World Tree MUSH

 Location: 
 Lylat/Solar Binary Star System 
 Planet Katina 
 Northwestern Hemisphere 
 Antenor City 

     Katina is often considered to be the sister planet of Corneria, the most populated planet in the star system, although Katina only has eight percent of its surface covered in water. While arid, it is not desert; rather, the land consists of plains and savannas and grasslands. Due to the abundance of water able to be tapped underground, civilizations have formed in spotty areas all around the planet. 

     Antenor City isn't a sprawling metropolis by any means, but it's a fair distance away from any lakes or oceans placing it far out of range of the higher military presence of the Cornerian Alliance which centers around established bases and port towns near most of the water sources available. Most of the surrounding area is speckled with farmland where many crops and types of livestock are grown and raised for product shipping to the main cities for extraplanetary distribution and sale. While many of those that live in the city work outside its borders, the signs of commerce and white collar organizations and workers all thrive just as well in the city itself. 

     Due to this balance, all types of business and entertainment venues are available to locals and tourists alike. Something to note, however, is that Lylatian cities -- while each planet has its own style of architecture based on historic culture -- tend to be very eco friendly. The ground is not paved over in entirety. Most high traffic roads for hovering vehicles are above the ground by at least forty feet and such vehicles are fairly quiet and have no emissions that affect air quality. The ground has much naturalism outside of building foundations and pedestrian pathways; while cultivated and tended, what might be called gardens decorate such cities as Antenor allowing for a much more relaxed feel, as most Lylatians might feel. 

     Some of the commercial centers are built around these gardens in patches, as one might see from above, allowing city-goers access to various choices around them. Restaurants, Bars, Bauble Shops, Clothing, and Grocery Stores are easily found outside of the selection of specialty shops. Some places may feel more 'higher class' than others, but any observation of such places catering to a specific caste or class is merely an illusion. Price and quality are fairly equalized and the difference in theme and atmosphere is merely a means to cater to individual taste of potential patrons. 

     Locals and tourists alike are free to pick their own destiny. The twin stars in the sky, of which Lylat's sharp blue dominates far over Solar, are sinking lower in the sky as the evening waxes.

    Nort and Scar are, despite their world's primitive nature, quite familiar with space travel and high technology. Coming here was thus pretty easygoing for them, even if they don't understand the tech really. Not from lack of exposure, but simply because of being a zoologist, not a technician. Which makes for an interesting visit, since Nort is... actually just wearing power armor as always, just with the helmet off to indicate how casual he is, and he's idly looking at the various creatures.

    Scar, normally his mount, is still wearing the saddle but walking alongside him instead. It is Scar, the giant wolverine, that keeps eying everyone with more interest. It might be mistaken for hunger even. His ears twitch as Nort speaks, "Kind of ridiculously egalitarian. I wonder what the catch is." Suspicious one, isn't he? Though it's said in a relaxed tone, instead of one more guarded. "Let's get you something nice to eat, for once. If I can afford it."

    This should be an adventure. Who stocks enough to feed more than a snack to something the size of Scar? For his part, Scar just snorts distantly, the cybernetic eyes whrring as they change focus from whatever they were looking at.

    Scrapclaw is not from a world where space travel is normal. In fact, she's from a world that was bombed back to the stone age, and such technological marvels and architectural feats as a thriving world can present always enrapture her imagination. What catches even more of her attention is Nort and Scar, the pair sticking out like a sore thumb much like herself. She decides to start following at a safe distance, innocent curiosity fueling her for the time being. She wants to see what they do, who they talk to, what they eat.

    She is stalking them, technically.

     Now, the most notable aspect of the entirety of the city is not the design or architecture or build or inclusion of nature, but instead has a focused spotlight on the population. Aside from the rare Outworlder, nearly all of those that work and live and play and shop are, well, animal people. Cats, dogs, wolves, foxes, birds, and lizards (and even a few dinosaurs) are just a sampling of the colors and shapes that paint the picture of those around. 

     Now, truth be told, both Nort and his companion are going to have others give them respectful distance. This isn't done out of fear, necessarily, however. In general, acts of violence don't seem to happen in the cities all that much. While Antenor doesn't have a heavy Cornerian military presence, it has its own policing forces (both official and unofficial). Most 'bad things' tend to happen outside the cities; there's a LOT of planet to go around compared to the spotty cities and villages around. 

     Not all is perfect and peaceful, though. Construction sites are scattered about the city, but a trained eye can pick up on the fact that these repairs are not due to renovation or accident. The scars of some great war linger hinting on other scars that may be present on the people that seem to have otherwise moved on from whatever disastrous situation brought about such damage. 

