The first swig of Fang only fanned the flames already crackling in Pallanza's thoughts. His thick tail pattered a restless tattoo on the barstool, the beat lost amid the animated gossip pulsing around him.

Damn white mage. Damn Nu Mou. Cruel or gentle, no words would sway him from his damn useless guilt.

Another hiss, a rush of escaping steam. The fallen gods devoured the kind and the weak in the Jagds. He wondered at times when they would come claim him for costing them a meal that day.

Pallanza was in Marble then, admittedly scouring the wasted towns for the bones of fools to loot. Instead, he found a mortally wounded Nu Mou, uselessly trying to save a reckless companion in spite of his own approaching death.

Seneka was seeking easy fame, the brag that he could defy the damned lands. All it earned him was lining the bellies of a panther pack.

The memory drew a second snarl across his lip as he set quill back to parchment scrap, scrawling an untidy, blunt invitation for Berbier's favors.

Master Berbier -

Clan Mianjenku asks your aid, and awaits your decision.

- Pallanza Sandath

Good enough. If Berbier wanted his sandals licked, he'd have to get it from the others. Marlette, in her ambition, or Crozet, with his wide-eyed awe of the real world. He pressed it casually into the pubmaster's palm along with a few gil, and watched as it was tucked in turn into a oddly-painted chest below the kegs of alcohol. Berbier's own secret mission box. The thing would explode in the face of a Judge if it were touched by one, and no amount of white magics would remove the amusing splatter of gaudy color or equally colorful insults it emblazoned like a brand on the skin. According to the in-joke, the local Judge had to leave his helmet on a week.



"I hear he tried to lay a curse on the Prince before Swain was on him." a human in Blue Mage gear declared to an Illusionist with much menace next to him. A real Illusionist, not the tail end of Marlette's humor. A male, besides. His snout peeled away in a slight grin in spite of himself.

He trusted Darios's assessment of the strange refugee. But he doubted still the circumstances of their meeting.

He wouldn't put it past Remedi's prissy, mewling hatchling to toy with lives more than he already did....but the Bangaa wouldn't put it past his old clansmates, either.

Clan Marble.

Davocha the Necromancer.

Or, as the Bangaa had smugly belittled him, Dave the Black Mage. Devange's right-hand ass-noser. He definitely knew teleportation. "Mercy" was his euphemism for "run like the coward I am".

The whys were easy enough to see for the monk, though as expected they eluded the others. Even more fitting to his alias, "Rook" could be a unwitting random pawn in a bold distraction. Marble had muttered rebellion against the Royals for years, the goal that had originally added the Bangaa to their ranks. Something may go down, soon enough, if he were right. It would be a beautiful butchery. Marble was arrogant beyond earning, and would learn that the hard way.

Or perhaps softskin had powerful enemies back in the kingdom of Hudson. But he didn't seem very threatening, least of all to Babus Swain. He thought of a dozen more questions to pry from the youth on his return.

He grinned wider, enjoying the next gulp of vicious amber liquid. The others still hadn't shown up to drag him back to the gorge. Good to see they knew who really was boss stud.

"Where'sss your wannabeesss, Pallanza?"

The sarcastic sibilance crawled to his ears. Yutolio. Bad memories made flesh. The coincidence made his head hurt. So, Marble travelled like Marlboro stench to Cadoan. They were clear down in Cyril, last he'd heard. Pallanza replied with tensing scales and another drink, not dignifying the paler male behind him with his eyes. "Where'sss yoursss?"

"They kick you out ssso sssoon? Thisss isss a record, Pallanza. You've never been ssshamed from a clan that isssn't even a clan before."

His mood was just beginning to lighten....he wasn't about to let this deadweight drag him back.

The spray of blood across his muzzle as he swung back a clenched fist and connected was almost as refreshing as the Fang.

As Yutolio crashed to the floor, a young human dressed in Paladin clothing took a seat at the bar, making no move to draw his sword or in any way aid either of his former comrades. He merely glanced at the pubmaster. "Jagd Ice, please."

A former Marble himself, "The Skiver" Klenn was more suited to be an independent in the first place, which he made himself out to be no more than three months after joining the renegade faction. While he was no friend of the palace, he was certainly no friend of anarchy, which was all that Marble stood for, nowadays.

Rufa nodded and went about pouring the mix, but kept a glare on the two Bangaa. "If they start on the tables again, I'm calling the Judge." Bets of drink were already being passed around as Yutolio staggered to his feet, a steady hiss of fury....but the spectacle wasn't worth damages outside their scaly hides.

"Mm..." Skiver replied absently, drumming his fingers on the counter with a bored expression. Pallanza and Yutolio always went at it in Marble as well. Even so, it was old. And, as usual fighting over stupidity. Same old, same old. They threw themselves together once more as his drink was set down.

Outside, you didn't need a Viera's ears to hear the brawl.

"Kupono. Do we get in the middle, or wait on the dust?" Crozet hugged the sack of jerky, bread, and Chocobo eggs close. "At least he waited 'til we were done shopping."

Marlette half-hopped in frustration as she distinctly heard glass and a resounding whoop. "We can't afford bailing him out if the Judge is called in."

"Kupoku....can't afford to bail us out, either."

Darios gripped his staff, looking up to his agitated partner. "To the middle, then."

