The Honor Circle Returns! (IC)

[Tipod]

Bart's gaze strayed over to the newcomer, turning his head just enough to get a decent look through the corners of his eyes. "...*Snrk--* *Cough, cough*" He raised a hand casually to cover his mouth, lips twisting as he tried (and just about failed) to stifle a smile. Whenever Bartholomew saw some smaller, evidently male creature, his mind soon turned to the typical jokes. What's the weather like down there? Can you tell me about the Lollipop Guild? Hey man I'm a little SHORT on cash, mind if I borrow some?

Though, the rational quarter of his brain reminded him that this was a proving ground and lobby for some pretty rude, crude dudes. Even someone that short could have a real mean streak capable of ripping his head off for even the smallest offense. That, and the guy chose an end-seat. People on the ass-end of bars didn't often take kindly to ribbings, jovial or otherwise.

For the love of whatever higher power governs our meager existence, his grandfather warned before shoving him off, don't start a fight within the first 10 minutes. With that on his mind, Bart figured he'd keep his mouth shut and glanced away. "...baha, Shortround." Well, he'd mumble just one thing under his breath before shutting up, anyway.

[Boog]

Boog cursed under his breath. Dammit Styg, gotta learn some discretion. With a heave that sounded like he was lifting barbells the thoughtform slung Piix over his shoulder and was about to head to the infirmary when-
"Hey, Mac, you know where the bartender is?" Tweedy little twerp...
"Yes." He replied, his voice sounding quite capable of dissolving the floorboards, "He's very busy, and will be around to gob in your drinks in a moment." With another grunt, he continued his difficult trek to the infirmary.

---

A harsh BANG of the roof door slamming open heralded Marya's arrival, striding out onto the roof. Calm, stay CALM. You can't spend yourself all at once. Breathe... She lowered herself to all fours, took a deep breath, cast out with her senses...
Humming, buzzing. Servos?
Fwoosh of jets. Sounds like a chemical-based fuel.
Pennies. Copper. Ozone.
... THERE.
Slowly, keeping herself calm, Marya turned her head to follow the Mechangel. When he rose to her level... She'd be ready.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

At Bart's comment, no matter that it was low enough to be inaudible, the coin froze for a moment.

Witt raised one eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, then lowered it, and the coin started moving again. He muttered one short sentence. "Not before a gods-forsaken drink."

[Tipod]

"Awww..." He groaned as Boog hauled off poor Piix. 'Very busy'? The only thing bartenders should be busy doin' is mixin' Mojitos and tellin' guys 'Hey, you've had enough.' With nothing better to do, Bart entertained himself by glancing over the room and pondering.

Mirror, table, Glenlivet, chairs, books, pool table-- Both eyes stopped very momentarily on Witt before skipping to something else. ...wonder if cosmic horrors ever come here. Or monsters that actually look like rubber costumes. Godzilla ones, even. It was a pretty stupid train of thought, but it kept the boredom away.

[SpottedKitty]

Andrace Kithara was feeling particularly grumpy today. The tall, statuesque lioness stamped along the road, not really paying attention to where she was going, her paws kicking up a small plume of dust at every step. A flicker of motion off in the distance caught her eye. Where had those buildings come from? And those... circular somethings set out to one side. She was too far away to see details, but one of them seemed to have occasional flashes of light, or maybe explosions, inside it. Curious. Definitely worth investigating more closely. The lioness shrugged her shoulders, settling her backpack more securely, and strode off towards the buildings.

-   -   -   -   -

The door opened, its frame almost filled by the tall, muscular figure of a lioness. She pushed her fiery red hair back over her shoulders, blew a few stray strands out of her face, and entered the room, her bare pawpads making almost no noise on the floor. She wore a leather jerkin over a silk shirt, and silk trousers that came to a little below her knees, all in various shades of red and black. She grunted quietly as she shrugged the straps of a backpack off her shoulders. A leather baldric across her chest held the scabbard of a long sword across her back, the hilt poking up behind her shoulder, and a large pistol was holstered at her right hip. She walked up to a vacant spot at the bar, set her backpack down, and snagged an empty barstool with one foot, pulling it closer and sitting down. She leaned on her elbows on the bar and sighed heavily, whether glad to be off her feet or just emanating a general air of not-having-a-good-day-ness. Her tail flicked back and forth, then curled around one leg of the stool. She turned her head just enough to see the projected image hanging from the middle of the ceiling, and watched the fight in the cityscape with mild curiosity.

