World Tree MUSH

    You'd think, with an infinite number of worlds to choose from, people would be able to find a nice, well-lit, cleanly place to socialize. In fact, one imagines doing so would not be difficult at all. Some therefore might find it difficult to rationalize the existence of places like this- dim, crowded, in need of a good scrubbing. Most of all- dangerous. But the truth, dear friend, is that not all people are alike. For every person out there who craves stability and safety, there are people who thrive on that sense of danger, real or imagined. People who cannot feel comfortable where everything is clean and secure. People who can't stand the light.

    And so places like this exist. Down a winding alleyway amongst overcrowded buildings leaning haphazardly, in the bad part of a town most people would hesitate to name a good part of. It appears to be a gathering place for the local community of naerdowells, at least to judge by the amount of visible scars and tattoos, and the apparent lack of regular bathing, amongst the majority of the patronage. Even with the sun hanging lazy in the afternoon sky, still several hours from setting, there's a fair number of such people here. Wheeling, dealing, fighting, or getting drunk. The business of the underworld doesn't simply stop when the sun comes up. It just goes underground.

    There is, amongst the mass of life's dregs, one who stands out to some degree. Sitting at the bar, one elbow leaning on the pockmarked and pitted surface, a wooden tankard of something alcoholic in one hand, sits a girl. A woman, perhaps, though if she's more than eighteen or so she does an amazing job of hiding it. Petite and pretty, with long dark hair and a fringe of bangs that hang into her eyes, dressed in black leather and velvet and with a lit cigarillo dangling from her lips and trailing smoke towards the soot-stained ceiling. And a shadow dark enough for three.

    She stands out because she /is/ petite and pretty, and seems to have bathed sometime today, though anyone thinking she doesn't belong might reconsider after observing the longsword belted at her waist and hanging down beside the stool she perches on, its hilt carved into the likeness of a crow with spread wings. Or perhaps simply after feeling the extreme aura of lazy, unconcerned disinterest wafting from her- an aura that one only manages to achieve when one is in no danger. Or at least when one thinks one is in no danger.

    Either way, for the moment she appears to be unaccompanied, nobody paying her much mind and nobody sitting near to her at the bar. Alone with her thoughts, her booze, and the cloud of smoke that coils above her head.

    A run-down tavern populated by street toughs, bandits, mercenaries, and other low-born scum? What better place for a filthy Magwitch and her demonic companion to take in an early lunch!

    Zipporah rests her clawed hand upon the outer door, pausing a moment before daring to squeeze past the fat, lazy bouncer whose gelatinous rolls half-block the tavern's main entrance. "You know, Manmukh, if we get into any trouble while we're here, you'll have to protect me." The harpy-like woman flashes an innocent smile at her much taller friend, and, with a flick of her tail feathers, pushes open the door.

    The smell and haze strike like a hammer. Zip nearly doubles over as she recoils; she expected the place to be disgusting, but...this...! If Manmukh wasn't in the way, she might have retreated. Nostrils flaring, feathers all standing up on their ends, Zipporah draws in a deep, courage-building breath, and presses forward.

    "It's not so bad once you get used to it," she declares, rather convincing despite the lingering curl to her nose and upper lip. "Come. Let's find something to drink. Maybe we'll even eat?"

    Bird-toes clicking on the dirt-encrusted floor, Zipporah makes her way toward the bar itself. As she walks, she scans the environment for anything of any interest. Who here appears wealthy? Who might be hiring? Who isn't keeping such a close eye on their purse? In this rabble, the latter is a disappointingly rare thing, with most being aware enough and cautious enough to keep their coin secure. In fact, most of the -- hang on.

    What's that?

    Zip's red eyes focus on the gleaming silver portruding from the end of Mia's longsword. The beautiful spread wings, the crow-like face and beak, the curled claws -- yes! All of a sudden, she's behind Mia, leaning in uncomfortably close to get a better look at the sword's beautiful, artsy pommel. "Krr...how lovely. Where did you get this? Did someone make it for you?"

    A sheer veil can only do so much to hide the blatant disgust across Manmukh's face. Even from the first moment, she knows how much she'll hate this place. Her eerie red-and-white eyes glance over the slovenly bouncer with all the apalled fascination of someone watching a trainwreck take place before them, her lips curled and pointed fangs bared like an animal backed into a corner.

