Private This is Family, No Matter What

[The Third]

It had been a while since he had seen anyone from his cadre, too long. They all had their own lives, their own jobs, but it was important that they also had each other. The sun was setting, and The Third desired to moisten his parched tongue with some good ale, and hopefully even better company. It was time to visit the old haunt, see who happened to be home, what was the worst that could happen? He'd end up drinking alone? Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last. The thought brought a grin to his lips, First and Last, always.

He had left his helmet at home, his armor carefully put away. He tended to it religiously, a source of pride for the aging brawler. He had earned that on his own, his nobility cast aside and easily forgotten. The Third was a prideful and confident man, he had earned that right a long time ago. Though the rest of his cadre had gotten very good at keeping him grounded when he was around them.

A calloused hand ran through his sandy brown hair, his icy gaze a squint against the setting sun as he turned down a darkened alley, the only lights from a quiet out of the way tavern. A home away from home. The Laughing Dragon was not a place for revelry, despite the name. Unless you were in the First and Last, anything outside a whisper was barely tolerated. This was their hovel, their place to get together and share things, sing and drink together. As Family should.

He took his place at a long wooden table, kept clean and free of other patrons. He wondered which of his Brothers or Sisters would join him tonight.

 

[The Sixth]

"Dance your bloody arse out of here, Chatha. Go on! This ain't the first time your tab's run dry but sure as the sun rising tomorrow is gonna be your last."

Clever bastard. A dangerous gleam touched the mercenary's eyes but disappeared as quickly as it came. "That temper of yours isn't going to win you any friends."

"Reckon I got more than you," the half-deva innkeeper shot back casually.

"Won't argue that. Keep your head low..." offered the Sixth as he began to head down the street.

"...and your aim high." responded the other, completing a common Crorefell adage.

Light in both purse and luck, the mercenary decided he'd make a quick stop for a drink or two at the 'Dragon before sleeping off his miseries. A bit of quiet had a way of making sure he didn't do anything foolish. Last thing he needed was the First complaining about how he was sullying their reputation, even if she was right.

Didn't take him long to make his way to the tavern from the Ember district. He stepped through the doorway not expecting to see another soul but instead caught the sight of a familiar figure. "If it isn't our wayward brother," called out the Sixth as he approached the long table. "I was almost convinced you'd forgotten about us." He clapped the other man on the shoulder before taking a seat.

 

[The Fourth]

The Bladedancer bobbed and weaved his way towards the Laughing Dragon like a true professional, but even he was not immune to the adverse effects of alcohol. "Bloody fool." Adjusting his knapsack, the Fourth stalked his wayward brother through the streets of Crorefell, a mercenary among mercenaries. A leather jerkin for protection, a short-sleeved shirt to combat the fading heat, and enough steel to give even the most desperate cutthroat pause.

The glowing eyes helped, of course. No-one wanted to fuck with the guy who looked like he snatched souls for a living. Then again, maybe he just had one of those faces.

Hastening to the 'Dragon, he slipped inside, waited until his eyes adjusted to the swirling gloom within. The place was pretty morbid at the best of times. The half-elf behind the bar appeared half-dead already, and the lack of business did little to lift the spirit. But at least there was nobody around to bother him. Well, almost.

Glancing across the room, the Fourth tilted his head to the side as he beheld a most rare of sights. My, oh, my! Approaching the shadowed alcove in which his comrades gathered, the Fourth fought to suppress a small smile. "Brothers." He greeted the pair, his gaze flitting from Third to Sixth, back again. "Has something happened that I'm not yet aware of?" He asked, placing his bag down with a thud.

It was the closest he had ever come to making a joke.

 

[The First]

A buxomed barmaid of fair complexion came traipsing over, her tray filled with sloshing steins of fresh ale and a jovial tune on her lips. Blatantly ignorant of any stares that burned her cheek at her audacious approach.

"There we go, one for each of ye, on the house." Came her chirping declaration, followed by one, two, three thunks of glass on wood. And finally, a fourth final stein was set on the table. The bar wench tucked her tray under arm and leaned into the Fourth, shoulders brushing against his tense ones. Her hand shot out and lifted the canvas bag the Fourth dropped, as if weighing the contents. And between one breath and the next, the illusion of the barmaid shed and, in her place, stood the First. Brown eyes twinkling and her grin wide and flashing as she twisted her other arm into the crook of the Fourth, her other still holding his bag.

"Ha! And still, you fall for it." Her hip colliding with his before disjointing from his grip and slipping into the chair next to the Third, taking a long dreg from the drink she had brought for herself, pausing to swirl its contents before tipping the rim in the direction of the canvas, "In case y'all are wondering, there's a head in his bag."

She scoffed into her drink and nodded to her Brother, "That wouldn't happen to be the head of one of the purveyors of your bordello would it? I told you I would take care of it." Her tone casual as she leaned deep back into her chair, the manicured nails of her other hand clicking on the wooden table.

@The Fourth @The Sixth @The Third