Chapter Text
A rowdy tavern in a big city is the kind of place that adventurers gather, in search of work, glory, companions, and relaxation. So it’s no wonder that it would also attract those who are looking to part those same adventurers from their gold, by any means available. It’s this thought that passes through Meenah’s mind as she glares at the tiny wrist she’s caught trying to sneak into her coin purse. It belongs to a goblin child, her skin olive green, eyes bright yellow and wide as she realizes she’s been had. The tavern is full of noise, but in that moment, as Meenah assesses the would-be pickpocket, there is an unspoken silence as the tiefling bares her teeth.
And then, Meenah releases the girl with a none-too-gentle shove, her own face puckered up like a pufferfish as she watches the tiny child fall back on her rear and scramble away, soon lost in the crowd of larger bodies.
Meenah scans the large common room of The Wicked Waystone for other potential threats, but beyond the usual rabble drinking and gambling over cards and dice, no one seems to be paying her any mind. So she plops her coin purse on top of her table, and starts redistributing the contents around her person, gold coins gleaming in the flamelight of the candles and hearth of the inn. She tucks one small pouch in her bosom, one in her shoe, one where the sun don’t shine...
Now there is only silver and copper in her coin purse, just as she prefers. That last job paid very handsomely, indeed, but as much as she likes gold, Meenah would rather not walk around with this much all in one place. It attracts the wrong kind of attention--like that little wannabe thief--and gives off the impression that she can afford to part with what she’s got.
Which, she can, but that doesn’t mean that she’s going to let it go without a fight, dammit!
Around the time she’s finally served some grub by the smoking hot barmaids, a well-dressed pansy-assed tiefling steps up on the stage with the trio of musicians who have been playing up until now. The music quiets down as he speaks to them, and then, seemingly having reached an agreement, he steps forward with a lute and strums the first few chords of a popular love ballad. He’s got a pretty face, and his voice is silky-smooth and sultry, which works for the piece, but she’s not sure he’s judged his audience very well, considering this is a rather rough and tumble tavern. When his ballad is over, a few patrons toss him coins, but for the most part he’s ignored. She can’t hear it, but Meenah sees his lips form the words, ”Tough crowd.”
She could almost feel sorry for him, except that he then proceeds to launch into a set of bawdy songs that have the patrons of the building split between singing along and shifting uncomfortably in their seats from the misogynistic lyrics and rude language. The man’s a mess, and Meenah really wishes she didn’t know him, especially when he finally finishes his laundry list of musical numbers, and swaggers over to her table.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he intones, parking his ass across from her, leaning on one elbow, and giving her a once-over with his violet eyes.
“Quit undressin’ me in ya mind, Ampora,” she growls at him, showing her sharp teeth in warning.
“Can’t help it, you’re such a sight for sore eyes after how tough this crowd’s been,” he says, pouting, a slight whine in his tone.
She doesn’t fall for that shit. “Mebbe try not singin’ divisive lyrics next time,” she retorts. “It ain’t makin’ us any fronds, an’ actually makin’ us some damn unpleasant anemones.”
“Do you have to do the fish puns, sweets?” Cronus’s pout deepens, making his otherwise handsome face ugly as fuck.
“Do you have t’ be a whiny sleazebag, toots?” she asks, mocking his mannerism. “Don’t you remember our deal?” She tilts her head to the side, staring at him, and by his change in expression, she’s won. The tension in the air between them shifts in her favor, and a self-satisfied smile plants itself on her lips. “If we got that settled up, we otter talk aboat da next gig. Da suckerfish wants us t’ go sewer-divin’. Again.”
Cronus’s expression becomes the picture of horror. “No! I refuse to go back into that stinkhole, Meens! Do you know how long it took me to find a magically-inclined nutjob who would presti the filth outta my silks last time? There ain’t no way.”
“Whale mebbe if ya didn’t call ‘em nutjobs, they’d be moray inclined t’ help ya, dumbbass.” She shakes her head and takes a swig of her ale, grimacing at the taste of the swill. There doesn’t seem to be a tavern in the Nine Realms that carries the shit she actually does like to drink. “Anywaves, we are probs gonna have t’ split otter town if we ain’t pullin’ da gig. Da boss seemed reel intent that we go get da goods. Wonder why da fuck he’d be so interested in makin’ shore you were comin’ wit’ me. Did ya piss ‘im off?”
“No, a course not, why would you even suggest that, babe? After all we’ve been through, you know I wouldn’t--”
“Will you shut yer trap?! Quit bein’ a blowhard an’ tail me da truth, Cro.” She pins him with a no-nonsense glare, and he shrivels under it.
“I may have, uh. Made a passin’ an’ completely harmless remark about how his daughter sure is lookin’ fine these days,” he ventures.
She can tell he isn’t telling her the whole truth, here.
“How boat you tail me where ya got dat awful pair a’ scars on ya face, huh?” Meenah gestures to the twin symbols on Cronus’s forehead, and he covers them self-consciously.
“What is this, pick on Cronus night?” he asks, bottom lip quivering in petulance. “Fine, fine! I get your point! Let’s talk about where we’re going.”
Meenah sighs at his assumption that they’re going together, that he can keep on riding her coattails forever. She rubs at her temples for a moment. “Look, Cro,” she starts, but it was a mistake to use his nickname, because she can see the tension build in his face. She presses onward anyways. “I fink we should split, for reel.”
It takes a minute for him to process it, mouth hanging slightly open in his surprise, before he finds his words again. “But, Meenah, we been together now for like, three years? What the hell? Where’s this even comin’ from? Can’t we work it somethin’ out?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, this is what I want. Once we leave town, you on ya own, Ampora.”