    Part of her almost hopes Zipporah gets into trouble, if only so she has a chance to punish this horrible place for existing and sullying her with its mere presence.

    After she gives a low grumble of distaste, Manmukh's body dissolves into a gleaming cloud, sparkling and colorful like a distant nebula, and she slithers into the tavern after Zipporah. Immediately after manifesting again behind the magwitch, she further regrets her presence; this place is /vile/. Manmukh recoils, floating off the ground if only so that she doesn't have to touch anything with her bare skin. "How," she growls, holding one golden gauntlet up to her mouth as she leans down to Zipporah, "/how/ do you manage to find the most filthy, rat-infested sewers imaginable no matter where we go? Are places with standards that abhorrent to you?"

    Oh well. Manmukh shakes her head and immediately beelines to the bar, demanding whatever can be produced the fastest and hurling a coin at the bartender. A glance is spared to Mia, and Manmukh musters some surprise both at the girl's presence and how quickly Zipporah managed to spot someone worth robbing, but she's not going to address that until she has something decadent in her system.

    Mia does not pay any particular attention to the arrival of a few more patrons, despite their rather noteworthy physical appearances. She's had to get used to people who do not quite meet her definition of 'human' over the past few weeks, and has reached the point where it no longer seems particularly strange. Besides, even in her homeland of Itreya there were some nonhuman races, though they were relatively rare in the Republic itself.

    Attention is definitely paid, however, when Zipporah suddenly appears at an interval one could only politely call 'invasive' in order to examine the carved hilt of her sword. While Mia doesn't exactly startle, she does tense, leaning away from the bird-featured woman and turning to regard her with inky eyes flashing and a scowl forming on her lips. At this range, it's easy to make out that her otherwise perfect features are marred by a tattoo of two interlocking black rings on one cheek, and a scar on that same cheek which curves down from her brow under her eye- that must have been an awful wound when it occured.

    "Whoa there, step the fuck back, birdie." She says, her tone laden with warning and annoyance, accented with an odd mix of what could be identified as noble undertones with a hefty dose of street-slang overlaid atop. "I have a strict policy of not instigating violence, but it's a policy constantly under revision based upon how much I've had to drink and how pissy I happen to be feeling, and right now we're hovering somewhere between 'a lot' and 'too much'."

    She pauses, glancing down at the sword, and after a moment adds, "It was my father's. I took it from the corpse of the man who killed him. If you must know. It's not for sale so don't bother asking." She eyes Zipporah consideringly.. not yet paying much mind to Manmukh, who is off ordering drinks and not at the moment obviously with the curious avian.

    Mia's open hostility appears to take Zipporah by surprise, as though she's never, ever, not once in a million years had her curiosity so rebuffed. As Mia leans away, the Magwitch woman shifts where she stands, stretching in place so she can keep up her appraisal without having to lean forward. The glint of greed is obvious in her bright eyes; so, too, is the crushing disappointment over the declaration that the sword has such sentimental value.

    "I see." The many small feathers framing Zip's face like a crown all lie flat and smooth, some seeming to disappear amid her wind-swept hair. "It's too bad that you aren't selling. I'm a collector, and I think your sword would make a wonderful addition to my collection."

    Suddenly, she's on her tiptoes, peering around the room again. "Where did -- ah! Manmukh! What are you drinking? Bring something for us, please? Come and look at this sword; don't you think it's beautiful?" She settles again, tail bobbing. "So, so. I am Zipporah. As I said, a collector! And who are you?" Curiosity cocks her head to the right and a smile effervescent enough to match her tone of voice lights her expression.

    Still smiling, she adds, "Oh! I should say, I am sorry for your loss. It's always unfortunate to lose a member of your flock."

    Disgusted and annoyed as Manmukh might be, she is nonetheless attentive. Mia's reaction doesn't go unnoticed; Manmukh is all too aware of when Zipporah's antics can escalate to violence, and at that moment her sidelong glance becomes fixed on the pair. It's not until their conversation settles into something more...well, conversational, that she turns back to the bartender. "On second thought, that will be two," she orders, tossing him another coin the moment he sets down her tankard. "Make it quick."

