Autumn Party 07

"And you are?" Nico asked lost in thought. She was trying to remember how to play a certain, somewhat more cheerful song.

"I have the impression neither no-one nor the little giant would mind help," Kinta answered.

The gryphon muttered and drained a glass of wine. "Someone who's trying to make a living."

Mhelarn choked back the urge to howl along with the violin.

Instead, he said "It is a fine costume, though a little stain prone. I like easy wear myself, usually. Loose, comfortable...anything but stretch. Stretch clothing is abominable, especially polyester derivatives. I've had some really bad experiences with stretch."

He'd said more than he meant to. Maybe he was babbling. The checkered 'weirdo eyed the person-who-was-not-really-a-nurse and waited for a response.

The dragon jumped up and down a few times, snapping at (or, rather, through) the violin.

"Cry havoc and something-or-other, then," Lamia said, appropriating another drink and going to join the musicmakers. She put the glass on top of the piano. FSD & R 1844 Klavira, the inscription said, but Lamia didn't look at it long enough for it to expand. "Can I take the low end?" she asked Nico.

---

"Oh, really? Anything sufficiently untraumatic to elaborate on? Strict nurse-clownsuit confidentiality, naturally."

One of the living dead passed with a tray; Thiggie put her empty glass on it.

The clownsuit drained the last of his and followed suit. What the hell..

He wondered if there had been something in the grape juice.

"I'm a bit of a shifter, you see. Stretchy stuff, when faced with a different shape, doesn't shrug off or tear. It binds. It won't let go, much like those giant plants I'm overhearing about. And the damned fabric catches and pulls the little growing hairs. I'm not really a wolf who wants a waxing."

He did not mention the tail issues. That was just too painful to express in public, even to a sympathetic audience.

The troll's eyebrows climbed to her starched hairline. "Yeah, I can imagine. So, hold on, you can turn? Into a wolf? Bugger if that doesn't beat the hell out of petty fraud for a party trick."

She was certainly surprised, possibly impressed and maybe a bit skeptical. She kept to normal volumes, though. He probably wouldn't want the issue shouted about.

"Well, it's more like the other way around. But I can get used to using silverware." He grinned sharply.

"Petty fraud's more useful, though. Could you teach me some?"

"There've been a few times when a quick disguise and species change would've come in handy. Yes, I could give you some pointers - depends on the law of the land and how the capital structures work, though."

So she was talking to a wolf in human's clothing? Thig was a little unnerved.

"That's always a variable. But if you know how to learn the regs and use 'em, that's all I need." He noted the troll's shift in scent and posture. Why was it that humans who went wolf were so much better than wolves that went bipedal?

Now was not the time for the diatribe, though. This was the time for the sell.

"Might be able to find a magical gimmick or something that'd let you shift, too."

It never failed: she went somewhere with no intention of scouting for work, in a getup that didn't exactly scream professionalism and certainly afforded no room to stash a notebook, and she really should have expected this to be the first time in months she would run into a genuine Prospect. Or something that looked close enough, to one in Thiggie's situation.

"Keep talking, Mr..." Hell, he hadn't given a name, had he? "Wolf," she recovered, a little lamely.

At least she'd stayed off the alcohol.

Mhelarn was beginning to wonder where the buzz was coming from. He continued though, and he spoke quietly. Not intently, though, that would immediately draw attention. He stayed relaxed, kept making eye contact with the food, the people, the food. The food.

Maybe he was a bit hungry.

"Wolf's good" said he,"though it'll raise some eyebrows. So, to get back to business.. this crowd is big n flashy. Somewhere in here, in this inn, there's gonna be a mage who does alterations. You know, naturalistic, plant lover type. There's also undoubtedly some other people who have some other benefits we'd want to capitalize on, if you know what I mean. " He didn't know what he meant, but he hoped she would assume something.

"And this naturalistic type is going to be able to do some surface modifications using me as a template. If we're very lucky, they can tie it to some kind of object, so that no one can trace the wolf on you without it. Now ask me how we're going to be able to get them to do it. Ask me!" He leaned back and went back to grinning toothishly.

