...Said The Spider To The /Incredibly/ Fly Elf

...Said The Spider To The /Incredibly/ Fly Elf
Date of Scene:	02 October 2013
Location:	Vector
Synopsis:	Queegmaa hauls Admiral Rakassa through the streets while she's in a drunk stupor. When a smooth-talking elf comes along with an offer to help take the lustful woman back to her quarters, she makes advances on the elf, who tries his best to remain a gentleman, despite having some sensual impulses of his own underneath his mild manner. Rakassa fails to lure Rylen into her trap..... so far.
Cast of Characters:	Rylen Corvus, Queegmaa, Rakassa

---

Queegmaa has posed:
The endless quest to keep Rakassa out of trouble was Queegmaa's job, or, at least it would end as soon as the Arch Admiral fell asleep, but that wouldn't transpire until he could get her back to the barracks. The city of Vector was very strict and orderly, without the slightest trace of illegality except among the most daring of folk who'd defy the law all the way.... otherwise, people kept their noses clean, so as to avoid retribution from the officials high above; this was true on the clock, almost without exception.

Off the clock, the high-stress responsibilities of the militaristic citizenry and its actual branches of defense were nothing if not decadent in their indulgences, given that pent-up frustrations had to be funneled somewhere, else end up causing the populace to go insane, thereby creating anarchy. It has oft' been said that if an entire nation is denied three meals straight, it's guaranteed that revolution will occur, so Rakassa..... who'd been working extra shifts lately, denying herself a few meals in order to get things done, had downright -gorged- herself voraciously at the most recent party she'd attended, while her downtrodden, mistreated green flunkey was charged with making sure she didn't get 'too' out of hand, which would've spelled disaster for the general's career, which would subsequently leave Queegmaa without a matron to ensure that he stayed well-fed.

That meant he was always the one who had to miss out on the fun while everybody else was allowed to be obnoxious and drink themselves into a stupor, to invoke the inner core of people's personalities that were inhibited, preventing them from enjoying life, and being true to their fundamental nature-- but at parties, even Rakassa let her inner-self out to play! Now, fairly inebriated, she was most assuredly draped over Que's shoulder as the cybernetic water-demon tried to haul her back to her room, so nobody could take advantage of the poor woman in her compromised mental state. Thankfully, he actually had said prosthesis, otherwise, a five and a half foot imp would not be likely to be so easily hoisting someone a bit taller than himself for several blocks straight, considering that the kappa does not belong to a formalized warrior class, but something akin to a cross between an engineer, and mage.... which he has classified personally as a 'technomage'.

It is about three A.M. in the morning, and it's dark, atmospherically speaking, save for the few lamp-lights that flicker whilst being harangued by moths who don't have the sense to keep away from the flames; now if Que only had enough sense to strike out on his own, instead of always hovering around the insidious, and occasionally-irresponsible Shadow Lord known by the name of Rakassa!

Rakassa has posed:
The wayward Shadow Lord and member of Vector's esteemed military most likely has no idea who she is, or where she is for that matter. Rakassa's binges are things of legend; possible only by someone with talents as peculier as her own shapeshifting abilities, and only tempered by a need for secrecy in a society that still very much is ignorant of magic on a personal level. Tonight, she's relatively sober. Meaning black-out drunk for most normal persons. Poor Queegmaa has quite the load on his shoulders.

The somewhat tall, blue-skinned woman leans heavily on her flunky, having chosen a partying outfit. Long leather jacket, done in a very loud crimson color, alongside an exaggeratedly short military uniform, skirt included. Her sweet voice sings a horridly off-key version of Vector's national anthem, stumbling about in heeled boots as poor Queegmaa is forced to drag her about thanks to her general lack of cohesive movement at the moment. Passers-by get eyed up by the inebriated woman. Even in her state, her grin is wolfish in nature; predator and hungry. The legendary hedonist Rakassa is hungry, and only stalled from her hunt for pleasure, outlets, and exotic vices by the amount of alcohol in her system.

