Open The Farmers of Taanab

[Krinn Nelthar]

[ open to anyone that might be on the planet ]

He had been lucky, and not in one single way, either. Lucky that he was, for all intents and purposes, a nobody. Lucky that he managed to smuggle himself off of New Alderaan after the Sith Empire established their government, and lucky that he had managed to make it all the way to Taanab without recognition. Krinn was no Sith Lord, no pinnacle of the Empire's power. He was not some infamous villain that had achieved feats that could only be expected of a Dark Lord. No, Krinn was just... Krinn. The cowardly, and dramatic young Krinn who's home was not his home any longer. Not after Kashyyyk. It was hard to shake the nightmares of that day, even now, after months had passed. It would probably take him years, and for the Wookies? A lifetime.

At least the worst Krinn had to worry about was the Empire finding out that he's not only alive and well, but very much a deserter. There were plenty of ways to die in the universe. Being discovered by his former Sith comrades might be at the top of the list for one of the worst.

"What are you dreamin' about now, boy? I need your help." An exasperated man's voice broke through the Nautolan's thinking. Caius, Krinn sniffs with amusement, turning to blink dark eyes at the older human. Caius had taken him in when the destitute former Sith had arrived upon Taanab as little more than a refugee. With nothing but the tattered clothing he wore, the first few days had seemed... impossible. Caius owned a rather large plot of farmland, much of which was grazed upon by the livestock he bred and sold. When the grizzled human happened by Krinn, it almost seemed like a pity at first sight, sort of deal. The short of it was that the Nautolan was offered work and lodging. He would have been a fool to refuse. With as old as Caius was getting, it made sense that he'd hire on someone young and athletic to do the hard work for him. Krinn didn't mind it, though. It was... nice. Peaceful, even.

"Sorry." The Nautolan offered a small smile as he made his way into the barn. A fur covered Scurrier that had been resting on the bench beside him was quick to leap to Krinn's shoulder before the scarred aquatic could roam too far. He gave it a scratch behind the ears before approaching Caius. The old man was lifting feed bags into the loft, clearly a chore for someone of his age. That explained the agitation in his voice. "Let me get that." Krinn reached out to take the bag for himself, his knees bending under the weight as he moved toward the lift.

"That is what I pay you for." Caius offered sourly, and Krinn couldn't help the amused chuckle that fell easily from his lips. Life as a farmhand was a lot different from that of a Sith. There were no wars to be fought here, so long as the pirates were kept at bay, and the Roba's hardly required a lightsaber to deal with. Better still, Caius had a lovely habit of bringing home new critters from the Spaceport, whenever he headed off to sell his meat, furs, and other livestock products. The Scurriers were a great example in that regard. Krinn adored those little things.

"I'm heading into town to take more orders, soon. You want to ride along?" Krinn was just about finished with lifting the last of the feed bags into the barn's loft. He turned toward the farmer with a thoughtful expression. For the most part, he tried to avoid going into town, and Caius knew that. At the same time, tagging along almost always meant a good meal at Krinn's favorite restaurant. Decisions, decisions.

Ultimately, it was decided that Krinn would join the human, and by noon, they had reached the crowded walks of their destination. The town was alight with activity, machinery whirled in the streets, and holo-signs glowed brightly, despite the daylight. This was certainly no Coruscant, or Nar Shaddaa, but the town was certainly large regardless. It was a central destination for trade and commerce among the local farmers. There were certainly bigger cities on Taanab, but those were corporate destinations, and not a place Krinn had any interested in hanging around in. No, this little town would do just fine. It was safer, in any case.

At one point, the two split. Caius went on his way to a livestock trading hub, while Krinn was left to browse the market. He paused by a shop that appeared to sell garden grown flowers. They were certainly pretty to look at. Perhaps he should ask Caius about a flower garden later. Surely the old man wouldn't mind?

 

[Kedu Amihan]

Somewhere along the way, he had picked up a stick and was now using it as a makeshift cane. He did not need one in any way, but he found amusement on the feel of rough bark on his palm rather than the soft but firm straps of the large, wooden box he carried on his back.

