Post by Tsin on Dec 26, 2011 0:47:04 GMT -5
The constant but low-level hum of Orange Town's folk as they gossipped and murmured about a previous happening in the day seeped into every corner of every shop and every home. It didn't take very long for news of the event to spread either, without a newspaper even coming out to detail the spectacle for everybody to read about. Afterall, the village of the Organ Islands may have grown in its forty-two year time, but word of mouth was still king. 'Two men and their dog,' one mouth would whisper, 'they single-handedly put that stinky textile guy in his place finally!' Another mouth would whisper back 'Two men and a dog? Single-handedly? Does that mean only one of them used a hand in the whole mess or each one only used one hand?' The first mouth would begin to respond then, with, 'Er, well, I wasn't being litera-' but it would always be interrupted. 'Plus, one is a dog, right? He wouldn't even have a hand. Single-pawedly, more like. Double-handedly and single-pawedly.'
At which point the first mouth would just concede defeat for the sake of the conversation and admit this to be so. Double-handedly and single-pawedly put Torsh in his place. Fine. Whatever.
The Windwards weren't deaf to these conversations. Or, at the very least, Fenrir wasn't with his improved canine hearing. Jun, his nose in another book, may not have been listening, and Gavin... well, who knows if Gavin is ever listening. But Fenrir heard it all, and despite receiving third billing in all of the reports as "two men and their dog" rather than "a dog and his two men" as he understood it, it pleased him to be spoken about positively.
All the free handouts were good too.
The... financial situation for the Windwards, to put it lightly, was kind of a big blank slate so far as its Captain was concerned. The two men didn't look like they came from royalty or with some huge inhertiance, nor did they seem all that interested in hard work. Best not to depend on them for money. At the same time however, Fenrir had to admit that he didn't have very much either. If anything. Or even any pockets to keep it in. Back in Roguetown, the wolfhound had to carry his money between his fangs when necessary, and leave his house for the singular purpose of purchasing and returning. Didn't really work the same way out in the real world...
But the people of Orange Town were more than willing to hand over some supplies to the trio that had done them such a huge favor. They ate on the gratitude of a restaurant owner, a man who had been losing out on some huge sales thanks to Torsh and his brown streak. One whiff of that stench coming through the doors sent other patrons running; their appetites too, running up their throats in fact and leaping out onto the pavement in a rather nasty smelling mess all on its own. With the fun-sized foreman out of the picture though, a single meal to the heroes of the town, on the house, was nothing at all to the sales he'd be bringing back in.
It was the same story in other places, while others were just generally glad to see the moody midget out of commission. Grocery shopping, ship supplies, blacksmiths and bookstores... Anything the wanderers needed seemed to be at their fingertips. They loaded up and prepared in every way possible on generousity of others, thanking them for it of course. Jun even offered to pay on almost every occasion, reaching into some sort of pocket to draw out presumably some sort of wallet or another but... He never made it that far. No shop owner would have it. They walked out free of charge everytime.
An eventful day of shopping ensued and went by. The trio stocked their hold with equipment, the sick bay with medicines, and the galley full to bursting with real supplies. At the end of that though, all three of them stood in the kitchen glancing between each other, wondering who exactly would do all the cooking of these supplies...
... And it was around that time they decided to head back into Orange Town for dinner.
The Windwards sat in Drinker's Pub now, another establishment that Torsh had once frequented for his happy hour, not that it made anybody else within nose-shot happy. The owner was more than happy to welcome the navigator, the scribe and the bard in on this hour though. It was still a bit quiet, with the sky still blue but only just barely, a hint of crimson licking at the far horizons and eager to lift the blanket of the sun and give the stars their time to shine. Many workers in the village were just getting off work now, and a small crowd was just beginning to build... The laborers paid no mind to a scarved youth with his nose in a book however, and only glanced once or twice at a dog lying underneath the table, a map rolled out in front of him. Two mugs on the table and a waterbowl on the floor, no food to be seen quite yet but doubtless it was on the way given the fine smells wafting out from the tavern's kitchen.
It was a perfect moment, one for the wanderers to relax in. And relax they should, because who knew how long it would last...
At which point the first mouth would just concede defeat for the sake of the conversation and admit this to be so. Double-handedly and single-pawedly put Torsh in his place. Fine. Whatever.
The Windwards weren't deaf to these conversations. Or, at the very least, Fenrir wasn't with his improved canine hearing. Jun, his nose in another book, may not have been listening, and Gavin... well, who knows if Gavin is ever listening. But Fenrir heard it all, and despite receiving third billing in all of the reports as "two men and their dog" rather than "a dog and his two men" as he understood it, it pleased him to be spoken about positively.
All the free handouts were good too.
The... financial situation for the Windwards, to put it lightly, was kind of a big blank slate so far as its Captain was concerned. The two men didn't look like they came from royalty or with some huge inhertiance, nor did they seem all that interested in hard work. Best not to depend on them for money. At the same time however, Fenrir had to admit that he didn't have very much either. If anything. Or even any pockets to keep it in. Back in Roguetown, the wolfhound had to carry his money between his fangs when necessary, and leave his house for the singular purpose of purchasing and returning. Didn't really work the same way out in the real world...
But the people of Orange Town were more than willing to hand over some supplies to the trio that had done them such a huge favor. They ate on the gratitude of a restaurant owner, a man who had been losing out on some huge sales thanks to Torsh and his brown streak. One whiff of that stench coming through the doors sent other patrons running; their appetites too, running up their throats in fact and leaping out onto the pavement in a rather nasty smelling mess all on its own. With the fun-sized foreman out of the picture though, a single meal to the heroes of the town, on the house, was nothing at all to the sales he'd be bringing back in.
It was the same story in other places, while others were just generally glad to see the moody midget out of commission. Grocery shopping, ship supplies, blacksmiths and bookstores... Anything the wanderers needed seemed to be at their fingertips. They loaded up and prepared in every way possible on generousity of others, thanking them for it of course. Jun even offered to pay on almost every occasion, reaching into some sort of pocket to draw out presumably some sort of wallet or another but... He never made it that far. No shop owner would have it. They walked out free of charge everytime.
An eventful day of shopping ensued and went by. The trio stocked their hold with equipment, the sick bay with medicines, and the galley full to bursting with real supplies. At the end of that though, all three of them stood in the kitchen glancing between each other, wondering who exactly would do all the cooking of these supplies...
... And it was around that time they decided to head back into Orange Town for dinner.
The Windwards sat in Drinker's Pub now, another establishment that Torsh had once frequented for his happy hour, not that it made anybody else within nose-shot happy. The owner was more than happy to welcome the navigator, the scribe and the bard in on this hour though. It was still a bit quiet, with the sky still blue but only just barely, a hint of crimson licking at the far horizons and eager to lift the blanket of the sun and give the stars their time to shine. Many workers in the village were just getting off work now, and a small crowd was just beginning to build... The laborers paid no mind to a scarved youth with his nose in a book however, and only glanced once or twice at a dog lying underneath the table, a map rolled out in front of him. Two mugs on the table and a waterbowl on the floor, no food to be seen quite yet but doubtless it was on the way given the fine smells wafting out from the tavern's kitchen.
It was a perfect moment, one for the wanderers to relax in. And relax they should, because who knew how long it would last...