    With a huffing sigh that flutters her veil, the dark woman grasps her tankard in massive, golden claws and lifts it up to inspect the liquid within. Yes, about what she expected: the smell and color of sewer water, probably with a taste to match. Her other hand covers the tankard, and after a few moments, she pulls it back to reveal something entirely different. Whatever swill was in there has changed to a deep red wine, as sweet and lush as if it had been the finest grapes aged for decades. Manmukh finally smiles in satisfaction for the first time since she's stepped in here.

    She doesn't even thank the bartender for the second tankard that comes before transmuting it to the same delicious wine and floating over to join Mia and Zipporah. "Count your blessings that you have me around," she remarks, handing Zipporah one of the tankards.

    Once she's finally settled in with something a little higher-class than her surroundings, Manmukh reclines back in midair and turns her inspection to Mia. Her keen gaze flits over the girl's features, her clothes, and finally the gleaming sword at her side. "Why yes, Zipporah, it's a beautiful weapon indeed. Appropriate for the wielder, I suppose. I wonder what something like that would even be doing in a hovel like this in the first place?"

    She's looking at Mia, but doesn't seem interested in directly /talking/ to her right now, just thinking out loud about her. What a snob.

    "You can think that all you like," Mia says with a faint sniff, putting her cigarillo back between her lips for a drag, then exhaling grey smoke up to join the swirling cloud near the ceiling above her head, "But I've already killed quite a few men to get my hands on this sword, and I ain't exactly about to give it up for some cash. Sorry." She doesn't seem sorry, but at least she also doesn't seem about to stab anyone.

    As Zipporah turns to address Manmukh, Mia's eyes shift to find the other woman who, it seems, appears even more unusual to her than the bird-lady. It's probably the pink. Her delicate brows raise in what must be some combination of consternation and surprise, but she refrains from comment for the moment, instead turning her gaze back to Zipporah when the woman introduces herself. "Mia. Mia Corvere." She responds after a moment. A brief pause, then a laugh. "I must be getting used to being out here.. giving my real name so easily. Back home, most would know me as Crow." She smirks. "Which I suppose might be a name which appeals to you even more."

    At the offered condolences, her expression becomes rather more stony. "It was a long time ago and unfortunately, family members dying is something I've had to become used to. But thank you." She doesn't sound like she means the thanks, but is willing to play polite rather than start a bar brawl, at least right this moment.

    When Manmukh approaches, Mia eyes her again even as the other woman does the same to her, taking in the bizarre (by the standards of the crowd) clothing and size of the woman. "One could say the same of somebody dressed in pink silk." She responds, somewhat acidly, her pronunciation of 'pink' indicating she thinks it a more vile word than the f-bomb she casually dropped earlier.

    Manmukh takes up a position at Mia's left; Zipporah moves closer to the bar and sits upon the stool to Mia's right. The routine is so practiced it appears natural: Mia, whether she recognizes it or not, is now prey flanked between two predators.

    The jeweled bracelets looped into a gaudy mass around Zip's left wrist make a noisy jangle as the Magwitch gestures in emphatic approval for the contents of her tankard. Rich, purple-red remnants now stain her lips, parted in a satisfied sigh -- "Oh, that's the stuff. Not what they were wanting to serve you, I guess! Did you do your trick again? Do you remember when we nearly convinced the Caliph at Taritaq that you were a divine being come to shed your blessings upon his followers? He wasn't too pleased to find out the truth." Zipporah laughs and shrugs and takes another drink. "You shouldn't have been so sarcastic. We might have been able to get into his vault much sooner if he believed he was paying you tithes."

    With hardly a beat between words, she refocuses upon Mia. "You stand out in this crowd, Miss Crow. The sword is only one thing that makes you interesting. There are at least six men watching you, probably waiting for you to leave so they can jump you in the alley. I've seen their sort many times before; they're more desperate than sensible. I, on the other hand, can be very sensible. If I wanted to add your sword to my collection, I would find a less direct way to do so."

    Zip once again gives the silver crow a longing stare, then sighs her sadness, and issues what is supposed to be a statement of reassurance and regret. "I am content just to look at it from over here, however. So! This is Manmukh. She does more than transform piss into wine. What do you think of her? All that silk is bound to get ruined in this place, hm? Krr..."

