soldier. “Outside. Now. You can come back in when you’ve settled this among yourselves.”
While the Madame handled Gaston (and with a mental note to put in a good word for Cassim once she found the little monsters), Esmeralda slipped through the crowd to continue her prior task. It only took another second to spot a little figure in red near the fireplace.
Lock grinned under his mask as he grabbed a fire poker. He spotted Esmeralda, then quickly ducked back into the crowd. Several patrons hesitantly went back to their regular business, quickly taking drinks, making bets, quietly striking up conversation, and otherwise acting like the current standoff between the Madame, Gaston, and the strangers wasn’t there. A few cheers came from the drinking game corner as Merida and Verton each downed another tankard of the Madame’s finest, most potent mead.
Once he put some distance between them, Lock pushed the tip of the poker against the backs of the patrons' legs and knees, just hard enough to be felt, though he made a beeline to slide under an open table at every opportunity solely to evade Esmeralda. He laughed with glee at the cries of pain and sudden confusion of several patrons. A few particularly drunk patrons smacked those next to them in retaliation.
Lock, Shock, and Barrel all heard Zero's wail. But surely Jack could wait just one more minute. The fun had just begun, after all!
~~~
Zero’s howl did little to sway the dark figure approaching in the distance. The shadows behind it formed a sort of dark fog that swept over Paris, even more obvious now. While the city was already dark save for a few candles in the windows, or the occasional torchlight from a patrolling guard, even those lights eventually vanished. Notre Dame’s towers ominously loomed over the fog, as if even the church had succumbed to the encroaching danger.
The herald was closer now, enough that if Jack looked closely, he would pick out a creature of sorts, a twisted, grotesque form with no truly definable shape in the dark, but one with strong, thick limbs. It leapt with animalistic power and grace to reach another rooftop. The only distinct detail to come into focus was that it indeed wore a cloak.
It stopped on a rooftop just a few blocks from the tavern and stared in the direction of the tavern’s roof, its cloak caught in the gentle night wind. Maybe it noticed Jack - or better yet, his glowing companion with his even brighter nose. It then started to come closer.
A few shadows crept out from the alleyways and thin spaces between the tightly-packed Parisian homes, these closer than the strange cloaked figure. Many of them had twisted, monstrous forms, though holes in the shadows formed eyes and mouths in macabre mockeries of faces. They spread out to reveal a familiar silhouette in the courtyard across from the tavern: a silhouette of a woman with long, straight hair, ragged ends of a dress that reached her knees, and tiny hands and feet. She hobbled as she took a step, because she was missing one of her high-heeled shoes.
The second Madame Serpente cleared the stairs to get to the drinking party, Shock quickly made her way up, now that they were empty. She climbed onto the banister at the top...and from there, the rope that held up the main chandelier. After a quick test to make sure it would hold her weight without swaying the chandelier too much, she carefully scurried up the rope and up onto the chandelier’s wooden base, taking care to mind the lanterns that hung from it and lit the room. Her weight would tilt it a little, but with practiced grace, Shock slowly lowered herself to sit on the edge, making sure to not move the chandelier too much so the patrons below wouldn’t notice the light shifting, though admittedly between the drunken environment, the dancing flames in the fireplace, and the focus on Gaston, most of them wouldn’t give it a second thought.
Just as she settled herself, Shock noticed a familiar ball of red feathers sitting in the rafters and looking down at the scene below. She grinned under her mask, confident Iago hadn’t noticed her yet. Shock tightened her legs around the frame to keep her balance, then reached into her pocket and pulled out her slingshot and a small stone to use as ammo. There was plenty of other time for trouble, but right now, she readied her slingshot for an easy target, leaning back just enough for a clear shot at his tail feathers.
"Why would you have such a high quality and expensive table in a bar if you have patrons like him around?"
Madame Serpente got one more parting shot at the little redhead before she made her way to the heart of the ruckus.
“A good, sturdy table can take a lot from an unruly crowd,” she said. “That doesn’t give you an invitation to damage it.”
A few more of the crowd gathered around the table to watch Verton and Merida’s contest, many of them amused at such a waif taking that sort of challenge. A few placed bets.
Gaston quickly found himself holding only the stranger’s cloak. He tried to catch him, but the man had already sidestepped away and pulled the cloak from his grasp. With a growl, Gaston tried to follow, to find his leggings suddenly loose and about halfway down his thighs. He barely caught his balance before he stumbled forward...only for Esmeralda to smile sweetly and sidesweep his ankles, knocking the massive buffoon to the floor.
