(2018-05-03) For the Love of Chicken
Who Doesn't Love Chickens, Really Though
What starts in the Wayward Albatross ends up near Chickens and a random road.
There is some smuggling involved.
Misc Info:
No chickens were harmed during the course of this RP. Pride may be wounded.

The midday sun slants obtrusively into the tavern, dancing dust motes into bright glitters that annoy the crap out of the bleary-eyed patrons that loiter this time of day. Among those patrons is Cesare, who sits at the back of the room, nursing a cup of something alcoholic (surely) in one hand, and a spray of cards in the other hand. Across from him is the last remnant of a long night of gambling, by the looks of both men, with the Albrici fellow having done well based on the distribution of coins, which might be why the man (who is significantly bigger than Cesare) is now grumbling loudly about "forsaken cheating bastard wretch." It's probably about to come to blows in here.

In comes Raffiano, though rested from the night himself, his hair is in disarray. Probably something serious like training at arms earlier. He's now in need of refreshment. At first no indication he sees his cousin, and goes to the scarred bar. In his wake are eddies of dust motes, swirling in the air. Probably slightly larger than typical dust particles, indicating they like it dark here, or less clean. He steps beyond the reach of sunlight to make it to that bar. "Keep, whatever passes for," he begins to say and ale is set before him. They might know him just a little around here, that or to shut up the noble. Both would work. Just as he takes a drink, explicitives are muttered near the gambling table, which he turns with interest. What, his cousin, nearly a spit of ale back into his cup. Some dribbles from his lip back in, he sucks it back down, lowers the mug and wipes at his lips. A brow raises, curious if he should move closer or wait for his cousin to finish there and join him at the bar. Its inneundo sort of, he thinks he's doing it right. A slight nod of his head, either saying take the seat next to me when you're done, or 'are you okay?'. Definletly, most likely, one of those two.

The hand ends amicably enough, with Cesare taking the last of the man's coins and adding them to his stash, even being such a courteous prick as to buy the man a drink afterward (which probably only adds to the thundercloud of his expression). There's further grumbling as Cesare departs the table, daggers being stared into his turned back, and he sidles up next to his cousin with an amiable, "Morning, cuz. What brings you to this armpit of the city today?" Behind him, the man begins flexing impatiently, his fingers white-knuckled and his face red.

"Drink and maybe some gambling, I have money to lose today," grins Raffiano, "Honest losing too, I never cheat at losing." Or around here, in certain company at least. He lifts his drink towards Cesare, "And you cuz, you're making friends already. A productive start to the day." A slight lean and stage whisper moment, "Don't look, don't look, but I think he's looking at you." As if there was interest other than violence coming from those daggers of the red faced man. "I can put in a good word if you like, you should give him the soft eyes." Whatever soft eyes even are. He lists his cup to almost take a drink, "What are you about, other than making friends then?" Not that he needs to ask so much with the thick air in the room, beyond just dust particles.

Startled, Cesare blinks from Raffiano to the sunlight streaming in through the window, asking doubtfully, "Is it tomorrow already?" He whistles, low and impressed, and - leaning on his elbows - tries a surreptitious look back at his, uhm, friend. "I did just take him for what I'm guessing is his life's savings. In my defense, the pretty barmaid - " Whose shift probably ended hours ago. " - told me he makes his living smuggling stolen goods. He's not reaching for that big stick he came in with, is he?" All whispered back. And, yes, the guy is wrapping his beefy mitts around a sturdy looking baton of sorts.

A slight squint, one of those how could you not know the sun is out sort of squints, but accompanied with a hint of grin. It softens the features of Raffiano, enough at least. "Yes, welcome to tomorrow, I can tell you it comes with the threat of an evening headache if you sleep it off. Take some hair of the dog with you for the night stand." Sounds advice, he looks for the pretty barmaid. But middle of the day, its probably haggard barkeep/owner with bent nose and mismatched eyes. Who know who he's looking at, but just nod if he asks questions in the vicinity. "YOu took him for all. He is, he really is reaching for that big stick. Maybe we shouldn't tell everyone his business? Should we exit stage right? I mean, I don't think we are allowed to spill blood on Nicolo's fine tiled floors." He takes another drink, he's taking them faster just in case he needs to stop.