     Not every restaurant or bar is entirely indoors. Because of the arid and stable climate, weather is very predictable and this allows for many open-air places and kiosks. Seafood is harder to find, due to the distance from fresh supply, but many other types of local produce and butchery are available for those wishing to make a purchase. Also, due to the open nature of trading between star systems and the experience introduced from other Worlds, currencies of many types are able to be used for bartering. Most domestic Lylat currency is purely digital, but physical money is just as viable. 

     One such open-air place is a bar styled after some of the culture from Sauria, another planet in the Lylat/Solar system with dinosaur people, that might most resemble what some might call a Tiki Bar and Lounge. There is even a centralized bonfire where people can hang out around and an extension of that fire pit is used to grill meat to complement the spirits and distillates and fermentates served. Among the half-strong crowd slowly gathering as dusk approaches is a lupine figure that stands taller than most of the rest of his peers, although some of the lizards easily match that height. There is conversation and laughter and general levity, even if the tall figure amongst the crowd wears bikerpunk armor and clearly has a monster of a sidearm on his hip. No, the general populace doesn't appear to be armed at all.

    "That one looks good," Nort suggests, patting Scar again. The massive wolverine growls, focusing on the Tiki Bar and the open grill. That does look like he could get a snack out of it, doesn't it? Though who knows how much he eats! The two either don't notice Scraps, or if they do they don't think anything of her following them. Maybe they think she's a native.

    "Gecko, you think?" That's the only remark Scraps gets, but Scar shakes his head, almost as if disagreeing with his 'master' here.

    That said, someone armed is a little different here. So as Nort approaches, Scar grunts and the man pauses. He's already a human in a world full of animal people, so the sidearm does make him a little wary. Looking there, he narrows his eyes, before fishing into his pockets for some cash. "How much for some of that meat?"

    Scar, the giant wolverine, is not a two-legged one. Nonetheless, the cyborg is very obviously sizing up the lupine here, looking a bit like a soldier assessing a possible threat.

    Scrapclaw follows. She moves with plenty of silence, her strange attire actually making that fairly easy to accomplish. She makes her way up to the Tiki Grill, and the smell of food touches her nose and dissolves all other priorities. As animal instinct worms its way into trained thought, she diverts her attention to where everything is being cooked, and digs into her uniform to produce a couple of bags. First, a bag full of bottlecaps. She puts that away, with no explanation, and then produces something with a lot of solid coinage... gold, actually, in this case. She puts some down and looks expectantly at one of the servers.

    Her attention goes from her need to feed, to the large wolverine and the wolf that is being squinted at. She looks at Wolf and, judging him similar to a Raider, she takes a seat where she, too, can squint at him. While she waits for her meal.

     One of the people behind one section of the service counter at the outdoor bar seems to be a bird of some sort with multicolored feathers and an impressive plumage. Decked out in garb befitting the theme of the establishment, they reach over onto the wooden-looking counter and tap it -- a section of the counter seems to visually dissolve into that of a digital screen that uses a touch interface. The immediate screen appearing is a menu with general pricing in Standard Credits, Cornerian. 

     A beaked smile is the first expression issued, purely from well-practiced, although relaxed, exposure as a salesperson. Then, the bird takes note of the unique appearance of Nort, and then the bird notices the giant wolverine, and their expression changes suddenly to one of flustered apology. "Sorry! Uh..." The bartender hurriedly taps at the screen with feathery fingers: the screen rotates, and then a series of menus are navigated to bring up a Known Currencies and Accepted Barters list, along with known Worlds recorded so far to further help narrow down the changes to alien economy compared to the domestic one. 

     Scraps, funnily enough, probably fits in surprisingly well. Due to the uplifting of Planet Sauria and the freedom granted of the natives of Planet Venom, reptile types of many shapes and sizes can be found all over the system. The use of gold as a currency is perfectly acceptable. That said, the cost of a decent filling meal (for the average person) is not 'expensive'. Lylatian costs are all fairly low. The system economy has been booming since their connection to the World Tree and that makes production, acquisition, and distribution of common goods more and more inexpensive. 

     Surely Nort and Scraps will find the prices asked for grilled plains caribou (or what might be the closest comparison), seasoned in traditional EarthWalker style. "Nocsemo ke kxo Bar, xedehot wiojkj." The spoken language is that simply referred to as Dino and is very uncommon; due to the way languages work across worlds, the language called Lylat is the one most easily understood. Dino sounds just as alien as it is. Thankfully, though, it is merely a spoken phrase of welcome. Like...a slogan. Buying a meal is going to be a very easy experience for most. that leaves a heavier focus on those around, like that wolf person. 