Oh, he'd been serious. Hmm. Well, wolf did sound sort of fun. Actually crazy, but crazy was occasionally fun.

"Mages, hmm?" Thiggie said, obviously mulling the idea. "Not sure I'd trust one of those basket cases, but go on - how do you propose we open quotes persuade them close quotes?"

And what exactly did he have in mind in exchange? Well, that question would wait. She'd let him play this his way for the time being; it allowed her to concentrate on not being nervous about the teeth.

"Well, there's the technical novelty, for one. I'm sure it's not really a challenge for these basketcases, but they can't get those sorts of requests very often. Mages are geeks, really. They enjoy plying their trade, and look for opportunities to expand their knowledge."

"Mr.Wolf" took a couple breaths before going on. Steady, steady, keep perusing the room.

He was really going to have to get something to eat soon. His stomach growled.

"But really, the more important thing is the scene. This is a party. This is a holiday party, with alcohol involved. There are these mages and wizards. They are expected to cut loose a little, show off, and do wild and crazy things with magic. If they don't, people will assume they don't have the capability. Right now is the best possible opportunity to get these things done for free."

Breathe.

"Well, almost free. We might have to advertise a little, mention 'uber-powerful so and so', but I think that's doable."

"What do you think?" Mhelarn was almost panting and the casual thing might have been slightly blown. Oh well.

"I think..." I need a drink. No! "I think I'd like to know what sort of project you have in mind that's going to need a couple of con-wolves."

And I think I want to know what you eat, without delay. "I'm going to grab some pumpkin pie, if the falcon man left any," Thiggie added offhandedly, with a questioning angle to her eyebrows.

"Right, left, bottom, top, whatever you want," Nico answered, not even looking at Lamia.

The violin grew fainter, both in sound and image.

Azra went from the door of the greenhosue right to the small crowd, curious what was going on, while Ebani joined Kinta and the other man in black. The latter watched the demon in Blue as she walked across the hall, and seemed lost in thought. That was partly because he tried to tune out the conversation between "Wolf" and Thiggie.

He tried to pay attention while Ebani told Kinta what, as far as he could tell, had happened in the greenhouse, in a way that made a bit more sense.

The monk entered again, smiling underneath the brown cowl's hood, hands stuck in the sleeves. The two plaits falling down his temples so that they hid a part of his ears also fell out of the hood, down his chest.

He had told Wilbur that he couldn't have thought of a costume as good as this by himself. The monk looked both faintly amused and festive again as he made his way toward the music.

"Thou art finished, fiendish fiddle!" Dragon declared with finality.

The snake insinuated herself onto the left-hand side of the bench, and after a second or two, added a bassline. A listening ear might have detected influence from what some of those present would have known as norszfire music.

The red-blue-and-green Dragon, in the middle of preening himself for the vanquish of the vile violin, performed a spectacularly scarlet double-take at the monk. "Oh. My. Grace," he said, softly and gleefully.

Then delayed reaction kicked in and Dragon rolled over (with some difficulty thanks to the feathery silk dragonwings sewn to his back), yelping with laughter.

Nico finally found into the melody proper. It might have sounded familiar to people who thought pills were the same colour as the viruses they were meant to cure.

Azra nodded a greeting at the former angel, and handed him his lyre.

The monk took the offered lyre with a gracious smile and then was judiciously quiet for as long as he stared at the piano. And then he turned a very slow, questioning look at Oh. My. Grace. "The Lady's love in all its forms, my scaly friend?" he suggested in a chipper yet officious tone, one picked up from clergy indeed.

"Yeah, somethin' like that," the dragon said, getting stuck upside down for just a moment before managing to right himself (the stuffed tail was good for something, then).

"Is anyone a sketch artist?" he asked the room. "Because I know someone who would get a real kick out of that."

Lamia looked up briefly at the monk and chuckled. Again with the piety - clearly a case of 'pointy-ears doth protest too much'.