[Tipod]

Bart arched a brow at Andrace as she sat down, face quickly contorting from mild curiosity to sudden awe. Sweet Jesus, she was a good head taller than he was, not to mention possessed of a very sour demeanor. He could practically feel the unhappiness.

Damn, what's with these people? He mulled quietly; yeah, not all bars attracted cheery, upbeat people, but this wasn't some old downtown dive. "...so, anybody hear the one about St. Peter, the dead trio, and the refrigerator?" Speaking to nobody in particular as he turned his back to the bar in a slouched lean, giving a friendly grin. Surely nothing could break the ice better than a little shaggy dog story.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt glanced up at the mountain of a woman, sighed, and muttered something about shipping air up there by donkey. He didn't mutter it very loud, though. He hadn't had that drink yet, so...

And then the hairless monkey chimed in. Witt half turned, and disparagingly commented at Bart, "Frequently, but I don't expect that to stop you from telling it again. 'Why stop now, just when I'm hating it?'"

He flipped the coin around again, placed it edgewise on the bar, and spun it, one-handed. The coin declined to move more than a fingers width from where he'd put it, even as it spun down. He waited, patiently, for the bartender to return from wherever he'd taken the unconscious girl. After all, a barkeep who looked after his customers was worth keeping around, right?

... at least until the drinking got serious, that is.

[SpottedKitty]

Andrace turned to glance at the hedgehog and the hairless-monkey-critter, one ear flicking back and forth between them. Her muzzle quirked in a half grin. "Well, not all the old 'uns are good 'uns," she said, her voice a deep bass rumble that still sounded unmistakably feminine.

[Tipod]

Bart's grin faltered slightly, reverting to a tight-lipped smile. Deep down, he had an urge to turn to Witt and say, Did you hear the one where I stuffed you in a garbage can? 'Cause it happened, I was there. No, he'd keep his cool for now.

"Well then," he said, still maintaining a pleasant tone, "what doozies do you two know? I could use a good laugh." Both arms firmly crossed over his chest, still in a comfortable lean. "C'mon, lay one on me."

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt snorted. "You are a good laugh. Don't bloody bother me, child, I'm waiting for a damn drink."

He tapped the coin on the bar a few times - meditatively, not imperatively - and went back to his thoughts, spinning the coin again, and watching it settle.

[Tipod]

Damn, tough crowd. A different approach was in order. "...so, you a drinkin' man?" Not that it was very hard to guess, given Witt's demeanor, stature, and speech. "Iffin' you are, how about a little wager?" That big grin shone again as he turned in his seat. "I bet I can down a whooolle bottle of single malt scotch, without puking, before you can finish one glass worth of beer."

Bart casually set an elbow on the bar, still beaming that big stupid smile. "How about it? Think you can whup a young-ass whippersnapper like me?"

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt snorted.

"Two, no, three questions. One, how big a glass did you have in mind; is it larger than the bottle you intend to empty? Two, why would I fill it with something like beer? Why not something worth drinking? And three... " He glanced over the bar, then turned to survey the room. "How were you planning on getting the drinks?" He waved one arm at the empty space. "The barkeep is busy, hadn't you noticed? Or did your ego get in the way? No, if you want a drinking contest, you'll just have to do it the hard way. No tricks, no weapons. Drink for drink."

He paused for a moment, then spun the coin again. "And you'll still have to wait for the barkeep to come back." *spin* "You're welcome to try to keep up when he does, though." He didn't place any emphasis at all on the word try.

[Tipod]

"Answering in order, it'd be smaller than my bottle since I'm just that amazing, beer because it's, like... everywhere, and finally, we'd just wait for Mr. Barman to come back." Bart gave a sarcastic glare. "I was gonna ask if you wanted a straight-up shot-for-shot drinkin' contest, but you'd give out maybe halfway through." Big and boastful talk coming from such a punk.