     The lupine doesn't laugh as much as some of those most immediately around him, but he does smile from time to time or comments briefly on matters of conversation. His right ear flicks twice, however, as if something unknown is bothering him. After a moment longer, the grizzled fellow turns his head to search for the source of eyes upon him. His face and ears are scarred and one eye -- his left -- is covered in a patch. He lowers his tankard of brew as his purple-colored gaze shifts in this unspoken yet obvious search. None around him seem to take note of this change in attention.

    Nort is left to look over the menu. "Yes, this will do fine for my friend here," he says lightly. At least he doesn't seem particularly upset by animal-people, or shocked at all. He considers, then pulls out some of the local currency, plus a little extra in gold. "This should do it. Been a while since I had to do conversions in my head."

    Scar stares back at Wolf, but with the cybernetic eyes a staring contest is sort of silly. Abruptly, the wolverine looks away with a grunt. "Chameleon," he says suddenly, in a gutteral yet very articulate voice.

    Nort points, "Yeah, I should have seen by the bone structure. The teeth threw me off." He is not shocked at all by Scar saying that, but they both glance at Scraps now, before Nort moves over to pat Scar's side and address Wolf. "Hope he didn't bother you. Scar's as smart as I am, but tends to not have the manners."

    The only thing that breaks Scrapclaw's nearly unblinking glare is the food being put in front of her. She picks up the grilled meat with her hands -- it's not burning her? -- and eats it all within the span of a minute or two. Chomp chomp. She doesn't seem all that concerned about enjoying the flavor of what's in front of her, only for the raw purpose of sustenance. She likewise orders a large glass of water, which she drinks out of more daintily for some reason. Her pinky even extends outward as she very gently lifts the glass and pours water into her horrible flesh-ripping maw.

    Drip.

    Since she's sitting near enough that it wouldn't be weird to talk to Wolf, she speaks up. "Why are you armed on this peaceful world?" she inquires, bluntly and directly. "The locals have seen trouble, but they do not arm themselves like you do." Her voice is deep, suitably reptilian, but identifiably feminine. She looks off toward Nort and Scar after that, whose appearances still baffle her... but seem oddly familiar. Like the oddity would fit, superimposed into her world.

    Wait, the wolverine just spoke. What.

    Her head cocks like a confused puppy, and then she elaborates, "Jackson Chameleon. Among other strains of animal. I am a Deathclaw, a genetically engineered killer, or my ancestors were. Shock troops used by the US military against Chinese communists before the Great War burned away all of that idiocy and replaced it with new ignorance."

    "I call myself Scrapclaw, after the pet name the Brotherhood originally gave to me before they fully accepted my intelligence." She taps the symbol on her outfit to indicate what 'Brotherhood' means.

     As the roasting of meat over the fire pit is integral to the outdoor bar, servings carved and served take little time. It's not fancy; it's a very different kind of thing than visiting an opulent restaurant that prides itself on style and presentation. This place? It's built on atmosphere, theme, and presence. The meat has some minor garnishing, but is otherwise served alone and is carved in a way that allows people to use fingers for dining. Napkins are readily available. 

     Colorful cocktails and giant mugs of ale are the main things sold, however, although those that work at the bar might argue that what they sell is a good time and that tasty roasted meat and fruity concoctions with alcohol are merely tools to achieve that state. Nonetheless, those around are in good spirits; Nort and Scraps may gain some stares (and Scar absolutely gets some looks and side commentary), but nobody is outright rude. At least, not intentionally. 

     This wolven guy, though, finds returned attention from multiple people -- Scar absolutely counts as a person in Lylatian point of view, as some species and aliens are naturally quadrupedal -- yet he does not speak at first. His beer is sat down upon the counter before him. The jostle of contact causes condensation to gather and stream down the side of the clear vessel. The one-eyed gaze contains curiosity, although there is something equally predatory about it that even obviously dangerous animalistic Outworlders like Scar and Scrapclaw no doubt naturally possess. 

     Scraps' questions are given. Nort's manners are offered. The two then address one another, moreover and overall. While the gray and white wolf squints at the exchange, the avian server visibly cringes and leans in to softly say, "You don't know? That's Wolf O'Donnell, the infamous outlaw mercenary." It's understandable to not have exposure to the Wanted postings regarding O'Donnell and his associates and the bounties on their heads that one would find in the more Cornerian Alliance-controlled cities. Antenor doesn't have such influence. 

     This O'Donnell guy, though: he lifts his tankard to drain more of the liquid inside before putting it down again before standing. It seems he's inclined to lessen the distance between himself and the three.

