𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒏 { 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝒐𝒖𝒕 } || open

|| KASKAA  

Kaskaa rummaged through her bags with an air of impatience. She was looking something small—a ring, more specifically. “I know it’s here somewhere,” she said, more to herself than to Callidora. She had not yet taken the time to unpack her belongings, so she dug for a few seconds longer amid the haphazardly folded clothes. They had only just arrived in their room. It was a modest space furnished with a neatly made bed, a dresser, and a large armoire. To her it seemed fancy if only because it was new. Not to mention they were using what little money they had to rent the room. She was unused to paying for such trivial things as clean sheets and a feather pillow, not when such things could be found back at home. But, they had no other choice.

“Aha!” she exclaimed when at last she felt the cool touch of metal. She extracted the ring with a look of triumph and slipped it onto her thumb. Then she held out her hand to behold the simple band. It was a worthless piece of jewelry except for its sentimental value. It had belonged to her father, which was why it was too big to fit on any of her other fingers. But it reminded her of him, and she secretly believed it would lead her to him, wherever he might be.

“Alright, I’m ready,” she told her sister as she stood and smoothed over her skirts. Her reddish brown hair had long since fought free of its braid. She ran a hand over it, smoothing down a few rebellious locks but not wasting time in perfecting it. Perhaps under different circumstances she would have fussed over her appearance longer. For now, however, she was in a rush to leave the confines of their room. Her hand fumbled over her pockets. “I have the key to the room here. Do we need anything else?” Dark green eyes cast about the room and landed on their pile of things, where a small box was peeking out from under her bags. Its silver exterior caught the light, illuminating the lettering on its delicately inscribed top. She bent and tucked it under the shadow of the dresser, hiding it from sight.

Then, without another word, she led the way out into the hall. As soon as they stepped out of their room, Kaa could hear the muffled commotion from downstairs. Her heeled boots reverberated through the wooden floors as the sisters walked down the spiral staircase and entered the common room of the Nightshade Inn.

There were a good number of people filling the open room. Some gathered around the bar, where an innkeeper was serving drinks. Others were minding their own business at tables of their own. Kaskaa scanned every face in sight. She was unsure of what she was looking for. None of the faces matched the one she most hoped to see. Most of the occupants were eating food or engaged in conversation. Kaskaa contemplated walking up to someone, but opted instead to take a seat at the table in the middle of the room, one close to all the action.

As she took a seat, she cast a wary glance to her sister. There was no use in being impatient and scaring people off. As much as she wanted to walk up to every person and demand: Have you seen my father?! She knew it was prudent to gather information with more tact. After all, the town was already on high alert because of a supposed murder. The last thing she wanted to do was raise suspicion about herself or her family. So for now she would wait to be approached. And some eavesdropping couldn’t hurt either.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asked Callidora. “I suppose we haven’t eaten since we left home.” In the midst of such a long and stressful day, Kaa had forgotten about food altogether. She swiveled in her seat in order to look for someone who might help them or, alternatively, someone who might strike up a conversation. She made her face the picture of friendliness, hoping to catch the eye of any who might be looking.

|| SABIEN

Sabien wished he could remember the taste of liquor. It was one of the few things he genuinely hated about being a vampire—the fact that his immortal palette rejected everything but blood. Someone as old as him ought to be a connoisseur of something, be it wine or olives or chocolate. Of course he could force any of these things down his throat. That he was an expert at. In fact he was doing it now, sipping an ale and pretending it was delicious. Pretending to enjoy something was not the same as actually enjoying it. He did get some amusement from hamming it up, emitting a soft “mmm” as he choked down the liquid ash. 

For now, however, there was no one to enjoy such a performance. Only a spattering of inn occupants with their own things to worry about. None of them seemed to pay him much mind. Ah, humans and their quaint troubles. They were too concerned about their own little human problems to realize there was an apex predator in their midst. He could kill them all now, if he really wanted to. He could cut them down and hear their terrified, helpless screams. But such thrills as violence had long since lost their luster. One could only taste blood so much before becoming bored of it, disgusted by it, even. No, an old vampire such as himself had to find other forms of amusement.