    Zipporah returns to drinking. At this stage in the routine, Manmukh would begin doing her best to engage all of Mia's attentions, either through conversation, trickery, or violence. If Mia can be so thoroughly distracted, she might not notice Zip making a go at that sword...
    

    Manmukh just offers a toothy smirk to Mia's quip. "Well, it wouldn't be my /first/ choice of location for a drink, but my companion is strangely fascinated with places like this. What is that saying? 'Birds of a feather'? That must be why she flew straight for you, 'Crow'."

    She takes a long drought of wine and croons a contended sound. /This/ is more like it. "You got into his stash eventually," she remarks, dismissing Zipporah's criticism. "Maybe not all of it, but at least the rest was useless to him." Cruelty colors her grin and the throaty chuckle that rumbles up. "Oh, how I wish I could've seen his face when he found out all his gold was worthless copper after we left."

    While she's content not to have to deal with random rabble, Manmukh is nonetheless quick to regain Mia's attention the moment Zipporah stops chirping. She twists in midair, now lounging on her side as if the air beneath her were some luxurious couch, one claw cradling her tankard while the other supports her head. "Zipporah flatters me, but yes. Not only do you see a magnificent being before you, but royalty, in fact. Why else would I adorn myself in the finest silks one could ever find? At least, the finest to one with /taste/," she adds, giving one more look to Mia's outfit. "Still, I am a generous queen, and this rotten pit is in such need..."

    With a dramatic sigh, the towering woman reaches down to the stool beneath her and clutches the seat in her claws. What was once filthy iron wrought into an uncomfortable, basic seat is quickly consumed in a golden sheen. In fact, it soon /is/ gold, every little screw and notch converted to something far more valuable - if still as dirty - as its previous state. Manmukh's strength goes on display, too, as she nonchalantly lifts the stool and hurls it to the room behind her, letting it clang loudly against the floor. Shouts, scrabbling, a few thrown punches; almost immediately, it's hard to see the stool in the mass of people fighting to take it and sell it to some nearby pawn shop.

    "Ah, how desperate they are." Manmukh chuckles before taking another sip of wine and turning her attention back to Mia. "Surely someone like you wouldn't need to resort to such petty squabbles to get what you want. Let me guess: you ponder, then kill for it instead, right?"

    For a moment, Manmukh's round pupils narrow to razor-like slits, but only long enough to make anyone looking at her wonder if it wasn't just a trick of the light.

    If Mia is at all concerned by being 'surrounded', as much as one can be by two people, she doesn't show it outwardly.. continuing to perch upon her stool and smoke her cigaratte. Her tankard is long-empty, truth be told, but she doesn't seem concerned about that either. Not right this moment, anyway. She idly observes the two other women as they talk over her head about some past incident, though she offers no comment save another grey exhalation to join the already-hazy air of the room.

    At the statement from Zipporah regarding how she stands out, Mia merely gives a faint shrug. "So you say, but I do my best not to make any waves. After all, it's rather counter to my purpose if everybody knows where I am all the time." A slight smirk, then another shrug at the mention of men thinking of jumping her later. "Let them try, if they wish. I haven't sent any souls to the Mother yet today. Dregs like these make poor offerings, but then again, even a goddess can't always afford to be picky, mm? If you're content not to join them, I'd stop thinking about ways to get this sword from me. I have a habit of holding grudges and trust me when I say you'd rather not be on the receiving end of one."

    Her eyes turn to Manmukh as Zipporah introduces her. "She's not my type." She comments dryly, before quirking a brow once more as Manmukh proceeds to proclaim her own superiority before, it seems, turning a barstool into gold and hurling it into the middle of the room. Mia herself displays no particular signs of avarice, merely watching with something between incredulity and amusement, though at the woman's antics or the room's response is not entirely clear.

    "So, what's the point of 'collecting' things from people if the floaty giant here can just make shit out of thin air? Seems like it defeats the purpose to me." She says, more to Zipporah than to Manmukh. To the latter, she then responds, "Kill, yes, though if you think I revel in it you mistake me. It's just that I happen to be so good at it. But no need to worry.. money isn't what I want, so I doubt we're in any serious competition." A steady gazy as she pulls again on her cigarillo.