He had passed by fields, appreciating the greenery and the livestock, and caught the attention of anyone he passed by without trying to. Arrayed in his usual colorful and eye-catching garb, the Wanderer was a walking contradiction in the way that he knew he was no one special and yet dressed in something common folk might find outlandish – utterly foreign, in the farmers of Tanaab's point of view at least. Being stared at (or gawked upon, sometimes) was nothing new to him, nor did he mind when all he was doing was to sell his wares and conduct his business.

His wooden sandals and makeshift cane clacked against the pavement, reminding him of the shift from the agricultural view to the hustle and bustle of the city. The tiny bells attached to his wooden box of goods chimed with each step he took, though their soft sounds were soon devoured by speaking sentients, the whirring of machinery, and the overall din of the city. Children paused from their play and gaped up at the towering merchant as he passed by, and he would have stopped to ask them if they wanted to buy candy if it weren't for their empty pockets.

They were not paying customers, so the Wanderer moved on.

He passed by an elderly gentleman on his way to the market, barely listening to the mutterings of an old man about his daydreaming worker. The half-Annfyn paused briefly, gazing at the human over his shoulder before letting his feet carry him towards his destination.

The Wanderer passed by shops, simply staring down shopkeeps as they talked their way into selling the half-Annfyn their merchandise. He left each stall without a word, leaving behind confused store owners. Nothing they sold caught his fancy, nor did their wares pass his standard. He soon wandered off to a flower shop, barely acknowledging the Nautolan looking at the garden grown flowers. The Wanderer's fluted ears fluttered up and down briefly, quickly, marvelling at a potted bluebell.

"Do you... sell..." asked the half-Annfyn, piercing gaze alighting on the young Nautolan, "seeds?"

@Nevermourn

 

[Krinn Nelthar]

One of the flowers that snagged his gaze was a rose, thorny and vibrant orange, he could practically smell the aroma from where he stood. Eyes glittered curiously as he shuffled closer for a better look., and he could sense that the keeper of the shop was peering at him from the nearby stall, a hint of amused emotion hanging in the air. The Nautolan couldn't blame the fellow, he supposed it must look funny to see someone like him peering at the flower as if he had never seen something of it's kind, before. Reaching a clawed hand toward the assorted roses, he's gentle not to damage any petals as he looks through the delightful array. White roses, yellow roses, and... and...

His breath hitches. He sees blood. Can practically smell it in his nose, drowning the scent of the flowers. Blood, and ash. Krinn turns away, squeezes his eyes shut, draws a deep breath. It was not blood. It was just a rose. Just a rose. A red rose. The Nautolan lets his focus fall upon a cluster of lavender nearby, and he stands there for a few moments, letting his vision melt into the soft purple hue of small petals. Out of the corner of his gaze, he thinks he sees movement, and something else as colorful as the assortment of flowers on display. The newcomer draws his eyes like a magnet, for the fellow certainly stood out among the crowd. Where Krinn wore dirtied farmer's clothing, this man wore vivid and eye-catching garb, walking with a makeshift cane at his side. A tourist? No... a merchant, perhaps. Krinn's eyes had spotted the box.

The shopkeeper had taken note too, because Krinn could sense his curiosity, could already feel that he was eagerly hoping that the newcomer bought something. Krinn does know that he's staring, and he shouldn't be, so when the half-Annfyn looks toward him with a soul piercing gaze, the Nautolan could only offer a small, crooked half smile of apology.

"Sorry." He offers, and his breathing was settling again, his mind snatching at any distraction it could find. How the smallest things could haunt him, Krinn did not know, but he hated it. "Ah, I think there are seeds by the stand." The Nautolan offers politely, shifting his eyes toward the stall and it's rather excited looking owner. He would be happy to have a customer, Krinn thinks with amusement. "I like your clothes." Probably a weird compliment to make, but it wasn't as if Tanaab had much variety when it came to the old, tattered garb that farmers wore. No sense in ruining fancy clothes in the fields, after all.