At the very least, she hasn't puked on the poor Kappa. Yet.

Rylen Corvus has posed:
So, just what would a layabout acrobat be doing on the streets at 3am in the morning? Well, entertaining the stressed out, military folks of Vector certainly lined his coinpurse, and with the evening winding down, the Elf is just sneaking between buildings, putting distance between himself and the patrons who favored his most recent performance. While their money was nice, the last thing the Elf needed was drunken women fawning or equally inebriated men trying to show that they were more 'manly' than a certain muscled circus performer.

The white-haired Elf pulls up his hood, tucking his hands into pockets as he walks through the streets, listening to the sounds of laughter and music still spilling out from some bar not far down the street. It's quieter here, where the darkness and shadows stretch between the lamp posts. It's a good place to escape.

At least, until he happens to spot a clearly tipsy woman being dragged along by something... well, something he certainly doesn't recognise. For all his travels, there are still a great many things that Rylen has never seen, and Kappa are one of them. Normally, he'd probably think better of approaching, but the Elf has a bit of a 'White Knight' mentality, at least when it comes women anyways. The rest of the world could burn so long as the pretty girls are protected. At least he's got priorities.

"Looks like your estemed lady-friend has had quite a bit of fun this evening. Need a hand escorting her home?" He offers, leaning against the wall of a darkened building. Yes, strange hooded man is offering to take a woman off of your hands. Nothing creepy about that at all. "It's almost time for last call, wouldn't want any drunken lowlifes trying to take advantage." Well... maybe he is a lowlife, but at least he's not drunk.

Queegmaa has posed:
Queegmaa is fairly used to this routine by now; every weekend, he gets to watch his master have all the fun while he lingers in the darker crevices of the world like a fly on the wall, waiting for his golden day to arrive. Sorrowfully, for a creature that knows all about living in a realm far below the surface, where light seldom reaches, and for one who doesn't get to experience the glimmering, glorious pleasures that life has to offer, it is ironic that he is not a Shadow Lord, even if he is indeed, a lord of the shadows. The main distinction is that his existence is filled with foreboding forces that always tower above him, causing him to shrink from the light, which is in turn, something that does some cringing of its own, when the imposing eminence of stygian oppression makes itself known-- those who have power over the Heartless, and use it to swallow up what fragments of illumination still cling to the World of Ruin, trying to provide some measure of hope for the Forces of Restoration. Who will ultimately triumph?

That is a question that not even the most proficient of sorcerers seems to know, since the fate of the macrocosm is up in the air, as the legions of sinistry persistently wage their campaign against the good-natured folk who just want to get by! And just wanting to get by at this moment is Queegmaa, who'd trade much for a Warp Stone, or some other magical item that could transport him and his overlord back to base, so he wouldn't have to do all this dragging.... but he didn't have the teleportation spell, and Warp Stones were not cheap, since at the time of the Heartless occupation, they were still in the developmental stages. Salvation comes in the shape of a relatively handsome elf, as the do-gooder with a casual posture makes his pitch; it's a noble gesture, and one that Que isn't liable to refuse, even though he's half-tempted to listen to his cynical side and assume that the elf is up to no good. Then again.... Queegmaa himself was always up to no good, so what difference did it make if he and his matron ended up with knives in their backs? At least the kappa had a shell that would absorb a moderate deal of damage before it would buckle, whereas Rylen could probably pierce Rakassa's heart with a well-aimed stab, in her weakened state-- she was still a human, when one took away all her magical powers, in addition to her knack for ordinarily being able to anticipate incoming sabotage. In this frame of mind, she'd have little to avail her against an onslaught by this fellow, and Que could always pretend that he accepted help for Rakassa's sake; the sooner she reached home, the better off she was, ultimately, and two sets of lumbar vertebrae were better than just one!