    Caught red-handed?!

    Zipporah ducks down between her own shrugging shoulders and tries to apologize for her obvious intent against Mia's sword. "Krr...you're not so oblivious after all, are you? I'm sorry, I shouldn't get greedy whenever we've met and exchanged names. Most of time, I'd rather not know who you are if I'm going to steal anything from you, you know? It makes it easier. If someone later finds me and wants to know if I borrowed such-and-such from so-and-so, I can be honest about it, if I don't know who so-and-so really is." With a fluff of her feathers -- tail, wings, and all -- she disperses any embarrassment and returns to friendly chatter. As frail as she might appear, at least her spirits are sturdy!

    "Krr...where is the fun in having everything you want without any effort? Manmukh keeps me safe, and that's all I really need, beyond the occasional -- mm -- bonus?" Zip gives her tankard a shake for emphasis; the liquid inside sloshes and produces a strong bouquet. "Manmukh, why didn't you bring any wine for Miss Crow? It's not nice not to share." Quirking a feathery eyebrow and a jaunty smirk, Zipporah adds: "Sharing is caring."

    Though her attention wanders toward the knotted brawlers and the hefty bouncer wading into their midst, she continues speaking to Mia and Manmukh. "You seem a little like Manmukh. There was a time when she treated lives like currency, too. Not so much these days, though when she lets loose, watch out! It's dangerous when Manmukh starts to have fun! But, that's the way of demons, I suppose. Me, I'm just a lowly Magwitch. Give me anything pretty and I'm content." She flashes a delicate bracelet worn around her right wrist. A large cabochon of varying hues decorates the ornate nest of twisted gold. "See? This always makes me smile. Killing...that's for others. If you don't kill for money, what DO you kill for?"

    "Is that too personal a question? Krr. It's a bad habit of mine to be nosey."

    No thievery for now. How disappointing. Not nearly as agitating to Manmukh, though, as Mia's obvious dismissal. Here she is flaunting how incredible she is and all Mia can manage is a "yeah, so what"? Ugh. The woman is so stoic, so.../proud/.

    Manmukh can't stand pride. At least the pride of other people, when it doesn't stroke her own.

    The fiend huffs and takes another swig of her wine. To Zipporah's question about sharing, she offers a slight scowl. "I don't know, I doubt our dear Crow would /appreciate/ such generosity. She seems perfectly content with her swill." But...rather than risk Zipporah directly commanding her, and the humiliation that would cause in her current company, Manmukh reluctantly demands another drink from the bartender and goes through the whole thing again. Soon Mia has her own tankard of wine shoved in front of her, though the contents aren't quiiite as good as Manmukh's own. Can't let this new girl have anything better.

    With that out of the way, Manmukh downs the last of her own wine and resumes her floating recline, one arm dangling down with her claws swinging lazily. Zip's line of questioning has her curious, though she doesn't interject just yet. She's more interested in finding out what Mia actually does first before deciding whether the topic deserves her attention.

    "Not to sound like I'm trying to brag, but where I'm from, being oblivious often leads very quickly to being dead, so I try not to be." Mia says to Zipporah, with a mild shrug if her shoulders. "You can be as greedy as you like.. it's no skin off of my back. Just don't try for anything of mine, and we'll be fine. You can rob other people all you like."

    At the explanation, Mia arches a brow. "So, it's about the challenge, more than the spoils, is it? I guess I can understand that. Sometimes there's satisfaction in a job well done.." She pauses as the bird-woman demands another tankard of wine for her. "No, really it's.. ah.. well. Thanks." This as the drink is delivered. When told she seems like the floating, pink-clad woman, both brows arch in obvious dismay, perhaps wondering if she's being insulted.

    That seems not to be the case though, as Zipporah eloborates. Mia doesn't actually drink the wine she's given, instead swirling it around absently in the tankard without lifting it. "Demon, is she? Interesting. I've known a few, though none like her. She eyes the bracelet as the woman jangles it.. then gives another of those passive shrugs at the wuestion.

    "I don't enjoy killing people. But it's necessary. And I do kill for money.. sometimes. But I wouldn't really call it a career. Was a time I served the Red Church, was a worshipper of the Lady of Blessed Murder, so you could say I killed for faith. Not so much anymore, though some old habits die hard."