Krinn turns back toward the flowers, this time peering at the bluebell that had initially caught the newcomer's eyes. It was a pretty flower, one that reminded him of the ocean, and of home. Though his vision is no longer upon the half-Annfyn, he does attempt to peer at him curiously through the force. The man was intriguing, and Krinn likes to keep tabs on everyone around him regardless. There was always a fear in the back of his mind that the Sith might find him, even here, on Tanaab, so far from Imperial space. The Nautolan's no fool. He knows the Sith. He knows that they are more than capable of reaching him, wherever he might be.

A grim thought.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Kedu Amihan]

The apology was lost on him, one brow rising as he continued to regard the Nautolan beside him whose breathing was coming to a steady rhythm. The Wanderer, for his part, averted his gaze from the young man, eyes settling on the shopkeep instead. What was there to be sorry for, he wondered. For staring, perhaps? The Wanderer did not mind. Or was it for being caught doing so?

The corners of the Wanderer's lips tilted upwards in a slightly amused smirk, the expression further accentuated by the purple marking on his upper lip. Eyes narrowing at the shopkeeper, the half-Annfyn let out a curious, "Oh?" at the Nautolan's compliment. He spared the direction he was offered to where the seeds were a simple glance.

"Well, thank you," the Wanderer replied. "I suppose... I should... be returning the... compliment," he then noted, "but you are... simply... not colorful... enough."

It was not an insult to the Nautolan's person, but simply a mere observation the Wanderer spoke of. His gaze swept the roses the young man was staring at earlier then plucked a red bloom, earning a slightly distressed sound from the shopkeeper. In turn, the Wanderer gently thrust the rose in the Nautolan's hand, and would ignore the latter's protests should he make any. The half-Annfyn then reached into the folds of his robe, producing a pouch full of credits, and tossed it at the gawking florist.

"Give me... flower seeds of... each kind... thank you," he said, sending the shopkeep scurrying to do as he was told.

Through the Force, the Nautolan would be able to sense that the Wanderer was a Force-sensitive like himself – not that the half-Annfyn was trying to conceal the fact at the moment. The young man's concern lay in which alignment the Wanderer served, or maybe there was nothing to be concerned about at all. The way the Nautolan peered at him through the Force made the Wanderer wonder why there was an existing curiosity (or was it worry) in the former in the first place. It could not be the way the half-Annfyn dressed – there were sentients garbed in even more outlandish fashion than he. Maybe he was just an inquisitive soul?

No matter the young man's circumstance, it piqued the Wanderer's own curiosity nonetheless.

"Are you a... farmer, by... any chance?" the half-Annfyn eventually asked the Nautolan. "I am looking... for one."

@Nevermourn

 

[Krinn Nelthar]

What he sees in the other is a shock, at first. The light side of the force swells within the strange man's spirit. It is... not nearly as concerning to the Sith deserter as one might think, though. Had this been another dark sider, he might have turned and fled then and there, but Krinn has no fear of Jedi, or... whatever this man might be. He had spent a long time in their prison on New Alderaan, and he knew well enough that the last thing he had to worry about in their regard was torture and a rather horrific death. There were far worse places in the galaxy to end up trapped within.

Visibly, the Nautolan appears to relax, thinks that maybe he was being foolish to be so paranoid all the time. Unless the Imperials took Tanaab from Free Worlds space, then there would be no reason for the Sith to be here in the first place, and if they weren't here, then they wouldn't sense him, wouldn't know that he was alive, and very much a traitor.

He's not exactly sure how to respond to the comment about his own color, or lack thereof. Krinn thinks what he feels is amusement, but he won't laugh. The Nautolan can't help the small noise of surprise he makes when the other man thrusts that red rose into his hands, though, having just plucked it's stem from where it had been resting among other vibrant blooms. Krinn makes a point to look everywhere but the flower he now hold within his gentle, dirtied fingers. Instead, he watches the pouch of credits that was tossed toward the shopkeeper, and listens to the request for several different types of plant seed. When the other man explains that he needed a farmer, Krinn didn't really have to guess as to why. But where exactly did the fellow intend to plant his newly bought batch of flower seeds?