"Yeah? Maybe better to just stay awake till night, then, and catch up on my sleep all in one fell swoop." Cesare has the smell of someone that's been all night drinking and gambling, but at least he doesn't look staggeringly drunk. He mutters a curse into his cup when Raffiano confirms his suspicions about the stick, shoulders hunching inward like he's bracing for an inevitable impact, but then he's nodding vigorously about the exit. "Go go go go go go," he whispers hastily, spilling coins onto the bar to cover what's probably a long tab.

Behind them, the man hefts that big stick and announces, "Collect my money back from your hide, you <long string of profanity goes here>."

Hopefully the spilled coins cover his drink, he just started this tab for the day (hopefully its for the day, not as long as others). Raffiano nods, and moves to run for the exit with his cousin. In one hand he'll have that drink of ale, and as they move, he will drink from it. "On it," he confirms while moving for that doorway into the warm, sunny, pleasant spring day. Of course as the man makes his announcement, the cup will be spilled and lost. Hopefully, as well, Raffiano can knock that stool he was about to claim over to help them make for the exit there. "Always an adventure with you," he mutters, "No, I can't swim, doesn't matter how deep the water is under this cliff." AKA, he's not jumping off docks or anything into the water in this effor to escape.

Although his feet fumble once in his efforts to dodge the toppled stool, Cesare manages to stay pretty close to Raffiano's heels. There's a loud clatter as of someone stumbling heavily and crashing into a table just when they manage to dart into that daylight, followed by a chorus of listless anger at the upset. "Swim? What?" In his present state, perhaps Cesare can be forgiven for not putting it all together; instead, he beckons quickly to some convenient side street, pressing his back against a wall to hide in the shade between two buildings. "At least we're not bored, hey?"

Raffiano is certain to join in that side walk/alley. He's in a better state, just a light breath to catch from their shuffle. "To say the least," grins the man, pulling his hair back, but leaving it in disarray more than helping it, just its out of his face. "Catch your breath," he says, still getting his in good solid order, "He may stumble out after you at some point." THough they have a good spot and the bloke doesn't know which way they turned necessarily. "I'd ask if the wench was worth it, but you were more after the coin it looks like." He thinks about sticking his head out to look, and does start to move that way, as if to peek.

Leaning back against the cool exterior wall, comfortably deep in the shade, Cesare laughs amiably to report, "The girl was having none of it. Married or - " He cuts off, batting a hand carelessly in the direction of the bar from whence they've fled. "It was a good take, though, the man had deep pockets. And a big stick, may I remind you?" That last, alarmed, is tacked on when Raffiano looks like he's about to risk his head.

"Out of her mind," fills in Raffiano, "For such a charming fellow as her self, clearly she was." But his chuckle says otherwise. The thought of the stick catches him, he doesn't risk his neck just yet. He finds a wall spot to join in that shade at least. "I'll say this, cuz," he continues, "When you set to take some one, you know how to pick them. A real prize in that one. Regardless of the pockets, he had a face that can clear barnacles." Scare, scrap off, one of the two, its open choice there.

"Charm has to be in limited supply, and I think you might've got my share of it." Cesare breathes relief when Raffiano doesn't actually stick his head out, then scrubs his bleary-eyed face, complete with five o' clock shadow, with his slightly grubby hands. "I'll accept that compliment, though. I do know how to pick 'em. Damn good thing you came in when you did, though, or I think you'd be fishing my body outta the harbor about now. Fortune favors me."

"See, I knew when charm was being divied up and cheated the framework," he says, with a grin, though he may lack it sometimes. Raffiano looks towards the harbor side a moment, then laughs, "See, that's what I meant. No way I could, that might involve swimming. So, the water could be shallow or deep, but to test it, I would risk exposing that valuable weakness that water and I do not mix so well, cuz." A laugh from him again, he looks deeper into the ally, "We could see where the other end spits us out."