    "Really, the reason I kill is because I'm trying to attain a very specific goal, and that goal involves killing a lot of very powerful, very evil men. If other people have to die to get me there.. well. Sometimes life isn't fair."

    She sighs. "Case in point- I'm here, and can't figure out how to get back to my own world, which is where the men I need to kill /are/, which means that as long as I'm stuck here it's all pointless anyway."

    Then, as if seeming to realize that Manmukh had made a disparaging remark about her manners, she adds, "And you'd be surprised how one can get used to swill. But that's not quite the same as being content."

    Religion! Now, that's something Zipporah can understand. It's tangible, after all, and offers benefits and returns to the most pious. Though not of any faith herself, she's often admired the trappings of the wealthy Caliphs and priests known throughout Ithara, and has collected a few trinkets and trophies of a religious bent simply because their sparkle was just right. She smiles, and her voice turns almost dreamy: "Oh, it's about the spoils, too! The challenge is the fun part. The reward...is the reward?" Zip laughs at her own failed eloquence, finishes her wine, and slams her empty tankard down on the bar counter just as the brawl begins to unravel. "I really thought the fellow with the black beard might come away the winner. Now it looks like he's leaving an empty-handed loser! I bet you anything that the bartender gets to keep that stool. Look, nobody's even tried running off with it...amateurs. Ah -- one moment."

    With that, the little harpy drops from her stool in a flash of black-and-white feathers, and prowls into the remains of the battle to examine anything dropped, lost, or otherwise forgotten. Quick as anything, a small dagger disappears beneath her patterned sash of a belt, and a few scattered go missing the moment they're spotted. In the dwindling chaos, she's hardly noticed; she stays neatly out of anybody's way, and just skims along the outskirts rather than dive headlong into the main action.

    Zipporah seems content to work the scene for awhile, leaving the other two to fill her absence with conversation -- or at least more smoldering glares and taunts.

    Where Mia's from, why she wants revenge -- those questions prick at Zip's mind to be asked as soon as she's done foraging.

    Manmukh observes the exchange in thoughtful silence, one eyebrow raising slightly at the mention of a Lady of Blessed Murder. That sounds particularly intriguing to her. So too does Mia's remark that she can't seem to find where her own world is located.

    Once Zipporah, appropriately, zips away to see if anything worth snatching has fallen, Manmukh watches her go with a light smirk. Her voice even shows something approaching admiration, or at least as close as she's capable of showing. "And off she goes. Ever the opportunist, isn't she?"

    Immediately, Manmukh's attention shifts back to Mia. Like a serpent in human form, she drifts down and curls up closer to Mia, arms folded under her head as a gilded pillow. A far cry from the disdain shown a moment before, Manmukh's tone shifts to something sweeter, almost sympathetic. "It's a stroke of misfortune that you can't seem to carry out your one goal. A struggle I know well enough, sadly. I would say, though, that maybe us coming to this bar when we all did is a change in the winds. A little harpy as clever as she is, and I with my extraordinary power...perhaps an arrangement of some kind could be made to help you with your finding and your killing."

    The fiend smiles at that, as alluring as she may be dangerous. "Just a thought. You've seen how generous we are, haven't you?"

    A soft 'mmm' from Mia, a noncommittal sound, as Zipporah comments on the rewards of thievery.. before slipping off from her stool and sliding away to go picking and pecking through the remains of the bar fight for anything of value that may have gotten left behind. Mia watches her for a moment with a combination of amusement and mild disbelief at the blatancy of it, before her attention is diverted to Manmukh when the demon floats so close to her.

    Mia again recoils slightly, as she had when Zipporah got too close earlier. Less finding the closeness unappealing in particular and more just not wanting to let anyone inside her guard. Her inky eyes watch the pink-clad woman as she suddenly turns sweet, making offers of exactly what Mia wants. The convinience is not lost on her.

    "It's less that I don't know where it is, and more that I don't know how to get back into it." Mia says, her tone cynical. "Apparently it's what they call a "Bud". A world which isn't open to the World Tree yet. How /I/ ended up here is.. well, I don't really understand it myself but apparently getting in and out of a Bud is very difficult. But not impossible."

