Clean Up Crew

The day is cool but pleasant with winter in full retreat. A gorgeous blue sky plays host to a pale moon rising and a brilliant sun making its slow descent to retire for the evening. Few of the tradesmen are at work and are enjoying a lazy Eliday afternoon making this particular western district relatively quiet.

Somewhere off the beaten path-- far from what anyone would describe as a 'prime location'-- is a plot that's little more than a neglected forge, an unpainted wood awning, and piled debris. The debris are under attack, a large, red-skinned Cerenzan past his prime and two younger goblins are shifting the junk out from under the awning and into a cart attached to an idling donkey.

The donkey wears a bright yellow caparison painted with a bell and the words "Goldbell Rentals: When You Need to Haul, Ass."

The gobbers have stopped working and ogle some forgotten, rusted tool. They debate its merits as salvage versus junk. There's some back-and-forth snatching, tongue-sticking-outing, and then some descriptive gestures. Their productivity falls to zero.

"Fellas," Robert grunts, pushing his forearm across his high forehead. "If you stand around all day with your teeth in your mouth we'll never finish and you won't get paid." He sighs, blowing a brief spray of sweat, and tosses a few bits of rotted crate and moldy tarpaulin into the back of the cart.

Oblivious to the ongoings of those around him, and obviously somewhat lost a tall man in dark clothes comes wandering around the corner to this forgotten part of the district. He smells heavily of drink, and aside from the weapon on his back, and the armor beneath his coat, he might have been easily mistaken for anyone else on the street. Well that and the fact that there's not a ton of other people on the street. The man stares at the work going on with a blank expression on his features, thinking of something else perhaps, or just stimied by having taken a wrong turn.

A white and rust red winged woman glides in at an intersection just over yonder. She lands with a little jog to bleed out her speed, the ribbons on her arms and wings trailing behind her. Coming to a stop, she pants and puts her hands on her knees, hunched over. "Oh heavens... if I keep this up..." she chitters to herself before looking over at who is working.

She perks up, her letting her wings lazily stay open to help vent as she takes her time to amble on over to the working group. "Well, well, well. Good day beauties!"

"Please. The job listing at the guild was paid by the task, not by the hour." The arvek-nar who was tagging along with the moving service grubles from behind a small mountain of junk that was being gathered up. Gone are the fanciful dress, the hobgoblin instead wearing a simple sleeveless shirt and loose fitting pants. "By the way, you sure you should be doing this, old man? I'm pretty sure that was more than just lubricant and other alchemical bits that were leaking out of your armor the other day."

Fine weather has pulled Dolan out of his hidey hole to enjoy the sun, and now wanders the streets, lacing his fingers together and stretching them over his head and backwards past his head to stretch his shoulders. It's an aimless wander, to be sure, but appreciation of sunlight requires no particular goal and no particular direction. Not much to say, for the moment, a man simply enjoying the day.

"I'm right as rain, young lady, and not THAT old," Robert laughs breathlessly. He chucks the blade-end half of a shovel and a destroyed bellows in with the rest of the junk, pausing then to brace his hands at the small of his back and stretch with a prolonged groan. "It'll be years yet before I'm dancing with my Yetta again."

A heavy sigh and he walks over to the goblin assistants, confiscating the ruined bulb-handled pokey-tool and tossing it in with the rest of the trash. "Not what I mean when I said 'give it your awl...'" he explains, pointing to some rotted canvas sacks of coal that have long since turned to sludge. "How about you two work together and get those into the cart. If we finish before sundown I'll spring for icewater and some sweet candies as a treat." The two goblins look between each other and then eye the human dubiously. "On top of the coins you were promised, of course." The goblins attend to the sacks.

Robert offers a wave to Slixvah as he laughs quietly to himself, then heads towards a pile of junk around a barrel and bucket that looks to have something nesting inside. "... nice of you to drop in," he greets.

The man watching the ongoings of the cleanup seems to abruptly realize that he's staring and backs up a step. Directly into the line of Dolan's path. Not that he seems to notice this either. Instead he ducks his head as Robert goes about directing the others in their clean-up efforts and turns away to peer blearily at the rest of the street.

Slixvah gives an up-nod in lieu of a wave. "Rather drop in than fly-by," she snorts, slowing to a stop to lean against the side of a building to rest.

Her gaze lands on Zofi, and she chirps a whistle. "Heya Muscles. Soldier-turned-chef-turned-laborer? Building out your resume, shug?" she teases.

A glance to the stumble. The birdwoman tilts her head to the side. "... hey, I remember that guy..."

"Old enough that you aren't as likely to bounce back quickly from blows like that." Zofi grumbles, Trying and failing to drag a sack along in vain as the stitching was disintegrating. The hobgoblin steps over to the cart to pick up the discarded shovel handle, which she uses to scoop the junk into the cart instead. "So I don't want you in a rush to destroy yourself if that's the case."