"Not to brag, but--" He polished his knuckles for effect. "Every guy in my family's got an iron stomach, spleen, skull, and liver, me included. So, the question you oughta be asking is, 'Can I beat the result of generations worth of heavy drinkin'?'" That grin still stuck plastered to his face. "...well? Can you?" He was in the challenging mood now; he wanted to see this pan out, courtesy and calmness be damned.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt sniggered. "Shots. He still drinks in shots. How cute. I'd ask what your limit was, but I think you'd lose count after ten. And by then, you wouldn't be able to untie your shoelaces to let you keep counting." He spun the coin again. "Loser pays the bar tab. And a round for everyone in the bar who wants one, every ten drinks." He tilted his head to the left, then back again to the right, cracking his neck. "We alternate calls on the drinks. First one to pass out loses." He grinned. "Oh, and no peeing on the floor. That's just low class."

He rubbed his hands together, and picked up his coin again.

"You start."

[SpottedKitty]

Both of Andrace's ears perked up, and she turned on the stool to watch the byplay between the hedgehog and the hairless wotsit. A slow grin spread over her muzzle, just enough to show the tip of one fang poking over her lower lip. Her mood seemed to be improving, at least.

[Tipod]

"You got it, Spike." Bart immediately smacked both his palms flat on the bar in preparation to hop over and grab some drinks, but stopped himself just short of leaving the seat. "...that is, when the barkeep comes back." And slumped down in his stool. In fancy bars (hell, any bar), going behind the counter was a good way to get kicked out.

Bummer, man.

[Paladin Sheppard]

Paladin's foot connected with the shadow being Stygian had left behind, shattering the semi-solid construct and making its return blow turn to smoke that washed over him.

Spotting the retreating shadow, Pal brought the railgun round and fired over another burst this one longer, and slightly leading the target.

[Stygian]

Just like the time for Paladin to aim had been enough to give Stygian an opening in the very beginning of the fight, so it did once again. The bullets hit instantaneously, even more so than regular ones, their speed absolutely fantastic. Yet, so long as one's finger didn't squeeze the trigger... The shadow left a haze that turned the already murky and mottled surroundings even more difficult to see anything more through. And by the time Pal had fired, the man was already deep within shadow. The Cubi had just the time to see Stygian's grin in his sights before the bullets sizzled straight through it, and dispersed it as smoke and air.
   There was silence, though the tension seemed to hang like a lingering note in the air, before that cruel voice reached Pal's ears again, smooth yet corrosive, sizzling and decaying even as it spoke.
   'Mmmh... Nice gun,' Stygian hissed, the direction of his voice indefinite. The shadows, thick and almost viscous, lay heavy and solid, and whatever little movements could be observed could easily be attributed to either the wind or his own tension. 'Too bad I didn't bring mine. But I won't need it for this...'
   Something creaked overhead, a groaning sound of already fatigued metal, and a long scrape following it, but nothing seemed to move. Yet. The image of the broken, skeletal beams of the nearby structure, barely the lowest of the group still, suddenly became a lot more threatening.
   'You know, I don't know you. I don't, and I doubt if I will,' the voice seethed on. 'But why this?'
   Just at the edge of Paladin's sight, a couple of patches of blackness began to thicken and grow even deeper, stretching from the surfaces they were glued to...
   'Was it because of that fuzzy little piece? You're that touchy, tough guy?'

- -

Having gone silent with caution from the moment Styg came down and started some sort of mess, Sahlena's attention had only momentarily slipped to the fight between the Mechangel and the mongoose-thing. The moment the first revealed his true nature her attention had been prickled; machinery that she knew and understood, and most of all that which was 'unintelligent' was rarely a curiosity to her. Something like that though drew her like a magnet. And the moment Marya revealed those gauntlets of her, the android had become really curious. The sudden flurry of activity and new entrees though, had taken her off guard, and now, sitting in the middle of what was looking to become a genuine drink-off, the machine felt a little out of place, even. Then again, with people like these, what else could one feel like?
   ':psh! if you're going to make a mess, at least give people time to get out of the way. or to place bets,' she rasped, after a moment. Her gaze turned for a moment to Sylvie, but she figured after a moment that the elf would leave in case she was too discomforted, and thus slipped back off her seat and stepped down with a heavy thump as the result of her weight moving that casually. She eyed the two newcomers quickly. The gangly, muscled, apparently human man looked tough, but his off-beat style, besides from the cocky and boastful attitude that had him come off as trying a bit too hard at once made her a bit uneasy. The squat, spiny fellow though, from what she could tell, was the 'dirtier' of the pair, and probably hard as a brick as well.
   Rounding the taller human to get out from between him and the hedgehog, the machine gave them both her best disarming look, which wasn't really much to speak of, courtesy of her difficulty in expressing 'looks' at all. She was just about to say something to aid in the effort of getting out of there, and not having to talk more uncomfortable things with Sylvie, when she bumped against something. She turned, and was surprised to see another newcomer, this one also somewhat imposing, sitting there. What was with this place and large, fuzzy people?
   ':ah, 'scuseme,' she said to Andrace, taking half a step back and nodding an apology.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt turned, and raised one eyebrow at the mechanical marvel. "We're waiting on the bartender. If you want to place a bet, the floor is open." The eyebrow lowered. "If I was you, I'd put my money on the hairless ape over there, he looks like he can drink more." He grinned an evil grin. "Of course, if I was you, I wouldn't trust my advice, either."