    "Your generosity notwithstanding, I've already got several deals with demons pending and I understand they don't like competition. I've waited years for my revenge.. I can wait a little longer until I figure this out." She eyes Manmukh, then Zipporah. "It's never a bad idea to have friends, though. And your bird-girl seems nice enough." The edge to her words seeming to cast the niceness of Zipporah into obvious constast with Manmukh and her lack thereof.

    Moments later, Zipporah returns, and winks at her drinking companions as she pats one of her waist-pouches. Her smile is self-satisfied and a bit sly.

    "It's gotten boring here, hasn't it?" Zipporah's tail flicks, and her arm-feathers rustle. "Let's go somewhere else, Manmukh." Though an innocuous enough remark on the surface, Manmukh will recognize Zip's sudden disinterest as a sign of trouble. Perhaps she'd attracted too much attention while skimming from the fight? Maybe she'd picked up something a little too valuable? The more humanoid traits of the harpy seem non-chalant and friendly, but the bird-like restlessness is a sure sign of fresh anxiety. Still, she keeps up her sly little smile as she turns back to Mia, anyway. "Oh, don't take any offense, Miss Crow -- I think you're very interesting, and I want to know more about you! I'm thinking we'll have to meet again soon, especially since you're traveling so much. Have you heard of Ithara? Our world is a full Blossom, apparently; why don't you visit, sometime?"

    Oh, yes, she's anxious indeed. The words tumble out in a near-babble of mixed amusement and unease, of forced confidence and glee. "I don't think I'll ever forget that sword, anyway. Wherever it goes, I'm sure to find it -- how many people carry a crow-looking sword, anyway? Not many, in my experience. All I'd have to do is ask someone, 'Hello! Have you seen the woman with the crow-shaped sword?' and they'd point me in your direction without fail. It's like if anybody asked for the harpy with the large horned lady-friend. Some of us are just too obvious, too recognizable...isn't that a shame?"

    Bounding from her seat with another chirrup of not-quite-cheer, she pauses long enough to grab Manmukh by the arm before she tries for the door. "Come, come, we'll see you again soon, Miss Crow!"

    The offer isn't quite immediately accepted, but Manmukh didn't think it would be. No, she's well enough used to having to invest a little more in situations like this. She'll just have to see where she can prod in the future.

    Before she can say much, though, Zipporah's slipped back over, and the telltale signs of the magwitch's anxiety are familiar enough that Manmukh can guess what's coming next before Zip even suggests it. Her eyes roll languidly; "of course," they say, without her even needing to comment.

    "Well, Crow," she remarks to Mia finally before placing her tankard down on the counter, "it was definitely a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure we can continue prying in the near future. Perhaps somewhere more suited to /me/ than /you/." Her saccharine smile gleams again, and her claws wiggle as if in a distant wave. "And don't forget, we could each be very valuable to each other, regardless of any prior commitments."

    Zipporah starts to tug at the tall woman's solid gauntlet, and with a sigh, Manmukh easily floats after her. Unlike Zip's anxiety, Manmukh is quite relaxed about the whole escape as she hovers beside her companion. "Really," she mutters, "it's not like we need to run /that/ hard. This would be the perfect excuse to clear this place out, don't you think...?"

    Mia watches Zipporah approach once more.. and quirks a brow as the woman suddenly seems very interested in leaving. A faint smirk touches her lips, but she only shrugs. "No offense taken. You're right.. some of us are just cursed with being interesting. Particularly unpleasant for people in lines of work like ours, huh? Ithara? Haven't heard of it. But maybe I'll visit. Not like I have anywhere else to be in particular, at the moment."

    To Manmukh, she just shrugs again. "Thanks for the wine. I'm not sure what sort of places suit you, frankly, but if it's anyplace too pastel you may have a hard time getting me to accept an invitation."

    A mild eye-roll at the reminder of shared value, and then the two are off. Mia watches them go, staying where she is. She still hasn't touched the wine, and after a moment she pushes it away, turning back to the counter. "Yes, I know." A sigh, as she speaks softly, though nobody seems to be around her. "I'm not an idiot. Well, next time speak up, then, if you're so concerned." And then she falls silent again, lost in thought.