Cylus 5th Arc 722
Wisp sat on the edge of a ceiling beam sipping a thimble of rich hoppy beer and sloshing its contents as she sang along with the crowd. A stolen bowl of soup and buttered breadcrumbs sat beside the happily munching Tunawa. While Tunawa didn’t need to eat, Wisp was cold to the amber core in the snowy and dark northern town and the promising gust of warmth she’d flown through when a man had drunk stumbled from its interior had drawn her in. O’Rourkes had been easily slipped into through a crack where the ceiling seam met the wall. At first, she’d thought it a pleasant place to pass a few chimes but her warm heavy belly begged her to remain just a little longer.
The crowd, arms slung around each other singing a sea shanty in a happily slurred half-yell, was a boisterous and charming representation of Almund. While Almund had reminded Wisp of her first boyfriend, vaguely sweaty and slimy, the hearty belly laughs and brazen comradery abounding in the tavern revealed its true character. Almundians may live in a ship graveyard, with all the associated darkness and decay…but maybe that just makes the people a little shinier. She thought, until someone puked in a bucket that was. The smell wafted up into the rafters making the twig turn even greener.
Mounting the large wasp, she fled to the furthest end of the bar. Drunks’ eyes widened as they leaned out of the way of the buzzing black insect and ebony barked Tunawa. Wisp let herself slide off Hoyt’s back as he dipped low over a nearby table to land amongst the sparkling steins that towered over her.
“Argh! To Almund!” She cheered, lifting her thimble to the town. The table sat six men of various sizes and states of drunkenness. All looked down at the invading outsider with silent trepidation, until one man red-faced with drunkenness smashed his glass against hers.
“Cheers to my little friend!” Wisp was almost bowled over by the enthusiastic and unrestrained clink. A handless man offered his pronged alternative to the stumbling Tunawa catching the point in her clothes to steady her. “Ohhhh and she brought herself a lil’ gitar!” He exclaimed, grasping at the less than finger-length violin case strung across her back.
“This lil’ gitar,” She explained, mimicking his pronunciation playfully, “is a screamer.” She pulled the violin from its case and ran the bow across it. A creaking shrill whine came from the violin’s lips.
“Sounds a lot like your mother!” The red-faced drunkard snorted at the handless friend. The table rolled in laughter, again almost unsteadying the Tunawa. She felt a bit seasick, the bench tossed on belly’s as effortlessly as a boat tossed on rough seas.
“Not because of you!” Wisp retorted back, seeing the handless man’s eyes squint. He didn’t have hands to clench or fists to fly, but the plant didn’t want to see the damage his pronged prosthetic could do. She was greeted with another round of belly laughter, this one so boisterous she was tossed from the table and onto a small clear table.
“Music! Music! Music!” The table chanted, banging their fists to an offbeat rhythm.
Oh no… Wisp murmured under her breath. The playful diversion hadn’t worked – these men really thought she could play. Wisp gulped as eyes increasingly turned to see what all the chanting was about. Yellow glowing eyes widened with anxiety as she felt Lisirras’ bastard maggot stir inside her abdomen. It’s waking up…
