Making trouble in the neighbourhood [D0, Mid-Evening]

[Sings-With-Purpose]

Most any tavern in Sigil was the rowdy sort; though the ones in the Hive were surely the rowdiest of the lot by a good solid lead. Not that she by and large was the sort to mind. Oh sure, a brawl wasn't ever much on her mind, but such things inevitably came with a lively atmosphere. The livelier a place was the more challenging it was to catch the attention of the crowd, but the better the reward. Well, the reward as counted in terms of rapt attentions, anyway. She wasn't about to make much jink performing in the Hive after all; even if her name was out on enough lips nowadays to count herself a bit of fame.

"Now, if it might please the crowd," she began to say to crowd of patrons who were paying her no mind as of yet. Which is why she stepped it up a notch; her voice booming unnaturally loud and the flames of the torches on the stage behind her turning a radiant blue color.

"Ahem, if it might please the berks and bashers of this 'ere esteemed crowd," she gave them a flourishing bow as the crowd's noise died down just a tad and eyes were drawn her way, a casually cool smirk thrown back at them when she rose from the bow, "I'd like to sing you lot a song or two. Hells, maybe even three. In case none of you know who I am, the name's Sings-With-Purpose, and don't you cagers forget it. Now let's do this."

White feathered angelic wings unfurled from her back; as her jacket seemed to explode into a sea of stars that gave everyone who looked at it a mild sense of vertigo, as if they were staring straight into an open portal to outer space. It was a wonderful series of illusions woven into the fabric of her clothes, though a canny cutter would see it for what it was, the wings clearly not real despite moving about as if they were.

She muttered a few words and made a couple of hand gestures, and the whole stage followed along by turning into a beautiful night-time landscape; nay, a cloudscape. The illusion she wove around the stage was that of being atop the clouds, the stars from her jacket joined by a multitude of them replacing the wall and ceiling behind and above her, before she plucked the strings of her bandore once, twice, three times.

[Casting Major Image]
Performance: 1d20+14 30

And then she began to play the most hauntingly beautiful song, reminiscent of the Empyrean Harmonies of old, the primal music of the universe that lay at the foundation of all things. Heavens help the poor sods of the hive for being compelled even if just for a few minutes to stop trying to murder each other over a game of cards...

...'Course, they'd never allow themselves to be given over to such pacifist sentiments for long, and she knew well-enough to make the next few songs less celestial in nature; the melodies and lyrics turning to much livelier sentiments as the evening's performance progressed.

[Fyne]

Coming seemingly from the crowd, Fyne appears and finds a place to watch from. Someone bumps into him and he says, a little acerbic, "Watch where you're walking. Or just don't walk, you seem to suck at it." It looks like hands are about to be exchanged not so politely when Sings speaks up and gets everyone's attention. Lirrax crawls from his coat and perches on his head, her tail wrapped around his ponytail for stability.

The show is quite the scene and the stars flashing get Lirrax excited. 'That looks like home!' she squeals delightedly in his mind before taking off and flying above the stage, trying to eat them like fireflies.

'Get back here. They're not real Lirrax,' he thinks at her with a smirk, before she moves to land, disappointed they weren't snacks.

Fyne listens and enjoys it, the song triggering one of his unrecalled memories. Which is annoying because he felt some sort of way now and didn't have any context for it. But he claps appreciatively at the end of the song.

[Ikkit the Bastard]

Ikkit hated the House of the Griffin almost as much as he hated the other options for refreshment at this point in his rounds, and his foul humor was improved not one whit by the fact that just about all of the crappy furnishings were a bit oversized for his diminutive frame.

At least he hadn't had to pay actual coin for his drinks, having swapped a nice jacket from a bin in the Noble District.

But it was usually good for a fight, and fights inevitably produced debris, and even if they didn't, he enjoyed the occasional chance to wallop some human or tiefling or elf or whoever else was handy right in the fruits.

So of course some barmy Aasimar had to go and try to class the place up.

Like that does any good here. Must be lost. Maybe I should give Her Highness directions to the Clerk's Ward.

...

Nah.

When the song ended, Ikkit expressed his opinion by pointedly ignoring the stage, instead looking for someone worth throwing his now-empty tankard at in order to restore what, had he been of a more philosophical bent, he would have called the equilibrium of the establishment.

Eenie... meanie... minie...

[Sings-With-Purpose]

As if she knew exactly what the goblin was going for, the next song she played was precisely the sort of song that ought to play for any good tavern brawl. Hardly what one'd expect from a classy Aasimar, but certainly the kind of tune that a place like this was accustomed to. Which was of course precisely why she started it up, not because of a specific goblin preferring it, but because 90% the clientele probably did.

