It's almost morning. Redglare is tired, bruised and frustrated, but she’s pretty sure she’s finally found the right place.
She strides into the Gamblignant's Rest with great purpose, eager to get clear of the stench of the docks. Despite the crumbling exterior, the tavern is quite homely inside, with carved wooden walls and a spacious interior.
She breathes in deeply, taking in the customers. Predictably, most of them are sailors. Big and burly, not wearing much in the way of armor, but a lot in the way of swords and pistols. None of them could take a fully-trained Legislacerator, but fighting all of them at once could end badly. She’s going to need to use her charms.
Making a beeline for the bar, Redglare bangs her fist against the wood three times. A very disgruntled looking oliveblood emerges from the back room.
“The fuck do you want?” he asks.
“Manners,” she says, “your worst drink. And…” She breathe in deeply once again, and finally catches the whiff of a familiar scent. She grins at him. “Access to your back room, please.”
“Can’t do,” he says, already pouring a thick, chunky yellowbrown liquid into a tankard. “It’s occupied. The lady asked for privacy.”
Redglare grabs the tankard and slide it squarely under her nose. It’s the worst thing she’s ever smelled. Perfect. She turns to the bartender again.
“I think you’re going to make an exception. This is… Imperial business.”
The atmosphere in the room changes. The many pairs of eyes that had only been taking an occasional glance are now drilling holes into Redglare’s back. Her expression doesn’t change.
The barkeep heaves a great sigh, mutters something under his breath, scratches the back of his head. She can smell his resolve crumble. For him, this is a matter of getting stabbed now or getting stabbed later, but the future is always more uncertain than the present. He gestures towards the door he’d walked through.
“Go on in, then.”
“Thank you very much,” Redglare says, grabs the tankard, and strides around the bar. With a precise kick to the handle the door flies open (she notes the barkeep’s pained groan), and the startled occupants all look directly at her. One of them falls out of their chair.
She takes a single step inside, tankard in her right, swordcane out of her modus and in her left. Any instructor would have said this was too flashy, but it’s oh so much fun.
For a few tense seconds, nobody says anything. It gives her time to take stock of what she’s dealing with. Five trolls – three women and two men. Four of them are just regular sailors, although better fed and dressed than the rabble outside. But it was the woman sitting in the centre of the room who stood out the most.
Wearing the most ostentatious captain’s hat Redglare’s ever seen on top a long, luxurious mane of black hair, is her oldest, worst rival, Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. She is wearing a black and blue longcoat with silver buttons polished to a shine, and trousers tucked into a pair of bright red knee-high boots, which are carelessly crossed on the table in front of her. She looks exactly like the last time Redglare saw her, if a little less worse for wear.
When Mindfang recognizes her her eyes widened in surprise.
“Holy shit, Redglare? How in the hells did you-“
Redglare dumps the contents of the tankard all over her. The slimy sludge retains some of its consistency before it hit her boots, trousers and shirt and splattered everywhere, staining all of Mindfang’s cronies as well. Shouting and cursing fills the room, none of it louder than Mindfang’s.
“What the fuck, Redglare? Are you actually serious?”
“It’s been a long time, Marquise,” she grins. “Figured I’d buy you a drink to celebrate our reunion.” She drops the tankard onto the table, sending the last few drops splattering on the soles of Mindfang’s boots. She rises, outraged.
“You’re fucking dead,” she shouts, and vaults over the table. Redglare tries to move out of the way, but she’d failed to notice the barkeep, who’d been staring slackjawed at the scene ever since he'd followed her in to check on the commotion. He’d been standing right behind her.
Mindfang crashes head-first into Redglare, sending her into the unprepared oliveblood, who buckles under their joint weight. All three of them crash into a heap, the man shouting in alarm or pain, and Redglare barely keeping Mindfang’s hands from closing around her throatstem.
“You think you can just saunter into a Gamblignant den and walk out? What are you even doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I came to arrest you,” Redglare says, trying to weasel her legs into a position that would give her some leverage. Mindfang throws her head back and laughs.
“You? Arrest me? Surrounded by men? You’re even stupider than you look!”
