A young man, adorned in raggedy cloth sits patiently outside an alley. This man, Hadver Frinnen, waits eagerly for his counterpart to return. Oh, how this man has waited. Hadver quietly rolls the remains of a wholly eaten apple in his hand. It, of course, was fresh and crisp not an hour ago. Not that it really matters to him. Why would it? It's just an apple. Er. Well. An apple core, now.

He sighs a heavy sigh as he peers at the store across the dirt path.

He tries his best to appear distracted. Or focused. Anything to draw attention from himself. He has been waiting there, in the exact position, for quite some time now. Eventually someone is going grow suspicious. Possibly. That or he is simply paranoid. The thought has crossed his mind once. Or a dozen times.

Of course, in his line of work, being paranoid would be considered…a requirement…

Then, as he thinks he might call this one a failure, he catches sight of that hideous hat a blind man could see. Hadver frowns as his friend shifts with nervous eye through the crowds. Brin has never been one for a straight face. That boy couldn't play a game of cards if he wore a paper bag and a muzzle. He has more tells than an oracle on a dark brew of steamweedle ale.

Hadver rolls the core in his fingers one last time before flicking it into the crack of a nearby building. He eyes Brin as the boy leaps up the curb, scuttles with stiff limbs up to him, and stops. The two eye other. Hadver peers at those wide, gleaming blue eyes that are surrounded by the naturally sickening pale blood-elf flesh. His eyes drift, for just a second at the small, lopsided sack placed upon his head. That disgusting lump that he somehow thinks matches. Bleh. Blood elves and their "fashion."

"Had. Haddy. Haddoski," chirps the little happy bird Brin as a smile sweeps his face, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. "How's it going, my friend?"

"Brin," replies Hadver with a stern, frustrated brow, "if you don't show me what you got, I am going to hurt you."

"Guess."

"…Guess?"

"Yeah! It will be fun."

"…Fun?"

"Haddy," Brin narrows his eyes and puckers his lips rather peculiarly, "do you need a dictionary? You seem confused by my words. Or. Wait. Am I not speaking properly again? No. No. No! I knew I shouldn't have trusted a toothless man to teach me how to speak common!"

Hadver takes a deep, irritated breath before placing his face into his palm. "Brin. Just tell me what you got."

"I cannot tell you if you do not understand me!" Brin shuffles oddly in his spot. "Haddy. Tell. Me. If. You. Un-der-stand. Meeee."

"Brin, you raging nitwit, do I look slow to you?" Haddy continues to speak through his outstretched fingers that cover his face. "I speak common, you blasted ninny!"

"But…I don't!" Brin begins to shake and pace in a panicked manner.

Hadver eyes the boy and quickly scans his surroundings. He notices that his friend here has begun to draw attention to himself. That is something they simply cannot have happening.

"Brin," Hadver grabs the boy and pulls him down, "You speak just fine. Stop squirming. You are drawing the birds in, you little worm."

Brin blinks and slowly lets his eyes sweep side to side. The boy scans to be certain that no one is watching. He awkwardly casts a glance at nearly every single person in his sight before pulling close to Hadver and whispering, "Salami."

Hadver cocks an eyebrow, "Have you lost it, elf?"

Brin struggles with a small pouch before pulling out a long, cylindrical item that is wrapped heavily in paper and tied with strings.

"Yohan's famous salami roll." He holds the meat delicately and unwraps one end. Calmly, he presents the item as if an offering to king. "He gets this once a month. It melts in your mouth and leaves you begging…for more."

He wags the stinky slab at Hadver, "Go ahead. Taste it."

Hadver peers down. He peers up. He peers side to side. Thankfully, not a single eye lands upon him and his overzealous, loud-mouth friend. Possibly the first time in his life, his concern isn't about the possibility of getting seen doing allegedly misguided acts. No. He just doesn't want to be seen by anyone while another man wags a slab of stinky meat at him…

"No. Brin. I do not want any."

Brin shrugs and leans back calmly. He places his weight upon a lip while he takes a large, almost barbarous bite from the salami. "Your loss," he says while spitting tiny bits of meat from his maw.

Hadver cannot help but glare at the boy as he chews feverishly. "Please tell me you got something else."

"What else does a man need?" He takes another bite. "A man and his meat. Now that is a good payday."

Hadver sighs again. "You were in there for almost an hour, and you got one stick of meat? Nothing else? Nothing?"

Brin nods halfheartedly – his focus squarely on his meal.

Once again, Hadver throws his face into his palm. Normally, at this point, Hadver would have contemplated hitting the boy with something. Actually, he would find great irony in smacking the man in the face with his own meaty reward, but that would definitely attract someone. Not everyday do you see one man beating another with a sack of animal parts tightly compacted into a convenient, heart-stopping roll.

Of course, it is at this same time that a commotion brews from down the main road. Hadver peers through his fingers as a set of armored figures upon what appear to be colorful chickens emerge upon the path from behind a set of buildings. Each one positions themselves on either side of the path and waits with firm posture and eerie stillness.

A third rider appears upon the same style of strange mount, but this bird appears as if solid white. Hadver does notice that the bird seems to glisten a majestic silver when it rotates in the light.

"Is that them, Haddy?"

An odd smirk stretches across Hadver's face as he peers at the three riders. "Yeah. That's them."