Putting on his best mask of pleasantry, the kappa emitted a seemingly-sincere smile that was so close to the real article that he could've only learned how to fake this kind of smile by having spent some of his days in Zozo, where Rakassa had stationed him at some junctures to help teach the fiend how to be deceptive, yet convincing, "That'd be awfully swell of ya, Mister. 'Course, I wouldn't wanna be doin' any advantage-taking by imposing on you, but since ya were so charyatible ta be offerin' ta begin with, dat tells me I'm not askin' too much to accept any help from yaz....." He nods his head, "C'mon over here, 'n grab an arm or sumthing, like that, if you'll be so kind. Got a few more blocks ta go, n' both of us will be offa da hook!" he smirks.

Rakassa has posed:
Hooded, mysterious elven types who offer such knightly virtues to an inebriated 'Maiden'. Even as drunk as she is, all of the predator senses in Rakassa's head go off at once. The athletic woman's face lights up, a grin rivaling the great cat himself (including far, far too many teeth for a moment. Surely a trick of the imagination!) slowly tears itself across her mouth and cheeks. A shark might be less frightening for some up close. Queegmaa might recognize that look. It rarely bode well, for those on the receiving end /and/ Que himself. Rakassa has found her lovely, yearned-for target.

For being so drunk, the way Rakassa manages to disentangle herself from Que is almost graceful. It's as if she's done this before. She manages to only stumble heavily, instead of landing on her face, speaking to the amount of agility the woman has. "Oh, my hero!" Comes the exaggerated words of Rakassa, managing to slurr them out.

A hand goes to her chest, the woman seemingly ignoring her subordinate's words. "Saving me from the drunken, the disreputable, and the /ugly/!" There's a glance to Queegmaa for a moment. The kind of glance that's usually given to insects, or something unpleasant on the bottom of one's shoes.

"Such a charitable, lovely elven man! Oh my...surely I am /safe/ in your arms!"

With that, there's a pair of arms seeking Rylen's back, perhaps reaching a bit lower than is typically polite. And squeezing hands. And other improprieties.

"And of /course/ such good looking, wonderful knights of elven kind deserve their maidens." The woman all but screams drunk. The poor Kappa may as well not exist to the woman. Unless one notes the wink to the cybernetic mage, complete with a coinpurse full of Munny that may not have been there before.

Horrid boss or not, she at least pays her minions well.

Rylen Corvus has posed:
"It's not a problem." Rylen replies, going so far as to slip his hood back to reveal his features in the dim light from the streetlamp. The Elf looks young, and certainly fits into general scheme of what most would find handsome, if with that usual Elven grace. "I wouldn't be much of a gentlemen if I didn't lend a hand."

Ahh Rylen, doomed to loose his coinpurse to beautiful women time and time again. It isn't the first time, and it won't likely be the last. He doesn't object at all to the sudden touch, his own hands sliding around to the woman's back. "Careful there, m'lady. Probably best not to indulge in liberties you'll regret in the morning."

The Kappa does get a glance from Rylen, a curious lift of his eyebrows, "I'm sure your friend would have been a steadfast protector, but I'm glad enough to lend a hand." In one motion, the Elf shift shifts his weight, his arms moving to scoop up the woman before she can get too firm a hold on any of those 'assets' her hands might be wandering towards. There's strength beneath the hooded jacket, more than most Elves might be known for.

For now, he seems oblivious to any attempts at theft or the fact that he's likely being played. It's not so much that he's usually a sucker, moreso that he's a sucker for a pretty face, at least the first time, anyways. "So, why don't you lead the way, my good man? I'm sure I can make sure your lady-friend gets there in one piece."

