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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Whizbang Dustyboots" data-source="post: 3429107" data-attributes="member: 11760">Outside of the town square, and away from the chaos, Stotch introduces himself to the fair-haired wizard."Some call me Stotch," he says, stretching a hand out to Katadid. "Many thanks for leading the way out of the madness!"Katadid just looks at the hand with a lack of comprehension, and Stotch shrugs and turns to Tock."What terrific rage you managed to raise in those Bearded Folk! They were positively in a lather!" he grins. "Now what good could come from a town full of angry dwarves? Financially speaking, of course.""Angry dwarves are often quite distracted, but alas most of their coin is already spent in ale," Tock replies, brushing himself off. "I must wash up before my performance; the ladies may enjoy the down and dirty look, but mud rarely suits me.""Fair enough," Stotch says. "I wonder what ever became of that fellow with the flailing arms?""Apep," Katadid says, almost burping the word out. "That ... Where? Them both ..."Katadid spins around in place, looking for the Wizard of Green Mountain or Renraw.* * *Constable Bridger looks at Emmerson, dumbstruck. The pair have retired to a table in The Cat & The Fiddle. The constable is drinking child's beer (a dwarven beer with low alcohol content made for children -- by human standards, still plenty alcoholic) and thinking."Well, I don't know what the bishop will say. No, that's not entirely true. I know what he'll say, I just don't know what epithets he'll use along the way. But me? It sounds like you're doing Lothian's work. Maybe."The constable looks around for Ragglus again; he'd heard enough that he wanted to talk to the younger man, but hasn't yet laid eyes on him.* * *Emus and the other Glangirn dwarves are in considerably lower spirits after a thorough tongue-lashing by Argus."Do you idiots not want me to win the top prize this year?" he snarled, chewing tobacco speckling his whiskers. "I've been practicin' until my damn fingers are bloody. You lot can save your need to pull the beards off the Farrins' face for a few more weeks. Ruin Tootenfest instead, there's no chance for the clan to win honor there. Now get out of my sight."The dwarves, mumbling to themselves, have cut back to quaffing a single drink at a time. Others have been drawn off by women-folk to prepare for the dance later in the evening, which means brushing the mud and other debris out of beards, cleaning up cuts and so on.The Farrin clan, who have no one participating in the competition, are still somewhat rowdy in comparison, but have contented themselves with the idea of heckling and booing Argus when it's his turn.One young Farrin stable hand has begun taking bets as to which bard will end up winning this year. The odds at this point, as always, favor Heda Littlelark.* * *Ragglus strolls into The Cat & The Fiddle, cheerily making his way to the bar."Watchin' a fine brawl like that makes me thirsty. Help a man out Milos, won't ya?""Rags, ol' boy!" Tock says. "Let that drink be on me. How you doing? Did ya see the tussle? Dwarves," he snorts, rolling his eyes. "Hey, I'd like you to meet this fella here. His name's Stotch and I've got no reason to hate him yet.""The day's still young, we might find a reason yet," Ragglus replies to Tock, accepting the drink with a wink. He nods to Stotch and downs half of the mug's contents in one pull, wiping his mouth on his forearm. "In town fer th' tourney?"Stotch nods and pays for the drinks with the money lifted from the pockets of the sleeping dwarves."So tell me, y'all," he says, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Are ya bettin' men? I hear that there's a book being made on tonight's contest.""Well, Stotch, I try not to bet unless I know I'm going to win or if I've got good reason to lose," Tock drawls. "Who they favorin'? Probably the little gnome harpy right?""Well, gambling is not always a game of chance," Stotch says, laying a finger beside   his nose. He finishes his drink, and steps off of his stool. "We can talk more later. Let me mingle and see what the little people are saying."* * *Hazel keeps a sharp eye on Reed as she settles her cloak into place."Your friends seem awful keen to get you into trouble and scamper away without a share of the blame." With a hand clamped firmly on Reed's shoulder, she steers him out of the guest room and down the hallway. "If you give me your word you'll stay out of mischief for the rest of the night, I won't march you straight back to Da."As they come down the stairs, Hazel looks about for friendly faces. She catches sight of Tock and Rags by the bar (hardly better influences than the Bergins) and Emmerson deep in conversation with the constable (guaranteed to get Reed bored and looking for mischief in minutes) but no sign of Bufer. Frowning, she scans the room again, figuring she just missed the gnome behind some burly dwarf, but she still can't seem to locate him.She heads toward Emmerson's table with a sulky Reed tromping along behind."Happy festival day to you, Constable Bridger." She bobs her head in greeting, grinning slightly as she hears Reed's indrawn breath. "Quite a ruckus, wouldn't you say? If I might interrupt for a moment, have y'all seen Bufer lately? If he's buyin' Kat a drink, he sure went a long way to get one. Any idea where they might've gone?"</blockquote>

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