He turned back to the bar, grabbed the coin from where it was balanced on it's edge, and then spun around on the stool, leaning one elbow on the bar and rolling the coin over his knuckles. He eyed the red-eyed lady thoughtfully for a minute, then commented "I wasn't planning on making any messes, though I can't speak for my playmate, here. I presume the bar has a policy about such things?"

[Sunblink]

...Piix:

Piix was utterly unresponsive as she dropped obediently into one of the unoccupied chairs at the bar, her limbs limp like a rag doll's. Her mind seemed to be full of hissing, white static, fizzling and darting over her barely-intelligible thoughts, as she struggled to comprehend her rational thought processes and reorganize her state of being. Her shock was by no means detrimental or life-threatening, but it certainly left her confined to a state of uncooperative silence and a few, methodical actions, such as fidgeting her paws or sheathing and exposing her virulent claws.

---

...Keaton:

The jackal was sitting at the bar not far from where Piix was resting, looking quite perturbed by her behavior. Cogidubnus had departed a while ago, but she had occupied herself with a few more drinks before preparing to leave as well. She cast a furtive glance at Piix, clandestine and yet scrutinizing, and mumbled something to the Boogeyman along the lines of "Is she alright?" Without really waiting for an answer, Keaton devoted herself to draining the remainder of her beverage and left the appropriate amount of currency on the tabletop, including a complementary tip discarded beside her very empty drinking glass. Scooping up Catastrophe, Keaton nestled the giant mace in the crook of her arm and turned around, striding toward the exit. She had enjoyed her stay in the Honor Circle, but interactions among the patrons were becoming bristled with animosity. It tasted unpleasant. Since Stygian and Paladin were busy outside the bar, Keaton purposefully took a route that would allow her a slightly more discrete exit and not interrupt any of the fights.

Keaton pushed the door open and walked outside, closing it behind her. She looked around at her surroundings, breathing the air in deep, feeling the air rush through her ballooning lungs. With that, she picked a direction and walked forward, although that angle was no different from the rest of the virtually featureless landscape. As she ambled further and further away from the Honor Circle, her form seemed to darken against the sandy backdrop, the yellow of her body corroding into a deep bronze, then melting away as the black of her markings crawled up her form and enveloped the outline of her skin. An errant breeze drifted past, and with that insistent tug of the wind, her body fell apart into thousands of tiny particles, drifting away.

---

Around that same time, near the entrance to the Honor Circle, a tiny white light sizzled from out of nowhere, as though an invisible flammable material had been clapped together by God's hands to create a spark. It was imperceptible, and yet brilliant, a momentary fluctuation in the electrified air - and after its disappearance, yet another light sprung up and arched in a fluid, instantaneous motion, like a sword of light was cleaving a big, bleeding wound in the atmosphere. The descending rivulet of energy plummeted and widened, its divided ends parting and trailing to the earth like a slit, and with a flash that laceration in the world's dimensional barriers vanished.

All of that damage was erased in a single eyeblink.

In the cleft light's place, two figures remained: one austere, yellow and black, distinctly canine, and the other black, small, and levitating a good distance off the dusty ground. The black figure's whiplike cord of a tail unraveled and cracked against the ground with a dramatic snap, white electricity teeming and seething off of its length, before it retreated into the creature's body, shortening into a more manageable state. The other figure, presumably its owner, extended her arm and held it under the creature's feet, gesturing for the creature to perch on the proffered limb. The black creature gratefully accepted this reward, floating gingerly and landing on its master's arm. Although it was roughly the size of a housecat, the taller, saffron-sable figure was unencumbered by any apparent weight. She smiled to herself, whistling, and approached the Honor Circle, jostling a drawstring bag slung over her shoulder.

