People Watching [D2, LE, Market Ward / Masty's Tavern] Open

[Mysti]

Mysti sat slightly reclined in a chair in front of Masty's Tavern. One leg was hitched over the back of a bench in a supremely nonchalant pose. She absently twirled her silver flute between her fingers, her thoughts far away at the moment.

It was usually the same every night. Finding herself with little to do, she often sat there in front of Masty's and played flute music. Masty enjoyed it when she played; he said it drew in more customers. She would've liked to think it did. But she didn't think much of her own finger work. But who knew? Maybe she was better than she had thought?

However, whatever her intentions may have been, there was one thing about tonight that was a little different. For the first time in a very long time, she began to feel the pin pricks of an emotion she had thought to be immune to -- more or less: Loneliness.

Except - no. No. It wasn't loneliness. It was aloneness. That horrible, paralytic feeling when one suddenly realizes how vulnerable and isolated one truly was. Despite her particular skillset and her affiliation with the Harmonium, she possessed no true friends. Business acquaintences, certainly. Colleagues within the Harmonium, sure. Even the occasional person she knew from having a lot of contact -- like the doorman at the Golden Baurier. But - no true friends.

Her highly analytical mind, however, started to wonder -- Mysti had been living in Sigil for some twenty years. She had done just fine on her own. In fact, in many cases, she perferred it that way. So what had changed?

Mysti knew the answer to that question even before her mind had finished asking it. Her unexpected encounter with Cyprian. That's what was different. She couldn't even remember the last time she had "been" with someone romantically. Well ... she had to admit, there hadn't been a lot of romance. Fun though it was, it was most likely just a romp in the hay. In fact, she half-doubted she would ever see the bard again. He got what he wanted. Now she somewhat regretted making it so easy for him. Then again, why bother making it hard? He didn't seem the type to stay with anyone for very long -- thus -- she kept her emotional distance.

She watched as so many people strolled by her spot in the shadows where she was most comfortable. Young couples so passionately in love that it almost hurt. Families strolled slowly past, from toddler to gread grandfather, some times there would be four generations all together. Of course, there were groups of friends, most of them drunk, singing songs, making jokes, clapping each other on the back -- all in good spirits. And there she sat -- like she always sat -- watching the people, the city, the world -- her life -- pass by.

The rogue, a surprisingly decent flute player, put her instrument to her lips and began to play, though it wasn't a jaunty, cheerful song one would have expected in front of a tavern. Rather the music wordlessly conveyed a longing so keen that no sword had ever been as sharp -- a horrible sense of loss and regret. Normally she stayed away from the more melancholy songs she knew. But right now, for some strange reason, it seemed appropriate.

[Ikkit the Bastard]

Ikkit was rooting around in the bins out back, and his ears twitched slightly when the flute started, then stopped when he'd consciously processed that it was just music from inside of the tavern.

Huh.

Fekt gave a single croak from one of his pockets, and Ikkit gave a sort of sobvocalization in response.

Then, having finished his root-around, he shouldered his sack... and headed in.

As with entirely too many places he spent time, Masty's was the wrong damn size, and his progress toward the bar was best charted by the people who started out of his way as he snarled his way in, the top of his hat barely reaching the sternums of most of the misshapen giants in his path.

He slung his sack down next to a bar stool, then climbed up, turning to survey the room now that he could actually see anything.

Always helped to be on the lookout, especially in a building full of unobservant longshanks.

He spotted the flautist, and blinked once.

A Hardhead by themselves was, in Ikkit's experience, a relative oddity.

[Mysti]

Mysti's dark eyes tracked Ikkit as he crossed the floor and desposited himself onto a barstool. All the while she continued playing without so much as a hitch. The fact that he snarled at everyone was attention enough; hopefully he didn't inadvertantly start a fight though, this wasn't the kind of establishment where people fought over the drop of a hat -- and sometimes nothing at all.

She was usually pretty good with remembering faces -- she had to be in her line of work -- so something about him seemed familiar. But she couldn't recall ever doing business with a goblin.

Mysti finished the song and took a long drink of her ale. Blowing on these things was thirsty work -- and she wasn't even getting paid for it -- except free ale. Which wasn't much considering she may drink, what, maybe a entire pint? Sometimes not even that much.

