ZEN - Part Two [COMPLETED] [#WATTYS2017]

Working Overtime

Chapter 83 - Working Overtime

"Alright. I've been in this dump for two fecking hours, sipping this swill... so you'd better tell me what the feck is going on, or you two are gonna start losing more limbs."

Gerald allows a heavy sigh to escape, then he leans over the stained and scarred pub table to relate their clandestine activities. "Okay. Carson and I were in here last night, drinkin' an' playing some cards, when he overheard some men talking about raiding your place and kidnapping some of your girls."

Zen's features immediately go slack, which was typically a precurser to violence on a city-wide scale. "And you're just telling me now."

The Labrodor-kin issues a snort of derision while spinning his mug of horrible ale around the surface of the table. "Their plans weren't solidified. No dates or times. They couldn't even decide on how many others to bring with them."

"How many were talkin'?"

"Four. But they threw around another dozen names."

"So sixteen degenerates. Or more." The small Scout slowly rotates her furry ears in an effort to pick up on any whispered chatter within the rowdy drinking-establishment, but it all seemed to be the typical bullshite. "You couldn't figure out who they were?"

"Nope. We were at this table, and they were off in that corner." Carson briefly flicks a finger in the direction of a booth that held a good measure of privacy, and was currently vacant, though held a dozen empty steins. "Should be about the hour we overheard 'em, so if they're regulars, then they'll show up shortly."

"Hmph. You shoulda just slaughtered 'em yesterday."

"What. And deny you the satisfaction?" The one-eyed human flashes a wicked grin towards his sister. "Besides, if we'd ended them last night, then you'd have killed us for ruining your fun."

"Tch. Stupid, flawless logic. You find a bag of smarts during your five years of wandering?"

"Nah. Just bought 'em from the Merchant Guild. You'd be surprised how cheap they are."

"Then buy more. An' then look for things that'll make you less ugly."

"Come on."

Zen snickers at the exhasperated complaint, then settles down in her chair to appear much more buzzed than she could ever get drinking water-down ale. "A'right. Yous two jus' natter on 'bout useless crap. As usual."

After fixing a languid, vapid stare towards her mug of swill, the short Cat-woman then begins the arduous task of attempting to listen-in on every single conversation inside of the bar.

With perhaps forty patrons spread among two-dozen tables and booths, it's a little annoying to try and piece together the various speakers and snippits of conversation, but within only ten minutes she's built a nice little guide-map inside of her head.

All but three individuals seemed to be regulars of this run-down pub, judging by their comments about the drinks, decor, and what used to be where.

Sixteen people were professional Dungeoneers. Nine in one group, and seven in the other. The smaller party was discussing what they'd all do with the monies they'd just received, while the larger was already past that point, and were now talking about their next dive.