Performance (rowdier): 1d20+14 29

Well, she certainly was more than competent in a range of styles. A celestial bit of harmony followed by a bootstomping jig that'd likely inspire more than a few broken glasses. The illusionary magic she'd cast earlier shifted form, the stars turning into pichers of beer sprouting wings, flying about the place and pouring their ethereal pretend-alcohol on top of people's heads as the music began. And as the crowd's mood shifted back to their usual trouble-making inclination, the melody and beat slowly started changing again toward her signature style.

General ambience that towards the end sounds more like this somehow

Perfect tankard throwing music, in any case.

[Ikkit the Bastard]

...

Moe.

Ikkit heaved the flagon, without much caring where it went, with the happy(?) result that instead of taking someone right in the side of the head, it slammed between the shoulder blades of a rather impressively bulky specimen of what might charitably be called humanity.

Having made his throw, Ikkit had already scrambled under a table- not to hide, but to break off the legs of the chair he'd been perched on.

It was always best to use an improvised club in these situations. Kept anyone from holding a grudge over some deader.

[Fyne]

Fyne, while generally not an overly violent individual, did enjoy a good brawl now and then. He wasn't good at it, but he didn't mind that. So when someone swung on him and gave him a black eye he didn't take it personally. But he did begin exchanging punches. More love taps really, as most of the people here were just venting rather than trying to kill anyone.

[Sings-With-Purpose]

She kept performing as tankards and punches continued to fly and be thrown. Pow! Kapowee! A poor basher got thrown on stage by on overhead throw, before getting up; setting his jaw straight; and diving off back into the fray. Sings managed to dodge him and a glass or two with expert showmanship, the tunes continuing to come unabated.

"Lovely crowd as always!" she yelled out mid-song with a big smirk, seemingly entirely sincere, "Remember folks, every Factol's Day prices for ale are 10% off so long as supplies last, and a whopping 20% if you bring your own tankard. The proprietor made sure I remind y'all. Also--"

She dodged another tankard.

"--Ah hells, never mind!"

And continued the performance for good while longer, the illusionary magic fading after a while; apart from that woven into her clothes. And she'd keep performing until the brawling started to die down, finally ending her set with a solid solo and finally a bow.

"Thank you, thank you, you've been a wonderful crowd. My name's Sings-With-Purpose, 'case any of you cutters want to catch me in the future. You've been lovely, also staff? We're going to need a clean-up over here at the front tables, I'm seeing more than the usual number of loose teeth laying about this fella here."

And with that, the Aasimar took a final bow and hopped off stage, to go get a complimentary drink from the bar.

[Ikkit the Bastard]

He'd been punted more than once, but the advantage of his low mass was that he seldom had a particularly hard landing, even when a big bariaur had actually used him as a projectile (effectively, it must be said, since Ikkit had landed in full "earn that 'Bastard' tag" mode and had still had a chair leg to work with when he'd come down). So he was a bit battered, a bit bruised, but nothing out of his usual standard.

As for teeth, well... he wasn't sure how these other berks did it, but Ikkit was on about his fourth or fifth set, so having a few of the older ones knocked out was actually kind of helpful. Not least because now he could scoop up a few to use in traps!

But first things first. He scooped up a bit of broken crockery, a couple of steins that were intact except for the handles being broken off, and then moved on to inspecting choice bit of smashed furniture. He left personal property alone, his license didn't really cover that (otherwise he would have gone after some of the BIGGER teeth on the floor!), but clearly broken tavern property was well within his bailiwick.

He just wish he'd managed to hit the damn bard with that second throw.

Oh well.

Next time I'll open with a silence spell.

[Fyne]

Fyne tore some of the sleeve off of some unconscious patron and stuffed it up his nose to slow the bleeding. He knew it was likely unsanitary, but he also didn't like the feeling of trickling blood so he didn't really mind. He nods to the bard as she passes by, "Good show."

The goblin collecting junk got a curious glance, but Fyne also assumed they were just staff cleaning up the mess.

[Sings-With-Purpose]

"Thank y'kindly," she gave the man a tip of the imaginary hat as she sat down at the bar to order herself a drink. Were he not Szarkai, she might've been inclined to pay him closer mind, but as it was she just mistook him for any regular elf. Not that drow were anything particularly special either, but she did have cause to pay them a tad more mind today.

Well, that was that, and this had been this but was now another, different, that. What mattered for the time being was that she'd had a solid performance, and had earned herself a drink. Even if the stuff 'round here was likely to be swill.

"Ah hells... any cups still intact?" She chuckled, asking the bartender, who simply grunted and nodded before setting her drink down in front of her.