Queegmaa has posed:
Queegmaa winces as Rakassa refers to him as 'ugly', and against his internal desires, he abstains from reminding the admiral how much she lamented the last time she woke up in a bed accompanied by someone whom she had found appetizing; at least, on this occasion, if she did somehow manage to bed the elf, she probably wouldn't regret it in the morning-- whether the bishounen had any intention of engaging in intimacy with the insidious femme fatale was another matter entirely, but the kappa knew she'd do her best to entice him, now that she'd found some suitable prey. No..... just because she'd found someone a lot more attractive who she was going to try to hitch a ride with, did not emancipate the little troll from his responsibilities, for if he let her out of sight and she ended up being victimized, Que would be the first one to be penalized as a result. The only thing this really meant was that now Queegmaa had to tag along like some kind of third wheel, and keep his mouth shut unless spoken-to, acting as a chaperone for the evening, conjoined with the added 'privilege' of having to find somewhere to sleep nearby where-ever Rakassa and this dashing adonis ended up crashing for the eve, as an insurance policy against the elf trying to rob her blind for the duration of her little cockeyed escapade.

Coinciding all that, he'd probably get to be mocked and shunned the entire trip back to the elf's abode(or Rakassa's, if Rylen decided to accompany her to the base and stay with her, or drop her off and leave), which meant that the imp had an hour or two more of exploitation looming on the horizon. For a kappa's standards, Que was far from ugly, but his upturned nose, mossy-colored skin, scaly texture, and protruding maw probably made him a little awkward in the eyes of humans, so the fact that the former alpha-male of his clan was being dismissed as grotesque wasn't quite as damaging as it would've been to another kappa who'd been thrust into human society, if that imp had by chance, not even been deemed charismatic even in their own community of kappa-- Queegmaa was fortunate in that respect. On the other hand, now that he was almost fifty percent mechanical, any maritime devil in their right mind would no longer find him appealing, so he was gradually transitioning from harboring an identity as an organically legitimate creature, into resigning himself to a fate of being strictly pragmatic in his identity as a 'cog-of-war'; if he was actually more competent, he'd be a god, instead of just a minor component of the vast institution of martiality.

Queegmaa reclaims his friendly countenance when Rylen tries to grant him some redemption by hypothesizing that the kappa would've been a decent guardian, but the kappa isn't likely to elaborate on that point too much, lest he paint himself as the self-important egomaniac that he actually is, but conceals for the express purpose of not raising alarms in the views of others, who might already be wary at just his physical visage alone, "Eh.... Dunno if she'd regret it or not; lotta sleazebags been hittin' on her earlier tonight who she had ta deflect. At least in yer case, she'd prolly be gettin' more of a deal dan she woulda if she'da given those other scum da time of day!..... or night?" He raises a brow, and his eyes shift upwards at the darkness above. "But I ain't gonna tell you both what ta do, cuz I'm jus' her bellboy, really.... I just work here, 'n I ain't got no right to be speakin' on shoulds and oughts and that kinda shizz....." He flashes a toothy grin, displaying fangs even more insidious than Rakassa's-- not that he really puts her to shame, when one remembers that all kappa are born monsters, and the admiral's teeth are exceptionally frightening as far as the human race could be judged.

Que nods to Rylen, "I'll just mosey on in front of ya, 'n ya'll ken tell me if I'm walkin' too fast fer ya..... since you got more baggage than I do." Rakassa wasn't heavy, but a human body, even a female one, wasn't something to be shrugged off thoughtlessly..... and if Rylen did shrug her off, and she ended up on the ground, once more, Que would be the one to pay, eventually.

Rakassa has posed:
"Regret, my lovely knight, is the currency of the dull and doomed masses." Comes Rakassa's sweet voice in response to the elf's words, followed by an almost girlish giggle. For a moment, she feigns innocent, complete with a surprised 'eep' as she's scooped up. It's genuine enough, as she hardly expected the man's kind to be so strong. Though hardly able to inspect her catch, she seems quite pleased to those who might know her. Much like a cat toying with a mouse it's about to pounce upon.