Skiver sipped calmly, moving his head slightly as a second mug missed Pallanza's broad, flat skull and instead flew towards his. As it burst to a sharp spray against the wall, the Paladin raised an eyebrow, speaking again to the pubmaster, but keeping his eyes on the combatants. "Should we tell them one of today's laws is No Dmg 2: Bangaa?"

An angry quivering of Rufa's full, white beard was the reply. "Let the Judge tell 'em with a Red Strike." He leaned to Corelie, who fumed behind the cover of the bar over her upstaged trichord performance. A few whispered words, and she dashed around the counter for the door, pout replaced with a smug smirk.

Pallanza grappled Yutolio's neck under his straining arms as the other thrashed and coiled like a maddened Lamia. The monk wheeled unfazed as claws stabbed in, eyes flickering in surprise as he met Skiver's. "Ssskiver....didn't sssee you come in."

"Over the roar of your petty arguments, I'm not surprised."

Pallanza answered with a snickering hiss, driving Yutolio to the rugs with a hard shift of his impressive bulk. "Teaching thessse hatchlingsss a little humility isss never petty. Or isss it ssstill none of your concccern...?"

The thought was cut off by a savage knee to his gut and terrifying fangs closing on his throat. The monk grunted and rolled into the Paladin's legs, slashing for the warrior's eyes and ears as the fangs tried to crush through his thick scales. "Could ssstand sssome mannersss, too."

Skiver sighed as his legs were rammed by the embattled Bangaa. Gods, these two... He took a sip of his drink and then slipped off his stool, glancing over at Corelie and nodded his head once, as if to tell her to go ahead and call. 'Let us end this, boys.' he thought, holding a hand over them.

Yutolio's glare locked onto the motion, and his maw left Pallanza's throat to snap at the outstretched hand.

The only thing that Yutolio's maw clamped was the cold steel of a Paladin's saber as Skiver held it before him to protect himself from any attack that the warrior could attempt. He was going to stop this pointless fight before it got much worse... or before the Judge could arrest anyone.

The moment the Bangaa's jaws closed on the blade, his foe took the opening to crunch his fist into snout again. Yutolio screeched as the impact drove the edge into his tongue and lip, staggering back in a fresh spurt of blood.

Skiver winced. Great work, Pallanza.

The monk grinned, rising to his feet. "Thanksss for the helping hand."

"I was hoping to avoid bloodshed....let alone by my own sword." he replied, moving over to the bar and grabbing an old rag, cleaning off the blood from the blade.

"Ssstill the sssame old Ssskiver. I came to thisss bar to essscape cowardsss."

"Thisss from a clanlessss weakling. Heh.....TWO clanlesss weaklingsss." Yutolio's swollen, bloodied snout twisted unpleasantly, but he did not move to attack again, despite the loud encouragement and jeers from all who had bet on him.

"Ssstrange that it'sss the ssstrong one getting hisss assss wiped like a babe."

The paladin shook his head. He couldn't wait to hear this one... "So, I came in just as you two started. What the hell were you fighting about THIS time?"

The monk shrugged, unimpressed by both. "Already sssaid it onccce. The hatchling'sss mannersss....or lack of them."

"We'll disscusss them in the Jagdsss sssometime.....sssince you have to hide under Ssskiver'sss ssskirtsss. Both of you." The threat sputtered from the warrior's ruined lips.

Skiver grinned. Yutolio was more amusing, in his mind, than he was threatening. Even when they were in Clan Marble together, both he and Pallanza competed to try throwing a scare into the young Skiver. It never worked, even now, out of the clan, and with Yutolio REALLY trying to intimidate him. "Hiding?" he asked slyly, "Why, I'm still standing here, in the open. I don't see anyone hiding here."

The warrior was still ready to fight with words, at least....though not much better. "In the open....under the Judge'sss guard. Ssscurrying from Marble sssaved Devange the trouble of cassting you out, little moussse."

"And you would have me fight you in the Jagds, where the rest of your jackal pack would be waiting? The only one hiding is you." Skiver retorted with a chuckle, shaking his head again.

The whole bar fell to silenced shock as a figure more ominous than any Judge banged the doors open.

"You'll rot in Sphrom if the Judge finds you, lizard!!!" Marlette bellowed, giving any Bangaa matriarch a run for her gil. Her gray eyes glinted with lightning waiting to strike the monk.

She is Marlette. Know her wrath. Skiver gave a sideways nod to the Viera and her two companions, then turned his attention back to both Bangaa. "I would suggest one of you leave. And considering the fact Pallanza seems to be here for a reason other than to start trouble, I suggest that one be you, Yutolio." His words said, he moved back over to the bar and sat, sipping once more at his Jagd Ice.

Yutolio hissed imperiously. "It'sss not my mother calling me."

Pallanza scooped up his Fang, remarkably undamaged in the encounter....luckily for the warrior. "It'sss not mine, either. But I'll ssstomach one coward eassier than two."

And lightning struck, true and fast, in the form of that bottle snatched from his grasp and whalloped up the monk's jaw. Pallanza reeled back, dripping, blinking wide-eyed twice before collapsing to the ground.

"I warned you, damn it." Marlette scowled, tossing the shattered neck away.

"Kupoho....you still get the tail end." Crozet chirped hushedly, hugging their spoils closer still as he backed a few paces away.