"Yes, well. Sort of. Farmhand. I work for a farmer. Close enough, I guess, except that he owns the farm. We raise livestock, mostly Robas." Krinn responds politely, and he thinks his dirtied farmer's clothes probably gave him away in that regard. "Why? Where are you going to plant those?" Curiosity glistens within dark eyes that now focus upon the newcomer once again. "I'm Krinn, by the way." He introduces with a respectful dip of his chin.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Kedu Amihan]

A farmhand, the Nautolan was, peering into the wandering merchant's spirit through the Force. The Wanderer didn't even think to ask if the young man liked or despised what he saw, though it was plain to see how the latter seemed to relax at what he'd discovered. It wouldn't surprise him if being awash in the Dark Side of the Force would elicit an opposite reaction. Was the Nautolan one of the many who feared the Sith, he wondered. If he was then it was justified. The Wanderer didn't need to expound on current events to support a stranger's apprehension towards the Empire.

He would have peered into the Nautolan's soul, as curious as the Wanderer was, but he refrained from doing so. Or at least he felt that he didn't need to. The Force hums quietly, peacefully, somewhere in the back of his mind and his instincts weren't hinting at something perilous anywhere near him. The Nautolan – Krinn – was a farmhand, and a farmhand he would be unless he reintroduced himself as someone else.

A farmhand who looked anywhere but the red rose held within that dirtied but gentle hand.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Perhaps it reminded Krinn of someone, or something?

The Wanderer smiled, eyes narrowing, and softly chuckled to himself. Maybe he was just being too nosy, thinking all these things about farmhand Krinn.

"I have... never... tried roba steak," mused the half-Annfyn. The Wanderer responded with an equally respectful incline of his head at the young Nautolan's introduction. "They call me the Wanderer."

The shopkeeper returned, handing over a green tote bag to the Wanderer. Thank yous were exchanged, though the half-Annfyn merely smirked at the shopkeep's, "Hoping to do business with you again, good sir!". With Krinn's attention now fixed solely on him the Wanderer was simply obliged to answer his question.

"I am looking... foe a place to plant... these," the half-Annfyn replied, lightly shaking the tote bag he now carried for emphasis. "I need a farmer who... owns their own... land.. and I will... pay them... for looking after... my plants. You're... a farmhand. Do you think... your employer... wouldn't mind doing business... with me?"

@Nevermourn

 

[Krinn Nelthar]

The Wanderer? That was a strange name. Well, less of a name and more of an alias, Krinn supposed. He doubted anyone would name their kid that, of all things. Regardless, the Nautolan didn't care to push the subject. After all, he understood the value of remaining unknown. Krinn doesn't comment on that, nor does he comment on the unfortunate lack of experience of tasting Roba steak. He merely offers a polite smile, a gentle twist of his lips, and a thoughtful blink of owlishly large eyes.

When the shopkeeper returned, he seemed pleased to have made some money, and Krinn can't help but wonder how badly the war was effecting trade in the Alliance. A lot of people looked so... downtrodden. Many were refugees from other places that had not been spared the wrath of the Sith. Kashyyyk. New Alderaan. Even Onderon, though that world had survived with it's government (mostly) intact. He can't help but wonder how long it would be before Tanaab came under fire by that raging Dreadnought, like a god of death looming in the skies.

He almost doesn't notice that The Wanderer was speaking to him again. Krinn snaps his focus back to the present, peers at the man before him with glistening vision. He wanted to plant the flowers on someone else's land? Why? Krinn doesn't mind the idea of starting a garden at all, in fact, he was pleased by the thought, but he couldn't help but wonder why this fellow didn't just take his seeds to... wherever he lived. Unless his so called name was a bit more literal than Krinn had initially suspected.

The Wanderer who stops and plants flowers on people's farms and then... wanders again. Well, who was he to judge the oddity of that?