Then, there's more ultra-nationalist singing. Really, the Shadow Lord /likes/ Vector, with its dictatorship, corruption, and greed. Now if only she was the one at the top instead of that old geezer of an emperor!

Perhaps to her credit, she really is /listening/ though. "Protector, employee, and general useful asset! That's my Que! Always good to have a dog who knows his place." Her voice is almost sing-songy. A wobbly, inebriated hand reaches out to try to rub under the Kappa's chin just as though he were some canine.

"Night. /Definitely/ night." Cue another girlish giggle, the woman putting a hand to her mouth in mock innocence. There's a subtle nod to the Kappa. The water-borne creature is certainly doing his job tonight.

Rylen Corvus has posed:
"Well, it's no great surprise that she'd garner a bit of attention. It's a city full of soldiers, afterall. They're all out looking for some entertainment and a pretty face to sooth the tired bones of war." That, in part, is what Rylen is doing here in the first place. Though his shows weren't particularly lurid in the way that some men of the 'night' might perform, there was always the sneaking suspicion that not everyone in the audience was there just for his acrobatic skills. Alas, money is money, and especially now that someone's been wandering hands into his wallet, he's bound to need it.

The Elf continues to watch as the Kappa leads the way, his own expression sometimes showing a hint of uncertainty. The city streets don't quite feel like home to a free spirit, and the woman in his arms humming those military tunes does little to make him feel more at ease. "well, regret or no, I try not to impose myself on young women who are injured or intoxicated. The last thing I need is to end up in quite a bit of hot water the next morning." Even so, the Elf does put on a charming smile, chuckling to himself. "We'll see if you still fancy my company come morning."

That said, he watches the strange interaction between the two, but doesn't really comment on it. There were odd people in the world and these two weren't even the tip of the iceburg. "Unfortunately, where I'm staying isn't fit for a lady of your class, either way. If I'd known I'd be carrying such a beauty in mya rms tonight, I probably would have bought a nicer room." He smirks then, "Would you mind showing me the way to the lady's quarters, Sir... Que is it?" He's trying to pick up names as he goes.

As for Rakassa, he looks down a bit, putting on the 'smolder' with far more skill than any errant lawbreaker. "I'm Rylen, by the way. Would you be so kind as to grace me with your name?" He asks of her, in full on deep voice, enticing mode.

Queegmaa has posed:
Just barely being able to restrain himself from rolling his eyes when Rakassa reiterates that it's night time, as though she were so dimwitted that she found the most obvious simplicities to be amusing, Que reminds himself that if he doesn't do a tolerable job acting the part of the faithful servant to the innocent, air-heaed maiden, the elf's defenses might arise, and thus, less likely to enable him to fall for her tricks. The reality was that Rakassa, after attaining a particular conquest, would sometimes try to 'keep' her male concubines on a psychological leash for years following, if they were especially enjoyable to her, by way of using threats or blackmail to pressure them into returning on occasion for further romps. On more rare occasions, she'd -physically- imprison the truly gorgeous ones to keep as 'pleasure slaves' until she tired of them, which prompted the wiping of their memories with Slave-Crown-esque devices, to protect herself from rumors....

Ordinarily the admiral just gave a few foreboding words of warning against the victims' inclinations to stray yonder, in case she craved their services in the future. Did Queegmaa care immensely that he was part of the skin-trade? Of course not! He got his dues, but somewhere, deep inside.... he did feel minor pangs of guilt, hence why he had hoped that someone of Rylen's beauty would'nt've come along, who, if being so compelled, was not careful enough, could end up a fly in the web of the black widow, who took nothing but sheer delight in devouring the bodies of her masculine dolls, after lapping up their perspiration with a forked tongue. "I 'spose I shudn't be s'prised by now, but I ken always hope dem boys would stop both'rin Rak here..... Dun luk tuh good fer subord'nates to fiddle 'round with 'er; but whatcha do an't gunna r'flect too bad my illustrious mas'r, here, if ya both do end up hittin' it off...."