---

When the Honor Circle doors opened, all the occupants presumably saw Keaton, now accompanied by a strange, atramental imp, re-enter the bar as though she had never left.

[Stygian]

Smooth movements slowing down, her posture shifting on her legs as she stuck her hands in her pockets, Sal looked down apprehensively at the hedgehog, curiously looping his gravelly voice in a separate process. Something about her seemed apprehensive, but also something more than that...
  ':hm. well, there's to be no fighting in here, though depending on the kind of 'mess' that may not be the issue,' she said, a little bemused note having entered her metallic voice. ':if you have any questions on the specifics, you should ask 'Tweed' over there, who just left,' she continued, and gave a nod toward the door to the infirmary at the very back of the place. ':he's the caretaker of the establishment, after all.'
  The impression of a smirk somehow on her featureless face, the machine awaited the coming response.

[Tipod]

"Don't worry, Six of Nine," Bart eyed Sal with mild interest. Given the fact he'd just been chatting it up with a hedgehog and lioness, the presence of an android didn't do much more to surprise him. "I think we adults know how to drink without makin' a big mess. At least, I know I can." Another grin, glancing once more at Witt. "There'll be time for real fightin' later. Right now, let's get some bets goin'. Who here thinks I can outdrink this buster without throwin' up on his shoes?"

As Keaton entered, he immediately stood, raised an arm and pointed. "You, with the little vermin! Wanna make an easy buck?" The thought of having a good ol' fashioned public wager got him just a wee bit active. "Anyone wanna make some easy cash, bet on who you think can keep his drink down: me," he said, thumb pointed square at his chest, "or Mr. Pointy here." Noogie-ing Witt would've followed, but Bart didn't feel like having his arm torn off outside of a more appropriate venue. "C'mon, let's pass a hat around, see who stands where."

[SpottedKitty]

Andrace glanced thoughtfully at the shiny black metallic creature that had bumped into her. It was heavy, certainly: a lot heavier than she was, and the lioness suspected it could have easily bowled her over with only a little effort if it wanted to. As for what it said about fighting... hmm... interesting.

She looked back towards the hairless critter, snorted, and her grin widened just a little. "Y' picked th' wrong sister t' agree t' a blind bet like that," she said cheerfully. "F'r all I know y' always keel over b'fore y' finish th' second bottle, an' Prickles here —" she cocked one ear and nodded towards the hedgehog "— don't drink anything stronger 'n ginger beer. Nope, if y' want t' see th' colour o' my money... or anything else... I wanna see how y' perform first." Her voice lowered to a sultry, husky purr at her last few words, and she leaned forward, giving a slightly better view down the front of her shirt, and a very much improved view of a muzzleful of gleaming white fangs.

"Unless..." the lioness grinned slyly and licked her whiskers, "y' wanna make this a bit more fun, an' th' three o' us have a three-way... contest...?"

[Sunblink]

...Xianxi and Keaton:

Almost immediately, at the derisive comment, the black creature seated on Keaton's shoulder pivoted his head around to peer humorlessly at Bart. The creature's features were modeled similarly to a stylized anubis, crowned and ornamented with horns and other little barbs, its forehead furnished with a single alabaster stone matching its equally pearlescent eyes. Although it did not respond derogatorily to this statement, it seemed nonplussed.

"Vermin?" the creature repeated uncertainly.

Keaton looked at Bart somewhat incredulously, but whether or not it was true disbelief was up to interpretation. In actuality, her expression was truly genuine: she couldn't comprehend the fact that someone was challenging her to a drinking competition. In most of her altercations, she had emerged from those particular contests victorious. "You come into MY house?" Keaton asked, sounding almost insulted. "You spit on me in MY house?"

After a moment, she narrowed her eyes at Bart, as though assessing him and his alcohol capacity from afar. She snorted determinedly, swiped her knuckles across her nose, and stormed over to the table at which Bart was seated, the challenge accepted.

[Tipod]

"Three way?" As Keaton stalked over, Bart was almost awash with giddiness. "I say it's lookin' like a four-way now: you, you, you, and me." Andrace, Witt, Keaton and himself, respectively. Man versus Nature in the slightly more disgraceful arena of senseless drinking. "Oh, we're gonna need some hard liquor. No Jim Bean, no Jack Daniels, no Johnny Walker." Between the four of them, one bottle wouldn't last very long; they'd need something nice and headache-inducing to weed out the lightweights before the booze runs dry. "We need some grain-alkyhol in here. 190 proof sounds about right." And it was right, so long as you didn't go blind after two or three shots.