"I don't think Caius would mind. He's taking orders for meat and hides on the other side of the market, where the livestock corrals are." The Nautolan responds, and he supposes he can take the stranger to meet the grizzled old human, but a part of him is hesitant about the prospect of interrupting. The last thing he wanted to do was annoy Caius. Krinn had done that enough today, already. "We usually meet at a seafood restaurant not too far from here, when he's done." It was a small, family owned business, and almost all of it's meat was imported, but as far as Krinn was concerned, on Tanaab, seafood was seafood. You took what you could get.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Kedu Amihan]

"Excellent," the half-Annfyn replies, smile widening just enough to show not only satisfaction but also a pair of gleaming fangs. He shot Krinn an expectant gaze, waiting for him to lead the way, then paused when he felt eyes on them – well, more on the Wanderer than his newfound acquaintance.

The travelling merchant forwent any sense of subtlety and straight up stared at a muttering group of hoodlums whose attentions seemed to have latched onto the Wanderer. The half-Annfyn could sense their intention to rob him, and while he passively avoided trouble the Wanderer supposed that there was no avoiding this one, what with one of the hoodlums meeting his gaze with a furious scowl. In return the Wanderer smiled only wider, almost tauntingly, lips pressed together and eyes narrowed with mirth.

His gaze returned to Krinn, expression still inundated with that jeering smile – though the young Nautolan would feel and know was not meant for him. The Wanderer wasn't even discreet when he looked at that group of five individuals and challenged them to try and rob him without saying a word.

"I hope you wouldn't mind... escorting me, Mister Krinn?" he asked the Nautolan. Not that the Wanderer would take no for an answer – while the young man assured him that his employer wouldn't mind, it wouldn't hurt to have another voice aiding the Wanderer to ensure a successful deal with this Caius person. Blue eyes glanced back to the ruffians and saw that they have advanced, four making a beeline for the Wanderer and Krinn while acting as if they were scoping through stalls for merchandise. The fifth had vanished into an alleyway.

The half-Annfyn turned, scanning the place for the seafood restaurant Krinn had mentioned. Slinging the tote bag on his shoulder, he began to walk away but not without carefully caging the Nautolan's wrist in one clawed hand, effectively making the young man walk with him.

"Do you like flowers, Mister Krinn?" asked the Wanderer out of the blue.

@Nevermourn

 

[Krinn Nelthar]

The Nautolan tilts his head, notes the expectant gaze that now rests upon him. It shifts suddenly, and Krinn blinks with a moment of confusion, before he turns his own large eyes upon a group of rowdy people nearby. They seemed to be muttering amongst themselves, staring at the half-Annfyn with a swirl of devious intentions. The farmhand isn't sure he likes the daring expressions being passed between men, the last thing he wanted was trouble.

Dark eyes lock with the Wanderer's once more, and he can't help the roar of conflict that rages within his gut. Always the coward, the Nautolan thinks sourly, but a fight breaking out in the streets of Tanaab? That was sure to grab all the attention he never wanted, and more. He ultimately had little choice, though. His companion has him by the wrist, and Krinn finds himself walking alongside the other man despite the nervous quiver in his gut. He had noticed that the group of potential criminals appeared to have split up, and four were making their way steadily closer.

He was almost startled by the sudden voice of The Wanderer beside him.

"I- yes?" Krinn responds with a bit of awkwardness, uncertain about the purpose of the question. "They smell good." He adds simply, and he finds his wide eyes wandering the surrounding crowds, searching for the group that he could feel was still stalking them. Why? Krinn was a poor farmhand in tattered, ruined clothes with little more than a red rose sticking out of his pocket and a handful of money. The Wanderer was likely the real target, then. And... Krinn can't help but feel his old selfish habits rise into his thoughts once again, despite his efforts to distance himself from the whole Sith thing.

He thinks that he could easily slip away unnoticed, that the men wouldn't stop him, because they weren't targeting Krinn. If this man was a trained force user, Jedi or not, then surely he'd be fine on his own? Why should Krinn risk exposing himself to the locals over something that wasn't even any of his business? He clenches his jaw, and then lets out a sigh, because as much as he wanted to flee, to escape whatever this was, he knew he would ultimately feel guilty for it later. Especially if this Wanderer fellow turned up dead the next day. It would be his fault.