    "Another wasteland, eh? You looked a little more rough and tumble than the locals," Nort concedes. The human nods his head to Scraps. "Jackson Chameleon, that's a big change. I haven't seen a pureblood one of those in... let's say a long time. My world blew itself up a few centuries back, too. I know what you mean."

    He pats Scar. "Well, /we/ know. Scar usually doesn't talk, but here he fits in all right."

    Scar grunts, then rumbles, "Outlaw, eh? Makes sense. Has a bit of a military bearing. Mercenary will do that I guess, if he has discipline." The cyborg ambles over toward the wolf, after getting his portion. Sniffing, he doesn't seem to be the type that hates seasonings anyway. "Scar, and the guy over there is my partner Nort."

    Nort smiles. "Scar's the one in charge, I just end up doing most of the talking outside the Delta Fragment."

    Scrapclaw stands up, jamming the last of her food in her mouth with the grace of a toddler. She steps over to where Nort, Scar and Wolf are discussing, and she looks at Wolf with a hissing sigh. The remark that server made didn't answer her question, and so she picks at her teeth in a surly way and thumps her tail against the ground in mild agitation. "Is he also infamously mute?" she asks, but toward Wolf himself. She leans to check to see if he has any other weapons, and she stays distinctly at a defensible range, despite approaching. She clearly doesn't trust him, even without knowing who he is. People that carry themselves like Wolf are usually cold-blooded murderers, back in the Wastelands.

     As the approach has it, the outlaw doesn't get to fully approach the armored Nort as Scar meets O'Donnell partway. Now, compared to most of the people from his home system, Wolf is an imposing figure without adding in the obvious scars and style of dress or armaments. Comparing Wolf to a creature like Scar is a very different story. Still, while most would shy away from particularly close contact with such a creature (again, without figuring in any obvious non-biological enhancements visible), O'Donnell doesn't seem particularly afraid of the encounter. 

     Rather, it's not a matter of not showing fear. It's a matter of not showing much of any emotion at all. 

     Likely without meaning, Scrapclaw's biting remark centered around the agitation brought upon by Wolf's initial silence is perfectly normal for most Venomian lizards. While physiology may differ, she no doubt might find that she fits in with such a diverse crowd in her own way given enough experience. 

     "I'm Wolf, yes. New to Katina, or to Lylat in general?" Wolf also inhales, somewhat deeply, but more as a gesture of expression rather than a means to pick up on the scents of those so present. He reaches into his vest, but what he pulls free is not a weapon. It's a cigar. With one end, the merc points in Scraps' direction while allowing his cycloptic gaze to follow. "You remind me of another chameleon I know. I like that." 

     O'Donnell's other hand fishes about for his lighter while he regards the three. Scar, by merit of proximity, does get the most conversational focus. "To answer one question in order to sate curious minds, I'm armed because I want to be. Eh, let's just say I'm one of those people you either really like or simply can't stand and when people can't stand me there's usually blaster fire. These people know that, but they generally don't care because I'm not here to hurt them. I'm here to pay for booze." 

     Scraps' inclination about Wolf isn't far from the truth. That's precisely why many people can't stand him. Wolf holds himself outside the governing policies of law enforcement and that makes him, by principle, a dangerous individual. The measure of danger doesn't matter. "Impressive kit, by the way," comments the lupine regarding Nort and Scar's appearances. "So, what line of work are you three in?" Nope. No lighter to be found in that pocket. Or that pocket. Wolf furrows his brow.

    Nort glances at Scraps. "Easy, this isn't the place to get riled up. These people are peaceful, let's not ruin that for them if we don't have to, right?" Nort shifts and leans against a chair, using the back for support, but he stops that when it creaks under the weight of his armor. At least it didn't break. In an attempt to be friendly he reaches to his satchel to pull out a lighter... or intends to, but he's having trouble finding one too.

    Sometimes the simplest things...

    "Genetic engineering huh? Yeah, they tried some of that in my world too," Nort says while looking for a lighter. This is getting annoying. "Most don't remember that though. I take it this Brotherhood is some kind of organization to bring things back to civilized levels?"

    Scar answers Wolf's question though. He doesn't seem surprised that there's no fear, maybe why he spoke up to begin with. The wolverine, despite massive size and battle gear, is very articulate. "Now? Military organization. Not our original job though. We're zoologists by training. Damn good ones, too. Veterinarians as well. Not that I'm... practicing." He lifts his clawed foreleg. "Now I mostly keep the ranks in line, or when we're exploring pretend to be Nort's mount. He does the talking for me."

     "Ha!" 