He shrugs, "Not my biz, whatev' da case." It was true that Que and Rakassa weren't the most wacky of individuals, but by conventional standards, they weren't smack-dab in the middle of the bell-curve. "Serque? Oh.... didja mean Sir - Que....?" He rubs the back of his head, glimpsing temporarily at Rylen, "I ken show ya where'ver, but she's gotta give da okay fer me ta be lettin' ya inside of 'er home. That 'side, cud jus' as well have ya f'low me over dere, 'n drop 'er off....." The water-demon waves a hand to Rakassa, "Whatcha say.... you wan' dis elf 'ere ta help ya inside... or just tuh duh door?"

Rakassa has posed:
Rakassa is all drunken grins as she's supported, the woman looking all the more wolf-like as the minutes stretch on. Hunger fills her. "Isn't he just adorable? A true gentleman after all! Mmm...better be careful too. Plenty of predators in the lower class areas who would just /devour/ a man such as yourself!" There's amusement in her voice, tittering laughter escaping her.

Sigh. "But I /suppose/ you're right, can't have you hauled off to the local jails for corruption of local authorities or somesuch. Consider yourself a guest at my home. Oh, what do they call it Que? Opening the arms of Vector to the needy? Yes, that's it. A little bit of P.R. never hurt anyone."

Full, deep, Rakassa is utterly /smitten/. This likely isn't good for our poor elf. "Admiral Rakassa of Vector, my lovely, lovely elf. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance! And hopefully more." Right now, she's about as subtle as a brick falling from the top of one of Vector's buildings.

Then, Que speaks up, and she finally remembers that he's there. With much effort, she pulls her eyes away from the undressing those two orbs have been doing.

"It'd be rude to leave a guest out in some.../hovel/ in our glorious city. Inside, of course!"

Rylen Corvus has posed:
The young elf chuckles to himself, a sound that reverberates in his chest as if it is a familiar feeling. He's one of those sorts that comes with that easy sort of charm, which lends well to his career as a performer. Few have gotten to know him well enough to determine how much is act and how much is simply the man beneath the show. "Well, I have no intention of sullying your lady's good name. I'm hardly the sort to suit someone of her rank." His eyes show a hint of mischief and amusement. Afterall, what strange fate for the rag-tag street performer to be carrying an Admiral through the streets of Vector.

"Oh, I'm sure the predators would have a hard time catching me. I'm a bit more sly than I look, dear lady." Rylen waggles his eyebrows with a lopsided smirk forming on his features. "Alas, I'm afraid I can't take advantage of your hospitality tonight. The life of a performer means that I go where there's work. I've got a show in Costa Del Soul and even in this stange, merged land, it's still quite a journey." His expression seems to show his regret at not being able to take her up on her offer, though.

"Of course, you could always try convincing some of your local places to consider featuring a certain dashing young Elf. It would give me even more of a reason to grace Vector with my presence now and again." Another of those laughs follows, "And perhaps next time I could look more then part of an Admiral's companion rather than appearing in traveler's clothes." It's strange, as such a request seems too straight-forward to be clever, so perhaps he's simply showing amusement at the idea.

"Let me get you home, and then I'm afraid I've got a night of chocobo riding ahead of me." He smiles, continuing to follow Queegmaa, "Maybe the next time I'm in town, we can revisit the idea. If you still think upon me favorably, that is."

Queegmaa has posed:
Que wasn't altogether sure what kind of person Rylen truly was, or how much was facade and how much fact, yet, since he'd just met the fellow, it would take considerable time to really analyze the guy thoroughly-- that is, /if/ he was given the opportunity. Right now, the kappa was putting on fronts of his own, so who was to say that all three persons present weren't trying to gain the upper hand in this warring triad, not dissimilar to the kinds of goddesses who'd had the power to sow chaos in the World of Balance, had not the Heartless and their insidious Shadow Lord masters beat them to the punch. Of the three, Rylen was probably the least despicable, and with his guilt-complex, the water-devil was certain that his attempts, aided by Rakassa, were nothing but derelict, in that they were trying to subdue nothing short of a truly(or almost) innocent sylvan who was simply trying to do somebody a favor; clearly he didn't know at first glance that Rakassa wasn't in desperate need as she seemed..... but maybe he was starting to get a better picture, by now?