He leaned back in his barstool, stretching his long legs out in front of him before crossing his arms lazily over his chest. His sensitive ears tuned in and out of all the many conversations around the room. He sifted through them like a pig sniffing for truffles. There had to be something worth listening to, secret or piece of gossip. In his old age, he found that the salacious things were the most entertaining. Affairs, unplanned pregnancies, teenage heartbreak. These were the moments which he sought, the spice that made life worth living. Perhaps he was a connoisseur of something. Without scandal, it was all one endless slog. 

He hoped his companion would arrive soon. He had invited an old friend to meet him at this very inn with a promise that they would find entertainment there. So far his listening had yielded no results, but there was potential. He had heard whispers of trouble brewing in the surrounding hamlet. A murder? Lost treasure? Missing people? These were the very things that made his ears ring and his heart sing. Any minute now he would overhear something interesting. It was all about finding a crack, one which he could bring a sledgehammer to and create into a gaping crevasse. 

|| LAKOTA  

The looking glass that Lakota peered into was small, but he could still see his reflection. Could still see the sharp, noble lines that formed his cheekbones; the straight bridge of his nose; the bright gleam of his eyes. Along with that, he could see the rather strange aspects of his appearance; the horns on the top of his head – the wings that were half-spread behind him. The scales that ran down his arms and over the tops of his fingers. He couldn’t see it, but he also knew those scales could be found on his spine. He studied his expression, studied the strange shape of his pupil that also betrayed his more reptilian nature. Most humans would not trust those who did not look like them; and although there were countless different species and magical creatures in the world, humans remained at the top of the list. Lakota was not ashamed of himself – far from it. He was proud to be a dragon shifter, and had he been in any other profession he would not have even bothered to glamour himself. The fact that he was a bounty hunter, and therefore had to frequently work with humans, meant that it was much easier to just hide his true appearance than try to explain the reasons for his horns, scales, and wings. It also made it easier to blend in and keep a low profile. He spread his wings out, relieving the tension in the muscles, before he folded them back to spine.

He cracked his jaw and sighed. As he set his mouth into a firm line, he summoned his magic, and began to layer a glamour over himself. Dragons were inherently magical creatures – there were those that considered them to be magic made flesh, and while Lakota was not anywhere near a sorcerer’s level, he was able to cast a bit of magic on himself. It was tiring and difficult some days, but necessary in Lakota’s line of work. As he layered on the glamour, he watched his appearance change. His wings slowly faded away, disappearing like fine mist beneath the sun. Once that he was done, he focused on his horns. Again, they faded away until they were as invisible. The structure of his face changed; his pupils became more round; the silver and gold in his eyes flickered away. His cheekbones smoothed out, become less prominent. His hair lightened to a mousy brown shade, and it seemed that a beard sprouted along his jaw and neck. He glanced down at his hands, watching the scales vanish. He even seemed to shrink in size. When he looked back into the looking glass, he barely recognized himself. With another sigh, he turned away, scanning the contents of the room that he’d rented at the Nightmare Inn. He gathered a few of his possessions – ones that he was more concerned about losing – including several knives, before he left the room behind and headed into the inn’s main area.

He could hear someone singing, although the voice was muffled. It still rose above the din of conversation, though. He entered the main room, scanning the faces of the crowd briefly. He was looking for his employer, considering he was in this little hamlet for a job. He did not know exactly what she looked like, but he figured he’d be able to spot her relatively easily. Murder tended to uproot someone’s life and left them drowning in grief and anger. Despite how much someone tried to hide those emotions, then inevitably leaked out, and altered the expression. He did not spot her right away, so he moved towards the bar and ordered an ale. He listened to the conversation around him as he sipped at his drink.

His attention was drawn at the rather loud “YOU!” that cut through the conversations. He glanced over, watching as a rather young looking individual pointed at a pair sitting at a table. Two young women, who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. Hmm, he mused. A slight twinge of concern panged within him. Inns like this could be dangerous for females. He’d keep an eye on them. Wouldn't be the first time he'd had to pull someone out of danger, and he doubted it would be the last.