     The singular laugh that comes from Wolf is partially infused with humor, but it's mostly an expression of appreciation regarding the deception of appearance. That's something he can regard and value. "Well, exobiology isn't a very easy thing for most people, but with as varied as life is around our planets, medical knowledge of any capacity could net you nonmilitarized work through a private faction." Such as his own. "If you're looking for work opportunities around here." Many Outworlders are. "Mind, the governing body for the star system here is its own militarized force, but even they might have a use for a skilled exozoologist that can handle themself." 

     O'Donnell places the cigar between his teeth; any words that follow are lightly mumbled due to the lack of jaw movement. He uses both hands to search for his lighter now. "You might consider dropping by the Academy of Science and Technology in Corneria City, over on Planet Corneria, if you're looking for work and don't mind buddying up to the Alliance." For an infamous outlaw, shouldn't he be not helping out the people seeking to lock him away forever? That might say something about his priorities. Or his concerns. Or the lack thereof. "I'd say 'be careful who you make your bed with', but something tells me you don't need my advice." 

     O'Donnell pulls the cigar free and turns away from Scar. "Look, just- Watch my beer for a moment. I'll be riiight back." That beer is some few paces away on the counter mostly empty. Rather, Wolf excuses himself for the time being to wander over to the fire pit for something.

    Scar snorts softly as he's told to watch the drink, but he doesn't actually seem to mind despite his grumpy-seeming attitude. The massive wolverine looks pretty comfortable where he is. "Like we said, we aren't really into the tech. We're zoologists. We just know how to use it. These parts aren't even something we wanted." He flexes a cybernetic paw, then grouchily lowers head.

    Nort looks more content desspite being a human surrounded by talking animals. He cuts off a huge slice of meat and wanders over to Scar, where he can toss it to the wolverine. "Might check it out anyway, Scar."

    There are other offworlders at the bar and grill, too. The two seated across the courtyard from the giant wolverine and the man in power armour don't blend in very well, either, being a particularly well-dressed human man, and a woman with tall hare's ears and a piercing gaze. They both have grilled something on skewers, and what looks like a bottle of beer each.
    Or maybe it's Nort and Scar they're staring at.
    Keen ears might pick out their soft conversation.
    "Quite a strange customer, isn't he?" Smooth and suave baritone, lightly accented; refined and aristocratic. The man.
    "A fighter, this." Scratchy and smoky, exotically inflected. The woman. "Strangers, here, as we." She punctuates her words with a sip of wine. "What do you plan to do, sky pirate...?"
    The man doesn't answer. He's regarding the other gathering thoughtfully, eyes narrowing just a little, as though he were weighing his options.
    "Balthier." The woman with the hare's-ears raises a brow, skeptically.
    "I'm thinking."
    Neither of them moves to join the group, just yet, but they're watching. Wolf might feel that itchy feeling of being watched. If he finally looks over, the hume will smile thinly and raise his glasses. The woman, well. The woman will just stare. It's just her way. It's the cool, quietly confident regard of a warrior. Him, though... he's harder to figure. His hazel eyes are preternaturally still as he considers.

     Approaching the fire pit near where the meat is roasted, Wolf O'Donnell borrows a set of fire tongs -- without asking of the employees of the Saurian-style outdoor bar -- to pick up something that he can use to light his cigar with. No need to cut the tip; it looks like it has already been partially burned. Gripping one in the tool and lifting it, the coal-like material almost seems to swirl with the change between black and red-orange. The heat is immense. The infrared radiation from one small thing is rather staggering. The licking flames of the fire pit's bonfire a very short distance away shifts the illumination and shadows cast by Wolf's fur and style of dress; the contrast between light and dark grows stronger now that the stars are meeting the horizon to sink below. 

     It wouldn't be the first time that Wolf has felt such a gaze in this night alone. Most people aware of his reputation and position know to not stare. As such, O'Donnell puffs his cigar into ignition with a hot chunk of carbon while passing a glance in Balthier and Fran's direction. However, the close proximity to the fire makes direct recognition a bit more difficult amidst the many faces and conversations present situated around the blaze and searing meat. There might be a bit of a subconscious picking up of the lifted-glasses gesture, too, but it doesn't seem to bring about an active reaction. 

     Dropping the source of heat back into the pit and setting the tongs aside (not exactly where he got them), the wolf with smoke drifting from his nostrils makes his way back over to the counter where his drink was left behind. He raps his knuckles upon the bar, pushes the mug forward, then lifts up two fingers to one of the servers before stepping away to walk in Scar's direction once more. 

     "Right, now, what were we talking about?"

    Nort has taken a seat next to Scar, but the two don't seem to gossip much with one another. Nort is drinking, while Scar is chewing. Only when Wolf approaches again does Nort speak up. "I haven't actually had a good brew in a long, long time. Not as potent as what I usually end up with..." He raps at his chest. "Not that this old body will let me get drunk too easily, but..." Apparently he can still get a buzz at least, but is pretty far from that.