That was all dependent on how observant the elf was!

As if to try and lay claim to some minuscule molecule of redemption, and probably to the admiral's dismay, Que chimed in after Rylen declined Rakassa's offer, "Hmm... Dun seem l'ke he's so much an urchin needin' someplace ta crash....." /almost/ attempting to steer the elf -away- from Rakassa, and to invest in his own idea, which is to take it on the lam by taking it on a chocobo following Rakassa's dismissal. Consider this a passive-aggressive version of vengeance, Rakassa; Que is in his own subtle way, seeking to make your venture a more uphill battle than it would've been, had he kept his mouth totally shut. That's what you get for keeping him under your heel all the time.... even this lizard can slither around that slender calcaneus with some measure of manueverability! "I reckon dat Mister Elf here's be'da type tuh bring in a rale croyd."

Oscillating back and forth, he tries innocently to show ambivalence as to what Rylen's best course of action is, by suggesting that if he returned, that the performer could be in for a real haul, in terms of raking in the munny by acreting droves to spectate at a potential show to come. This is just to make it harder for Rakassa to have a real excuse to 'blame' the slimy reptilian if Rylen eludes her grasp for the time being, since Que could assert that earning trust meant leaving the bird-cage open so that it could always choose to come home. Shifty, large optics dart to the side as Que notices some shadows slinking across the surface of an alleyway's wall, notifying him that something was going on which he would've ordinarily stuck his nose in, and regretably, could not, due to his present duties. Curses!..... Rakassa is costing him glorious opportunities with her adolescent antics revolving around intoxication. Thankfully, or maybe not, Que could never succumb to the power of liquor, and anyway, he needed to stay atop of his game so that he wouldn't fumble-- he simply couldn't afford it, given his master's iron-fisted rule.

Rakassa has posed:
Rakassa knows well that sometimes, to real in an interesting fish, one first has to let out some line. And so she does just that.

"Oh, just /listen/ to him, Que! /Concern/ from an elf off of the streets?" Chuckle! A shake of the head drunkenly.

A long sigh escapes her, and she turns to the Kappa, all grins.

"Alright. Que, make sure our dear friend here gets a lovely gig in the finest tavern, alright, when he's next in town." A pause, and her almost shark-like grin returns.

"Just be sure to check in with little old me. Can't have someone abusing your good name when you're next around, hmmmmm?" Thud! She goes limp, finally passing out from her day's revelry.

Rylen Corvus has posed:
Though Rylen does raise an eyebrow towards the Kappa, he doesn't really comment about the whole 'urchin' thing. Though the Elf certainly called no place 'home', he didn't often want for much. Even when beautiful women disposed him of his income, it could always be recovered soon enough.

It isn't until Rakassa chimes in that he inclines his head, "While I may be a vagabond of sorts, it's by choice, I assure you." He smiles then, shrugging his shoulders as he follows the smaller Kappa further through the city. "I prefer this side of the family business. It's a bit less messy." He doesn't go on to explain what the other side might be, at least not yet.

"You have my gratitude, dear lady." The Elf responds, although he can't quite tell if she actually caught the thanks or not. All of a sudden, he has an unconscious woman in his arms. Sigh. Well, it isn't the first time, and it won't likely be the last.

"Well, lead on my good man. We'll get your mistress to bed safely, and then I've got an open road waiting. I'm sure I'll see you two again next time my travels bring me this way." Which, if Rakassa keeps to her words, may be sooner rather than later.