The Merc With a Mouth | Bandit

The door of the tavern swings closed behind you, and the bitter bite of winter air is replaced by the comforting, warm heat of the tavern. The sound of a crackling fire fills your ears, and the smell of home cooked food fills your nostrils. You can hear your stomach rumbling in your belly, and your guts churn with the need for sustenance. Patting yourself on the side, you throw your coat up onto a rack by the door, and approaching the tavern keeper. You produce a satchel of coin from your pocket, dumping three gold discs onto the counter and sliding them across.

"House special."

You speak, teeth still chattering from the cold, even as your cheeks flush red from the enveloping heat. The tavern keep nods, pockets the coin, and walks off towards the kitchen. You can hear patrons talking, raising cheers and indulging in games and gambling all around you. But three patrons in particular catch your eye, two large men, clad in thick coats, and a third, smaller girl, with an annoyed expression on her face as the two others attempt to pet her, like a domestic animal. Just as the tavern keepers returns with your food, and you begin to devour your meal with the ferocity of a starved wolf, you are interrupted by the sound of something hitting the counter beside you, and the sound of boots scuffing on the hardwood floor.

"Oof!"

You spin your head towards the sound of the impact, and a dazed looking demi-human, the same one you had just seen, rubs her head for a moment, before springing up to her feet, drawing a long dagger from the belt at her waist. She wears a brown tabard with a thick leather chest guard, now spattered with blood, her sleeves are obscured at the wrist by vambraces of the same thick leather. Her shorts, mostly obscured by a leather belt, covered in pouches and a large sheath at the hip, are short, almost bordering on being an undergarment, rather than proper clothing. She certainly wasn’t dressed for this weather. Perhaps her fur keeps her warm enough to render a coat redundant.

"N-now, now, boys! It isn’t polite to hit a lady, especially not after touching her like she’s your house pet, y’assholes.."

She spits a glob of blood to the floor, groaning in pain as her head swims with agony, before her focus returns to her two assailants. A typical bar fight, you think, as your attention is drawn from your meal to the scuffle. Just as quickly as you turn to look at the burgeoning brawl, the demi-human has already leapt towards her attackers, bushy tail swaying behind her as she charges, her knee cracking into one man’s groin, as her dagger clashes with the others blade. She spins, the hook of her dagger latching the hilt of the second man’s own, and twists, wrenching the blade free before she jumps up, her forehead cracking against his and sending the man reeling backwards.

"Eh-?!"

She yelps as a hand grabs her by the belt and yanks her back, hard, slamming her into wall with a sickening crack, followed by a punch to the jaw. She crumples, leaning against the wall as she spits more blood into the palm of her paw.

"Urghh...."

She groans, looking between the two, now very angry looking men that stand before her, fists raised and ready to pummel her.

"W-wait, wait! I don’t wanna fight anymore, y-you’re really h-hurting me..!"

She whimpers, raising a hand in front of her face, as the other slips behind her back, and grabs hold of a fan of throwing knives. Just as the two men begin to lower their fists and glance to one another, pondering the idea of letting her go, she springs forward, launching two knives at each man with masterful precision. Their jackets are pinned to two wooden struts by the knives, and she dusts herself off as the two men struggle to free themselves.

"Haha! You really thought i’d give in that easily, idiots! Now g’wan, get outta here!"

She barks at the two men, who resort to slipping out of their jackets to escape, and scurry off in embarrassment at their defeat, a grin spreading across her face before it lowers onto a pained frown and she winces.

"Ow.."

She grumbles, rubbing a hand to her bruised head, as she limps off to the bar. She slinks into the stool next to you, and slumps forward, resting her injured face on her forearms as her eyes accidentally lock with yours, an idea twinkling behind their icy-blue depths.

"Hey....buy a drink for a poor little lady, would yah?"

She beckons, and settles a furred hand on top of yours, her eyes twinkling with a tell-tale mischievousness that calls for you to give in, and buy her a drink.