    While Nort relaxes, Scar eats, and his ear twitches. He's preoccupied, but a sniff smells more humans... or one human and something else. Cybernetic eyes stare right back at Balthier, but the mechanical nature makes it hard to read any expresssion.

    Although the wolf-man glances their way, it seems apparent that he hasn't seen them, or simply hasn't acknowledged it. Hazel eyes continue to stare at the space pirate, and although Balthier takes a sip of his beer, he sets the bottle aside and pushes himself to his feet. Without any apparent signal, the rabbit-eared woman rises and saunters after him, ever one step behind and to his right.
    They both take their beers with them. They may not be Bhujerban madhus, but there's no sense wasting good alcohol.
    "Well, well, well." It's the hume who speaks first, and Balthier folds his arms as he strolls nearer to the familiar gathering. Well, partly familiar. Wolf is a known factor. The others are not. "What a coincidence." Hazel eyes sweep over to Nort and Scar, lifting a brow faintly. The expression is engaging enough, but his eyes are still curiously still. "Not from around here, are you? I'll share a little secret with you; neither are we."
    He pauses, taking a sip from his bottle, before stowing it back in the crook of an elbow. "Zoologists, is it? Fascinating. I've a question, though it may be personal. Curiosity is a terrible curse, you know. If you didn't want those parts... how, perchance, did you wind up with them nonetheless, hm...?"

     "Well, this is about average for your typical draught you'll find around these kinds of hangouts. You can get more specialized and rarer poisons, but you'll have to pay more. If you know where to look, there are those that can ship a selection in from a couple other star systems. Or, you know, other dimensions." 

     Wolf inhales through his cigar with a crackle of the smoldering leaf and visibly takes a moment to taste the smoke before tipping his nose upward to let the smoke slowly drift away. "I know some people that can score some much stronger brew, of course. I'd be happy to hook you up, buuuut..." The biker-dressed lupine shrugs his shoulders and turns partially away; one hand raises with beckoning wave to gesture a server over that is carrying two mugs meant for the outlaw. It's not the bird from before, but a monkey. Wolf's free hand reaches to take one mug, but as for the other? The point of the cherry-tipped cigar motions to the wolverine. 

     The monkey gets an incredulous look on his face that turns into a sassy 'ha ha funny' flat expression. Wolf shrugs again. "What? It's not mine. I have something in each hand." The cigar pointer aims at Nort. "It's not his. He has one already." The mercenary stares down the hired help with a roll of the hand cradling the source of the sweet-smelling rich smoke. "Just- Just put it down, down there- What, are you going to make me do it?" The monkey doesn't just stand there, but there's a lot of hesitation with each motion and notion of moving closer to Scar. "Just bend your knees and reach and-" 

     Exasperated, O'Donnell sighs sharply and puts the cigar to his teeth to offer a now freed-up hand. "Here, just give me the damn mug." The mug is passed over and Wolf makes a rather over-the-top and highly exaggerated gesture of placing the mug down near where Scar eats before he stands tall, pulls his cigar from his muzzle, and spreads his arms wide. "Ta da," says he without the faintest bit of sparkle. "Magic." 

     The display ends just as Balthier and Co. arrive. The monkey looks just as irritated and wastes no time going back to taking normal drink orders from normal people. Wolf's good eye squints at Balthier before moving that gaze to his partner. He listens to what is said and, without taking his eye off of her, speaks directly to her as if Balthier wasn't there just to be a tiiiiiny bit of a jerk. Some think it's endearing. 

     "He does know that's usually a very rude thing to ask, doesn't he?"

    Nort chuckles, then laughs outright. "It's fine. I'm just exploring for now. I'll see if the Ranks can get some kind of trade out of this. Trade routes, I mean. We're a little more tech-savvy than some, but most of my world is stuck in the iron or steel age. Only a few of the more together settlements have gotten anything like a combustion engine going again." He rubs the back of his head, apparently paying no attention to the cybernetic parts and his obviously advanced, if weathered power armor.

    Scar chews, then rumbles, ear perking at the address he gets. "Zoologists, yes. In the Delta Fragment, where we hail from, mutant animals are the dominant social group." His claw whrrs slightly. "We were injured. An old... friend of ours thought it would be a blessing to 'save' us with these parts. He did not ask us first."

    A little bitterness there, even through the animal facade.

    "He's insane," Nort butts in bluntly. "Maybe we would have died, maybe not. But he wanted us to join his army in exchange. There's nothing human left-" He looks at wolf. "No offense. I don't get along much with my own kind, but that doesn't mean I think they're complete monsters like Harlan."

