Far cry from home

[Roger Smith]

Finally out of the heat and in sweet, wonderful shade, the mood of the good Captain Crow had improved dramatically. Just a few short minutes before, he'd been all but ready to curse the sun and everything it shone on, and had to put on more than a minor act with the gentleman he'd spoken to for directions. Now, though...here in the relative darkness -- at least compared to that insufferable glare out of doors -- and with a nice cold mug of ale in hand, and another already down the hatch, the gravel and sand had been kicked out of his voice and mind, and he was taking a well-earned respite before setting out on the remaining portion of his crew-facilitated sojourn.

It wasn't that he particularly faulted his crew for wanting to get rid of him. If he was being entirely honest, he'd wanted to dump the lot of them from the get-go, himself. They were a bunch of drunkards, imbeciles and violent louts, the entire lot of 'em. No flair for the dramatic, no desire for anything in this fresh new landscape of the Omniverse... Still stuck in that boring old notion. If it glittered, and they didn't have it, they wanted it. It wasn't entirely worthless in these parts, of course, but it paled in any sort of value to Omnilium.

A faint smile curled at the corners of the good captain's lips as he set his tankard down, letting his fingers slide over the table to a small pouch of coin near to it. He'd taken the time to count it and judge its value as near as he could guess. Back home, before this whole Omniverse business...this would've been enough for a right pleasant night on the town, at most. Here, though, with a few little "additional" pieces that wouldn't be worth a pint of bilge back home....it might just be worth a fair bit more than that.

The small little pouch, which he'd taken the liberty of relieving a particularly surly-looking gentleman of after he'd assisted in removing him from the premises. The poor lad had been loaded so thoroughly to the gunwales it was practically overflowing; he wasn't so much sporting a grog blossom as a grog orchard. And to top it all off, he could barely stand, merely stumble about drunkenly, but he was making a mighty effort of it, and had crashed into the bar even as he reached right across it to accost the barmaid with a bleary-eyed, ham-fisted pawing motion. A well-placed thwack to the back of his head had left him slumped over the bar, and Crow had helped another man toss the drunkard out on his ass, back into the heat.

Good riddance to him.

With a flourish, Crow scooped up the pouch of coin, bringing it up to his eyes, and smiled a devil's smile, staring at the glint of swirling colors within the unassuming little parcel. "Definitely not a large amount of the stuff...but Omnilium is Omnilium, even in coins." The jingle and clink of more solid, traditional coins of gold and silver issued forth from the pouch as Crow bounced and weighed it in his palm, grinning like a fool, before he rolled it up his arm and and it vanished into the shadow of his one-shoulder cape.

"The gent could've easily payed for any number o' drinks with what he had in that little beauty." Pushing his pointy-brimmed hat back out of his face, Crow leaned back comfortably in his chair, propping one arm up on the back of it as he took up his tankard in the other. "Can't say as I'm too torn up over his loss." With a deft motion, the good captain threw back his head, draining the mostly-full tankard in his hand in one long draught, ending with a long sigh of satisfaction. "....s'been too long since I've had a real drink."

The sudden sound of aggressive shouting outside, followed shortly by the unmistakable sound of someone smashing roughly into a wall soured his mood. "Well, jus' wouldn't be a day in town without some sort o' trouble, now would it..."