She stops, and looks to the egalrin, and blinks. "It's a job, it's paying. Better than yesterdays." She responds. "I think I remember him too. The one from the tavern the other day?"

Aaaaand, at the last minute, someone steps into Dolan's path. Enjoying a lungful of sea breeze, he doesn't catch the obstacle in his path until he's staggered right into it. "Hey!" he shouts at the collision. "Ai, sorry mate, didn't see you there," he adds quick, holding up a hand. "Really had ought to be looking where I am going." He backpedals a step, and shakes his head, seeming to finally well and truly look around him.

Kard stands the streets using a quarterstaff like a walking stick. He wears a heavy suit of armor, but the ancient magitech is quiescent for now, barely augmenting his own movements.

"You're absolutely right," Robert agrees with Zofija, satisfied that the gobbers are back to work and paying closer attention to what he's doing. Specifically, he's testing the pile of debris with his heavy workboot while one hand against the cold forge helps him keep balance. "But the Soothing Tenderness in Medicine (or STiM) blueprint is a contraption I've had mastered since before you were born..." He kicks at the barrel, sending it bouncing, and then hops back behind the forge in case something is to scurry out. Thankfully, nothing does!

"And someone was kind enough to recommend the massage artistry available at one of the local taverns," he glances to Slixvah and nods gratefully. A walk back around and he starts collecting bits from the latest pile. "Regardless," he looks again to Zofija, "it's nice of you to worry about a stranger like that and I'll thank you for it."

It's only as he's dropping the latest load of junk into the mule cart that he notices the two men talking in the street. Kard, too. He smiles a friendly smile and nods to all and sundry.

Kard drifts in the direction of the junk, scanning it idly. "What is all this?" He asks. "Where did you get it?" He pauses and then repeats in a lower octave. "I mean... is this a garbage collection of some sort?"

The slight bump between Dolan and the dark-haired man causes the later to twist toward the other man and growl irritably. "Watch where you're going!" He grumps loudly, his voice recognizable enough to confirm that it is the same man that Zofija and Sixvha had encountered in the bar recently. Same grumpiness. Same vaguely arrogant tone. "What's with folks these days not keeping their eyes on the road?" He grumbles some more but the half-words are indistinguishable aside from the fact that they sound vaguely insulting.

Slixvah winks at Robert in return. "Zofi's a nice gal," she props the Nar up with words.

Her attention shifts back to the newfolk. She shrugs lightly at Kard. "I think so, sugar. Cleanin' up and what not. Not my gig though."

Then to the dark-haired human. "Hon, you good? Do you need a nap?" she calls out.

Munch wanders out from the alley to Goblintown, peering around with idle curiosity. The cart of junk catches his eye, but as the golem starts that direction, grumbles and insults catch his ear. Well, he doesn't have ears, but you get the idea.

"Yeah. Sorry." Dolan holds up both hands, backpedaling another step, and changes his route so that his now-much-more-purposeful walk carries him in a different direction. He doesn't greet anyone else, and doesn't seem in the mood for a fight, his steps carrying him quickly away.

"Yeah, you're welcome." Zofi grunts with a small shrug as she pulls the shreds of sackcloth to toss them into the cart. She stops and considers for a moment, before using the shovel to fling another of the sacks in before it had a chance to fall apart this time. "Not surprised Slix knows where to get a good massage in Alexandria."

The commotion makes her stop and stare at the street. "You know, it takes two people for a collision. Maybe not to the same degree, but you both have to not be paying enough attention for something to happen." The arvek-nar offers.

Bob stands up from shouldering the old barrel into the junk cart, looking between Dolan and the stranger. He hangs back, a stern look smothering his smile until the one-eyed inquisitor says his apologies and leaves it alone. The older man is impressed.

That distraction set aside, the Cerenzan turns and smiles anew, wiping his hands on his pantsleg. "Just rented this old forge and need to get it cleaned so I can start work," he tosses a thumb over his shoulder at the three goblinoids. "Beggle, Snark, and Zofija are helping out for a fair day's wage; 'many hands make for light work.'" There's a nod to the egalrin, "And Miss Unmesi has swooped in to brighten our day with her sunny disposition."

He steps around the wagon and offers his hand to Kard, "Robert Ilife. Judging by your titan armor I'd say we share a few similar interests."

The unnamed man glares after Dolan, but the look in his purple eyes is not half so irritated as the one he throws at Slixvah and Zofija. He murmurs another curse under his breath and shakes his head. Seems he's not interested in fighting the women. Instead he makes his way after Dolan, as if perhaps he intends to make trouble for the other man.

"Yeah." Kard replies. "Kard the... Adventurer." He swerves last minute, still affecting a deeper voice and slow speaking pace. "Titan armor. That's a good word for it. Do you know much about it's construction?" He reaches out a hand to pick at a promising piece of junk but stills his hands before he gets there.