    Scar grunts, "Better to talk about good food. You two aren't native to this world either."

    Part of the charm of the leading man is to know when to let things roll right off your back, and pretend it was part of your plan all along. It takes a great deal of personal self-control to do that. Most people are prideful and short-sighted, and do not particularly agree with suffering any perceived indignity against their ego.
    For all his theatrical flair, the sky pirate is not the kind of person who allows his actions to be ruled by ego. That kind of lack of restraint is a good way to die. Quickly. He may be the plucky leading man, but Balthier is also a wanted criminal, too. Staying sharp is not just a mark of professionalism; it's a survival skill.
    The sky pirates just look at each other when Wolf goes right over the hume's head; the viera, the rabbit-woman, returns the lupine's gaze without emotion. Or, perhaps she simply hides it, or never thinks to show it, as so many other races do. Who can say? Fran is somewhat mysterious, in the eyes of some.
    Balthier settles for sampling more of his brew while his partner is addressed. Judging by his lack of reaction, he must assume his partner can handle herself just fine.
    Fran tilts her head very slightly to one side. The inertia of the movement carries through to her ears, which bob faintly; the motion slow enough to suggest they're actually stiff, rather than floppy or 'lop-eared.' Every so often they swivel this way and that, as though listening to the entire bar and grill, but one of them remains pointed towards Wolf, Nort and Scar, and the disgruntled waiter. Wait, scratch that. The disgruntled waiter is gone now.
    She folds her arms and hoods those red-brown eyes, regarding Wolf, Nort, and Scar with languid disinterest. It's like being stared at by a cat.
    "You do not care, either, do you?" Her statement carries that same sort of deliberate pacing. "Not for true." The viera shrugs, turning her attenion to Nort and Scar, although one ear remains swivelled in Wolf's direction.
    She tilts her head sharply, studying both with the same degree of intensity of a hawk's stare. At length, and after her eyes flick between the two for several moments, she speaks again. A miser with words, this one; she spends them as reluctantly as silver. "You are not from here. And you are not from Ivalice. From beyond the boughs of the Great Wood, you are, are you not?"
    Yet it's Scar that she addresses, maybe sensing that there's a brain behind the brute, after Wolf's elabourate ritual of supplying a drink.

    "She means the World Tree," Balthier supplies, almost boredly. He swills his bottle around, eyeing it with disinterest. "No slight against my partner, but it takes no particular feat of intellect to figure that one out."
    Yeah, Nort and Scar are from the Great Multiversal Beyond. Has to be, because the Delta Fragment isn't a familiar term, although both sky pirates no doubt file it away by the way they're listening. Their postures are casual, but their eyes suggest intent attention.
    Fran listens in silence, and it's she who answers again. "We are not," she answers, matter-of-factly. Her eyes are on Nort and Scar again, observing the enormous creature and the man in the power armour, watching the way they move, the way they speak; the inflections of their words, the miniscule tells of their body language. Her ears are fixed in both of their general direction. Her eyes flit to each speaker.
    Balthier's study is far more casual to objective study. He grips his bottle in one hand, and his head tilts slightly as he listens to each party, including his viera partner. By the way he listens to her, it's not clear whether he actually expected her to follow this conversational track or not. Possibly not. "How terribly astute of you," Balthier drawls, with languid good cheer. "Yes. We are native to another realm. Most assuredly not this one; I'm reasonably certain that the Lylat System does not lay claim to humes. Or even viera. I thought I saw a few rabbits. Bit like a wyrdhare, without all the ornamentation or the fluff. Or the magick. I wonder," he muses around a pull at the glass bottle, "if there are any worlds where there are wyrdhare-men?

     Drinking and smoking often make a terrible combination. The tastes can be muddled and it becomes an expression of habit rather than enjoyment. All the same, Wolf now smokes a cigar and drinks ale at the same time. Not that anybody would care. "Hey, look at that, it's almost like we're all buddies hanging out on a perfectly normal night together." 

     With a gesture from one couple to the other, the middle-aged space pirate gets to play middle man. That's what happens when you're the only native of a group. "So, this is Scar. And that one is..." Actually, without proper introduction, only Scar's name was picked up from conversational context. The pause there allows Nort to introduce himself if he so chooses. "Eh. And that's Fran. And this guy is..." A cigar-wave toward Balthier is followed by a brief pause. "Bad for business." Jokes. 