Finally in a good position, she braces her legs against Mindfang's abdomen and pushes her off. The gamblignant lands on her ass, and Redglare uses the brief window of shock to get back on her feet. She grabs her cane sword from where it had landed and points the tip at Mindfang’s neck.
“Perhaps, Marquise. But nobody looks as stupid as you!”
Mindfang roars in frustration and tries to get back up, but slips in a puddle of yellow goop and falls back down, Redglare’s blade still at her windpipe.
Trying to recover some dignity, Mindfang laughs again. “You think your little sword is gonna be enough to get you past all four of my men? The sailors outside aren’t too fond of lawbugs either,” she says, a smug smile returning to her face.
“No,” Redglare agrees, “but I have something far stronger than a sword in my specibus.”
“And what would that be?”
“Intimidation!” she exclaims. She jumps on top of the toppled table, balancing on the edge, and brandishes her sword at the startled pirates.
“Listen up, sailors,” she says, baring all her really quite impressive teeth at them. “My name is Neophyte Redglare. I am the youngest graduate of the Cruelest Bar in Imperial History. I have single-handedly brought down the great captain Grubbeard’s entire fleet. I’ve burned half a dozen of the Southern Rebels’ secret bases. And I’ve personally strung up over a dozen murderers, traitors, thieves and overly slow bureaucretins! No band of common scallywags could stand against me! But, tonight you are in luck.”
She points her sword at Mindfang again. “Tonight, my business is only with her. I have been chasing this woman for over a perigee, and so I well know that none of the raids she has taken you to lately have been successful. I know this because I foiled them myself! She has not payed you your due wages, she has failed to notice my meddling, and she is currently sitting on her ass in a puddle of terrible liquor like a particularly sad clown! How can you call this woman your captain? Allow me to leave with her, and neither I nor the Courtblock will come after you. Do we have a deal?”
The sailors exchange glances. One of them shrugs. Another nods. They seem to reach an agreement as they all turn to Redglare in unison. “Fine. Take her.”
Terezi groans and gives her computer screen a good lick, just to make sure she’s reading this right. Just when it was starting to get fun.
TT: Vriska, please keep this part of the chat for in-character talk only.
AG: No, I call 8ullshit! Mindfang’s men are undyingly loyal to her. They would never 8etray her like this!
GC: 4ND Y3T
GC: SUCH 1S WH4T H4S H4PP3N3D
TT: Terezi made perfect sense if you ask me. As the DM, I believe her speech, and the fact that you have a crew of, and I quote, “the cruelest, most cutthroat pirates this side of the 8lighted sea” would convince them to turn against you.
AG: Ugh, whatever. At least make her roll for it.
TT: Fine. Terezi, please roll, um…
TT: I’m not sure whether this is intimidation or persuasion?
GC: W3LL 1TS TH3 S4M3 ST4T R1GHT? 1T DO3SNT R34LLY M4TT3R
TT: I suppose not. Use the app to roll a d20 then.
AG: HA! No way that’s enough.
TT: I’m… inclined to agree. You’re convincing four separate trolls, so I’d want at least an 18.
GC: W3LL TH3N LUCKY FOR M3…
GC: 1 H4V3 4 PLUS FOUR TO CH4R1SM4 >:]
TT: Alright. The pirates allow you to drag Mindfang outside. What do you do next?
AG: This suuuuuuuucks. Can’t our characters just 8ang like every other time they meet?
GC: WH4T DO YOU TH1NK W1LL H4PP3N WH3N R3DGL4R3 PUTS H3R IN H3R C4G3? >;]
AG: Oh. Oh!
AG: Nice. ::::D
TT: No. I am not DM-ing a sex scene.
AG: Never took you for a prude, Rose.
GC: Y34H, ROS3
GC: GROW UP
TT: Is it so wrong that I’m uncomfortable participating in what is less a roleplay, and more thinly veiled cybersex?
TT: Consider this my ultimatum. If you want me to continue being your Dungeon Master, you will refrain from having your characters jump each other’s bones on every occasion.
GC: BY3 TH3N >:]
-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] has banned tentacleTherapist [TT] from memo! --
AG: I can’t 8elieve you just did that.
AG: I fucking love you.
GC: 1 KNOW
GC: WH3R3 W3R3 W3 >:]