She bowed to the cheering crowd. Gaston growled and tried to pull himself again, but tripped over his loose pants again, to much of the crowd’s laughter. He hastily stood up and tugged his pants back up around his waist. He held them up with one hand as he tried to hone in on Esmeralda. She had already moved behind him.
“Looking for something?” Esmeralda asked.
Cassim had the belt, but she wanted Gaston’s focus on her. She got her wish. Gaston turned around and spotted her.
“No one makes a fool out of me,” he snarled.
“No one except Gaston,” Esmeralda said coolly.
That got the crowd roaring again. Red-faced, Gaston tried to find Cassim again to get his belt back. He noticed the blue-cloaked thief near the strange foreign soldier he’d hardly paid a passing glance to before.
"Who knew people in this city were so rude."
He ignored the comment, his focus still on Cassim.
"Is it normal for you to attack envoys to your city in such a way? I'm not sure your King would be happy to hear that you are setting up a bad precedence for those who wish to establish trade with your fine country."
“He threw that tankard and stole my belt!” Gaston bellowed. “And unless he gives it back, I’m going to--!”
“--Take it outside!” a firm, furious voice finished for him.
Madame Serpente finally made it to the front, having had to shove her way through the crowd. Most of the tavern went quiet, now that the Madame’s wrath had been evoked.
“Or I’ll take you outside,” she threatened.
Gaston turned to her.
“No one--!” he started.
Madame Serpente gave him a glare that would have sent Claude Frollo running for the hills, curse his damned soul. Several patrons bowed their heads, turned away, or quickly found something else to talk about. Some took interest in the drinking contest going on in the far corner. A few others pointed to Cassim and the soldier, quickly marking the troublemakers before the Madame could ask. They knew better than to make her ask.
“You lot,” she said coldly as she pointed to Gaston, Cassim, and the foreign soldier. “Outside. Now. You can come back in when you’ve settled this among yourselves.”
While the Madame handled Gaston (and with a mental note to put in a good word for Cassim once she found the little monsters), Esmeralda slipped through the crowd to continue her prior task. It only took another second to spot a little figure in red near the fireplace.
Lock grinned under his mask as he grabbed a fire poker. He spotted Esmeralda, then quickly ducked back into the crowd. Several patrons hesitantly went back to their regular business, quickly taking drinks, making bets, quietly striking up conversation, and otherwise acting like the current standoff between the Madame, Gaston, and the strangers wasn’t there. A few cheers came from the drinking game corner as Merida and Verton each downed another tankard of the Madame’s finest, most potent mead.
Once he put some distance between them, Lock pushed the tip of the poker against the backs of the patrons' legs and knees, just hard enough to be felt, though he made a beeline to slide under an open table at every opportunity solely to evade Esmeralda. He laughed with glee at the cries of pain and sudden confusion of several patrons. A few particularly drunk patrons smacked those next to them in retaliation.
Lock, Shock, and Barrel all heard Zero's wail. But surely Jack could wait just one more minute. The fun had just begun, after all!
~~~
Zero’s howl did little to sway the dark figure approaching in the distance. The shadows behind it formed a sort of dark fog that swept over Paris, even more obvious now. While the city was already dark save for a few candles in the windows, or the occasional torchlight from a patrolling guard, even those lights eventually vanished. Notre Dame’s towers ominously loomed over the fog, as if even the church had succumbed to the encroaching danger.
The herald was closer now, enough that if Jack looked closely, he would pick out a creature of sorts, a twisted, grotesque form with no truly definable shape in the dark, but one with strong, thick limbs. It leapt with animalistic power and grace to reach another rooftop. The only distinct detail to come into focus was that it indeed wore a cloak.
It stopped on a rooftop just a few blocks from the tavern and stared in the direction of the tavern’s roof, its cloak caught in the gentle night wind. Maybe it noticed Jack - or better yet, his glowing companion with his even brighter nose. It then started to come closer.
A few shadows crept out from the alleyways and thin spaces between the tightly-packed Parisian homes, these closer than the strange cloaked figure. Many of them had twisted, monstrous forms, though holes in the shadows formed eyes and mouths in macabre mockeries of faces. They spread out to reveal a familiar silhouette in the courtyard across from the tavern: a silhouette of a woman with long, straight hair, ragged ends of a dress that reached her knees, and tiny hands and feet. She hobbled as she took a step, because she was missing one of her high-heeled shoes.