The Nautolan's expression is grim, but he stays at The Wanderer's side nonetheless.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Kedu Amihan]

Anxiety hung in the air, the source being the Wanderer's new acquaintance and not so much from the audacious foursome behind them. The ragtag group of thieves mingled among both merchants and patrons, playing pretend so as not to rouse the suspicions of two Force-sensitives who already sensed their malevolent intent.

Krinn seemed conflicted, but the half-Annfyn supposed that the young Nautolan's feelings were justified. Here he was, being dragged by a man set to be robbed by mean-spirited thugs, and with the Wanderer's firm but gentle hand around his wrist the travelling merchant was almost compelled to feel more than a shred of sympathy for not actually giving Krinn a choice. The poor young farmhand surely didn't want to call attention to himself, even more so getting tangled into a steadily brewing scuffle as the Wanderer deliberately kept glancing over his shoulder provocatively at the hoodlums shadowing them.

"And they look... beautiful, too," added the half-Annfyn throwing one final smirk at the thief closest to the pair, and closest at losing his temper at the Wanderer's blatant impudence. The Wanderer dropped the stick he had been using as a makeshift cane and simply nodded his head at a tiny child who picked it up and ran away with it.

A moment more of walking, and the Wanderer let go of Krinn's wrist just as the thieves' vanguard – an utterly incensed human with the face of a pug and the body of an old lumberjack – boldly closed the distance between him and the farmhand/merchant duo. For someone so small the human had the gall to try and grab the Wanderer by the wooden box the latter carried, only to have his nose smashed by the same wooden box he was attempting to grab as the half-Annfyn took a hard step backward.

There was a solid thump, then a very audible crack! followed by a pained squeal.

Blue eyes lit up at the sight of the seafood restaurant Krinn mentioned earlier. It had to be the spot since it was the only seafood restaurant the Wanderer had seen so far. He pointed at the establishment, ignoring the whining man behind them.

"Ah, that must be... the restaurant!" exclaimed the Wanderer. Then, as if hearing the thief with the broken voice behind them, the half-Annfyn turned and gazed at the ruffian with a look of mock surprise. "Did you, by any chance, bump onto my box, good sir? Because I certainly felt a light thump just now."

The Wanderer's halting speech ceased for a short while, replaced by polite sarcasm as he reached for the thief's arm. He glanced behind the now struggling and injured ruffian, scanning the crowd for the other three thieves while the fifth still made no show. The three stopped in their advance upon seeing their comrade injured and held by the half-Annfyn they were about to gang up on and rob, watching warily. Blue gaze drifting back to the man with the broken nose, the Wanderer shot him a fanged smile.

"I'm sorry, I should be more spatially aware," the travelling merchant continued, sarcastic yet still infuriatingly polite and now, mock apologetic. "May I offer medical assistance, and maybe a hot meal? My business partner," he gestured at Krinn with his free hand, the other tightening its grasp on the thief's arm, "and I are just about to wait for his employer at that seafood restaurant ahead. Would you care to join us?"

"You broke by dose!" raged the man, trying but failing to extricate himself fron the half-Annfyn's grasp. "You broke by bloody dose, you idiot, and dow you're offering be–"

"Oh, very well spotted, good sir. Now–"

Passersby and store owners alike were starting to stop and watch the interaction between the travelling merchant and the thief. Knowing exactly how to draw attention to himself, the half-Annfyn drew himself to his full height, blocking their view of the Nautolan. He waved a hand over the thief's face, clawed fingernails barely brushing the latter's forehead, and the Wanderer spoke words laced with the Force.

"Ach, you bloody bastard–"

"You will share a meal with Mister Krinn and I."

The thief's eyes glazed over, muttering the words the Wanderer spoke. Then, as if a well-mannered man coming to his senses, he marched inside the restaurant first and went on about finding him, Krinn, and the Wanderer their table.