After she set down her mug, her eyes were once more drawn to the golblin. Where did she ...

Then she, at last, remembered. This was the same goblin she had seen in the tent of that chess club. She hadn't been certain since she had only seen him from the back, but she was confident it was the same being. She hadn't been at all certain the goblin had even noticed her standing there. In any event, she gave the goblin a polite nod before she put the flute back to her lips, playing a more upbeat and rhythmic song.

[Ikkit the Bastard]

She nodded.

That's odd.

Have we met?

I don't think we've met.

Ikkit's well-honed paranoia reared its head, but he stifled it. Now wasn't the time.

The more upbeat sing started, and he cocked his head to the side, instantly wary as the general tempi of the room increased.

This was a weird place.

[Mysti]

Mysti played only two more songs -- at least so far -- before tossing her flute somewhat unceremoniously down onto the table. Then she took a very long drink of ale -- as if she would never again come up for air. By the time she thudded her stein on the table, someone was already bringing her another. However, she was much less gung-ho drinking that one, instead choosing to nurse it.

Once in awhile as she played those last two songs and nursed her second ale, she would look in the direction of Ikkit -- but only in the manner of someone mildly curious, not someone who had an intense interest. In fact, she didn't really appear to be giving the goblin any more attention than anyone else in the tavern, her eyes shifting to follow every loud noise, every raised voice, everyone who entered or exited the building. Nor did she seem to be looking for anyone or anything in particular.

If anything, she seemed rather bored, even yawning once or twice though the night was still relatively young -- for bar patrons, at least. At one point, she fetched a blob of cotton from a bag she had slung over the back of her chair, polishing her flute until the silver shined like a star in the dim torchlight of the tavern.

Perhaps it was on account of her apparent boredom -- or perhaps she really did have some ulterior interest in the goblin -- but when Mysti was certain the diminutive fellow was looking at her, she pointed to Ikkrit, then at the chair opposite her, giving him an expectant look.

[Ikkit the Bastard]

It was so rare that literally anyone requested his presence, that Ikkit became immediately suspicious.

But one couldn't be seen to avoid such a contact- it'd be a sign of weakness he could ill afford.

So he hopped down off of the barstool, grabbed his sack of salvage, and made his way over, nearly biting someone who almost stepped on him. Upon arrival, he repeated the process he'd made at the bar, albeit somewhat less laboriously, slinging the back under the chair and then climbing up to stand on it.

He blinked at the woman.

"Who the hells are you?"

[Mysti]

"You can call me Mysti," she replied with the kind of voice often described as purring. "And who might you be?"

As she waited for a name -- she really didn't care if the name was genuine. Just as long as there was a word with which she could refer to him -- other than "goblin." Closer up, she gave a satisfied nod. Yeah, she was certain of it now. This was the one.

[Ikkit the Bastard]

"Ikkit. Ikkit the Bastard in plenty'o circles in the Cage."

He fished a carefully folded piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it so she could see the official seal and the neat calligraphy.

"Licensed Freelance Salvage Specialist."

In the absence of a Guild, the freelance part was presumably a bit redundant, but he spoke the whole phrase- verbatim from the paper- as if it were part of some kind of catechism.

[Mysti]

"Ah ... well, then, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintence, Ikkit the Bastard," Mysti said in that velvety purring voice. "Forgive me, as I mean no offense for the asking but -- why would you call yourself 'the Bastard?' It seems a rather -- shall we say -- an unfortunate name."

Mysti's dark and and fathomless eyes seemed to drink in Ikkrit's countenance as she spoke, her expression curious yet intense. "And a salvager in addition. Hmm ..."

The 'hmm' was spoken in such a thoughtful manner that Ikkit could almost hear those proverbial gears turning in Mysti's mind.

[Ikkit the Bastard]

"Don't matter if I'd use it or not, if it's what I'm called by plenty'o bashers, then it's what I'm called. 'Sides. Better t'be known as a bastard than a pushover."

At her professional interest, he shrugged.

"Not much of a lost and found, but I find plenty that people lose. Most days I end up selling what I find in the Bazaar."