     "Honestly, though, the way two groups of very different people can come together, enjoy some evening entertainment here on Katina, while discussing the ins and outs of backstory while silently judging one another is-" Wolf places the cigar in his mouth and then presses his palm against the thin fabric of his black undershirt within the open laser-proof vest he wears. "Well, it's all very touching. I could casually remind people that chances are very very high that none of us are actually friends, but, no, I think I'm going to figuratively take a step back and just watch how this plays out, if you all don't terribly mind. And, hey, if you want to discuss these fantasies of yours with strangers, Balthier...that's on you." 

     Just to contradict his statement, however, O'Donnell literally turns and takes a step away from the small gathering while drawing in air through his cigar.

    Nort laughs, then introduces himself. "Nort. I'm Scar's partner. We're both zoologists, he's just a lot more... well... close to the source than I am, in a way." In a way? The man leans back, making a dismissive gesture. "This place is pretty interesting to me. Humans are rare, just visitors, and..."

    Scar growls lightly, but then his voice is polite. "Pleasure to meet you both. Don't mind us, we're going to just relax and watch for a bit, enjoy the atmosphere. We don't get to relax much." There IS some tension in both their bearings, but they speak in articulate, educated tones despite their laid back attitude.

    The sky pirate takes the pointed remarks without a trace of animosity. He only smiles thinly and raises his beer bottle, the neck still pinched between thumb and forefinger. If he takes offense, he hides it behind that blade-thin smile. Or, maybe he's just apathetic, and that's why his good cheer lacks any real enthusiasm.
    Or maybe he's just slightly tipsy. You never know. It's certainly the place for it.
    Fran flicks an ear at Wolf's introduction. The gesture seems vaguely indifferent, although the slow arch of one stark-white brow betrays her veiled interest. What's this? A meeting of the multiversal minds, mayhap? Scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells from the furthest-flung corners of the cosmos?
    Nah. Not really. The sky pirates look like they're genuinely here for a beer, and didn't expect to see any of these people.
    "Well. I'm not altogether certain what his problem is, but I suppose if he intends to find his solution elsewhere, more power to him." Balthier raises his bottle in irreverent salute, the contents sloshing a little. "I, however, am here to become howling drunk with my partner, whereupon I will lose all semblance of wit and charm, and she will have no choice but to drag me back to our establishment until I can bear to see the light of day again."
    "Bottoms up."
    With that, the sky pirate upends his bottle, draining the contents and leaving it on the edge of a nearby table as though it were completely normal. Was he serious about all of that, or just being a cynic?
    That done, he folds his arms, cocking his head at Nort and Scar as though he were trying to decide quite what to make of them. "You, however, are not exactly what I was expecting to see. You're a bit strange even by Ivalician standards, I must say. Zoologists, is it? You'd have a field day in Ivalice. The Mist does most unexpected things to the native fauna."
    Fran tosses her beer at Balthier; he catches it without even looking. "I, however, must remove myself from this most auspiciously august assembly." Without skipping a beat, Balthier twists to set Fran's bottle on a different table edge, without ever drinking from it; his movements carry the surety of sobriety. "Gentlemen. You know how it goes. Places to be. Treasures to acquire. And so on, and so forth. Now, if you'll excuse me, time to exit stage right. Fran? Let's be off."
    Sketching a bow, the well-dressed sky pirate backs out and into the crowd.
    Fran looks after him for a moment, before her gaze trails over to Nort and Scar. She regards them blandly for a long moment, thoughtful, before turning to stride purposefully after Balthier with no more than a flick of an ear spared for the others.
    Exit stage right, indeed. But they might notice she's listening all the way away. One ear stays tilted back until even those black-and-white marbled ears are lost to the crowds.

     All set up and prepared to watch the meeting continue, it all seems to just as quickly fall apart. Nort and Scar decide to chill on their own and Balthier and Fran decide to go their own way. Wolf is left standing there watching his best chance at genuine entertainment for the evening fizzle out. He wrinkles his muzzle and removes his cigar with a smoky puffed exhalation with the same hand he uses to clutch his next round of beer tightly. His eye lowers to the ground and the beer he bought for Scar sitting there. "Hey, do you-" 

     O'Donnell's words stop short in self-interruption. "Right. Well, enjoy Katina, yeah? Maybe I'll see you all around." It'll be interesting to see which choices are made regarding Lylat and its factions of power. It's certainly a larger playing field than most. Some choices are easy to assume. Wolf doesn't see Balthier and Company buddying up to the Cornerian Alliance anytime soon. Nort and Scar? Part of a military force already? Maybe they'll want some underworld help. Maybe they'll work with the Cornerian Academy in scientific pursuits. Maybe they might find room to play their own pieces. Or maybe they'll ignore Lylat altogether. That which is plain to see is not always the most detailed. And the details... 

     The subtlety of those details make all the difference in the Worlds.