Though curious about the sudden change in the man with the broken nose, none of the observers stayed to inquire about what happened. They ought to be minding their own business, and the light scuffle (if one could even call it as such) was nothing new to them. The Wanderer, for his part, acted normally and as if nothing eventful had happened, though he still kept tabs on the other thieves now watching the travelling merchant and his Nautolan acquaintance in the shadows.

Turning to face Krinn, the half-Annfyn offered the younger male a half but sincere smile.

"Now then... shall we?" he began, approaching the door. "It seems our... injured shadow has found us... a table."

@Nevermourn

 

[Krinn Nelthar]

He almost felt... annoyed. One more smirk tossed in the direction of those thieves. Like this man enjoyed toying with them, or taunting them, or whatever it was that he was doing. The Nautolan frowns, points his bright gaze forward, and tries to ignore the tense situation as it developed. And then, he feels the Wanderer release his wrist, turns to spot the pug-faced villain that now made his move with a greedy shimmer among human eyes. It all happened so fast, too fast for most to process. For Krinn, it all played out in slow motion. The crack of a broken nose. The pained squeal that shatters the market's peaceful air. Krinn can only grimace, flinch backward at the violence as discomfort coiled like a snake within his gut.

And then the Wanderer acts as if it had all been some accident. It was bizarre.

It could have ended there. Krinn would have preferred it. But it just got worse. Even if none of the attention was on him, Krinn couldn't help but scowl at the display of force persuasion, the glassed over eyes of the thief before he marched toward the seafood restaurant. Krinn hadn't intended to invite an entire party to their table, and now all he could do was stand there with a boiling discomfort betrayed within aquatic eyes. Caius wasn't going to like this. Krinn didn't like this. He never should have agreed to help this Wanderer. For once, the Nautolan regretted not being selfish. The only reason he follows the man into the seafood restaurant now is so that he can protect Caius from whatever nonsense was bound to happen next.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Kedu Amihan]

The conflict within the Nautolan seemed to have completely disappeared, the emotion replaced with discomfort and regret. There were actions the Wanderer took that appealed to an individual's negative emotions, even more so because the half-Annfyn almost always appeared as if he didn't care. It was what he looked like at the exact moment, and anyone who knew the merchant would have walked out or shook their head in annoyance right now.

The injured thief had found a table for three on the far end corner of the restaurant, partially hidden from prying eyes. The Wanderer took one look at the man, produced a red handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to the ruffian while gesturing at the latter's still bleeding nose. Relieving himself of the weight of the wooden box he carried, the half-Annfyn opened one of the box' drawers – revealing an assortment of confectionery wrapped in bright foils. He reached further into the drawer, retrieving several credit chips and handing it over to the confused thief who had just snapped out of the persuasion he had been subjected to.

"For your... medical expenses, he said nonchalantly.

"What...?"

The Wanderer occupied one of the seats, gaze flicking from the vexed Nautolan then to the bewildered thug.

"Thank you for finding us our table. I believe... now is the time for you... to leave."

Unnerved, the thief glanced between the credit chips on his hand and at the half-Annfyn. Shaking his head and pressing the handkerchief to his nose, the man turned and left the farmer and the merchant without a word. Troubles alleviated for the moment, the Wanderer's blue gaze settled on the Nautolan once more, the earlier amusement on his face mellowing into an apologetic visage.

"I'm sorry," the half-Annfyn began in an even tone, clawed hands settling on the table. "I meant to... vex them, not... you." Fluted ears fluttered briefly before lying flat against his head, emphasizing the Wanderer's sincere apology. "Travelling merchants often... attract the attention... of thieves. More so when... one is... visibly unarmed. I am... used to taunting them, but it seems in my... arrogance... I have forgotten that I am... in the presence... of an unarmed, non-combat civilian."

The Wanderer gestured at the bag of seeds he now placed on the table.

"Are you still... willing... to do business with me? I understand if... you don't want to anymore."

@Nevermourn