"Unless," he teased, shoving both hands in his jacket pockets, "that's a bit too much for you fine folks." Bart bounced on his heels, still keeping up that goofy smile and jingling the change in his pockets. With three other people willing to take him on, it was all he could do to just keep from breaking out into a merry little swagger.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt shrugged. "So, you're calling a shot of grain alcohol, 190 proof or better, for the first round. All right, I can see that." He turned his face up to Andrace. "Fuzzy-face, I think you were next, then Buzz-o-Bumble over there. If you're in, propose a round. And when the barkeep returns, we'll get started."

He stretched, then commented "I spose we should all pony up for the tab, too. Don't want anyone skipping on the bill when they pass out. You all want separate rooms to sleep it off, or should we dump you all in the same bed?"

[SpottedKitty]

Andrace glanced at the brightly coloured newcomer. "Th' more th' merrier, girl," she said, "an' we're goin' t' be pretty damn' merry soon." Her gaze went back and forth along the rows of bottles at the back of the bar, before she grinned and pointed a claw at an oddly shaped bottle with a dusty old label.

"That'll do f'r my round," the lioness said with satisfaction. "Cause, y' know, Absinthe makes the mind go yegodsy'wantmet'drinkthat?..." She grinned again, showing fangs.

[Stygian]

It seemed that if the machine had been able to make an eyelid twitch, she would have. Now, after just these last few statements, she knew these people had some classifiable issues. The lioness not least of them. And that there was going to be a mess. Maybe not as a direct result of the drinking, and maybe not the way she'd thought, but nonetheless... She chose to back down, but to do it with style, seeing as one could get a lot of crap one's way if one didn't stand up to the situation in the presence of people like these.
   ':fantastic. i'd join you, but i think you understand why i can't compete,' she said, almost muttering. ':whoever doesn't finish off his or her drink can give it to me. i'll use it for de-greaser.'

- -

For whatever reason, this was precisely the time that Andrea chose to walk back into the bar. Hands in her pockets, she swung up the door to the infirmary, a dull look on her face. It remained for about a second, before she came to a halt with a twitching movement.
   One might have perceived some wariness or curiosity on her face as the human woman witnessed the gathering at the bar, but it melted away just as quickly as her bitterness. It was replaced by a somewhat puzzled and sickened look, and a strange mix of red and green tones creeping onto her features.
   Spinning on her heel, Andrea turned a perfect one-eighty degrees and slapped open the infirmary door, and walked right back in.

[Tipod]

Bart reached for his wallet, giving a quick glance through, noting the few green bills in the folds along with several stamped, lustrous coins in the zip-up change pouch. He knew better than to hit up an interdimensional watering hole without something in the way of hard currency. "Yeah, I'm good for puttin' a little somethin' up front." He slipped the wallet into his back pocket. "I won't be needin' a bed, though." Real manly macho men could stay awake through drunken stupors, naturally.

Suddenly, an epiphany struck his small brain. "...say, I don't think I got anyone's name. Poor form on my part."

He extended a hand down to Witt, then Andrace, and a little smile and nod to Keaton. "Name's Thompson, Bart Thompson. Short-order cook and man of action. And you all?"

[SpottedKitty]

Andrace shrugged out of the baldric and propped her sword against the bar, beside her pack. It was a very large sword, more obvious now that its wielder's size wasn't fooling the eye, nearly five feet long with a huge hilt and crossguard, but the lioness was apparently strong enough to heft it as if it were no more than a light rapier. She unbuckled her gunbelt, draped it over the pack, then turned back to the hairless critter as he introduced himself and took his hand in a firm grip.

"Pleased t' beat y', Bart," she said with an impressively toothy smile. "I'm Andrace Kithara, an adventurer. Dealin' wi' pesky critters a specialty. Best t' let y' know now, there's only one person y' c'n rely on t' drink me under th' table, an' m' big sister Irene ain't here." Bart's hand almost disappeared in hers, but still Andrace was careful. She didn't quite shake his arm hard enough to dislocate an ordinary man's elbow or shoulder, and her grip wouldn't have permanently harmed the small bones in his hand. She made sure to keep her claws sheathed, though; she wanted this to be a friendly contest, after all.

To begin with...