Off-handedly, Cesare rattles off, "It ends in a courtyard owned by a fat woman with four chickens that squawk non-stop." But that doesn't prevent him from taking his cousin's suggestion and starting his feet down the narrow alley, making sure to stay close in the shade as he goes. "Are you in need of someone pretty to pass the time, though? I know a girl who'd be only too pleased by your charm - or anything, for enough money."

A chuckle himself at the response, Raffiano stands up to follow. It gives time to let the brute pass at least, one could hope. He stays half to the shadow, less ducking as his cousin. "You know the end of the adventure, defeats the purpose of setting a foot forward on the path?" Or it could now. He stops for half a second, falling just a little behind, "Wait, how well do you know the alleys and walks in this part of town? I know a couple but in less detail." He moves to catch up, "I am good on that account, passing of time, unless she is good at cards as well?" Mixed topic, he comes back to the knowing of back ways, "Maybe you are less keen to the ways in this part of town but have a great love of .. chickens?"

"Do you think running from a fat woman and four chickens won't be an adventure?" Cesare tosses back, walking backward a few paces to throw a grin back at Raffiano. He shrugs simply to answer for his knowledge of this particular back-alley, then gives a bark of laughter at the idea of the girl in question playing cards. "Not so much, but I heartell she's good at other games." The brow-waggle is evident in his tone. "Who doesn't love chickens, cuz."

He keeps walking at least this time, but Raffiano looks away, to the side. Thoughts flow, then a nod, "Aye, you raise a point. I should spend less time sparring and more time with you, it will keep me just as fit." A curious look to the laugh from his cousin, then a chuckle himself. "I may consider those other games for the right price, when the well of games offered freely dries up." Not saying either way if he gets such offers, but he leaves that there. "Point well made, hopefully there is chicken in the oven. If she's sure to chase us, I'm speculating you are trying to see if I well jump off the docks today, then I shall be lucky you are at hand to fish me out of the harbor."

Cesare pauses his steps, looking ahead where the alley does, indeed, open into a small courtyard with high walls - a nice looking place, though none too wealthy. "How do you think I keep my girlish figure but by running from men with big sticks and empty purses? You ready for this?" He makes a stirrup out of his laced hands, indicating a boost that he's ready to give to help Raffiano climb over the courtyard walls. There's a gate, too, but it looks to be barred. Three chickens peck aimlessly at the ground.

A chuckle and he looks at the barred gate, then Raffiano nods. Moving to put a foot in the offered stirrup, to get on the wall. He'll offer a hand later, maybe. At some state of being lifted, commited to the plan at that point, he does respond. "So, you're saying aside from a large woman and chickens, there is a big stick involved in this venture?" Even lifting his hands to pull up to that getting over and into the courtyard. If he gets up, he'll dangle a hand down in an offer of assistence. "Is it hers or is there some brute of a husband that should be considered in these negotiations?" NOt that anything is being negotiated either, they're scaling the wall, or Raffiano is at least.

Cue the screech, "OH NO YOU DON'T! I'll not have you damn street urchins stealing my chickens anymore!" The heavy woman comes barreling out of her front door into the courtyard, brandishing a broom like it's a rapier and she's a swordsman out of legend.

So Cesare does what any man would do under the circumstances: he heaves to get Raffiano atop the wall and begs, "Hand hand hand, gimme your hand!" While flailing to take that which his cousin has already extended, relying on Raffiano's strength to help haul him up even as the broom readies to come down upon him.

It takes a little effort, he's not a hulk of a man by anymeans, but what he lacks in height is there in strength at least. Raffiano pulls to bring him up to where he is on the wall. Making his best effort to not fall as he does so. It amy not save him from all the whacks the woman might level at him, but hopefully some. "Climb, cuz, use your feet, I can't just left you," it takes too for this wall tango. Esepcially if they don't want to topple either way.

Meanwhile, the woman is doing a bang-up job with that broom, fortunately just hitting them both (as much as she can reach) with the bristles. Which is gross, considering it's a broom, but it's better than getting beaten with the handle? Anyway, she curses at them, and Cesare's feet slip on the wall twice before he gets purchase, mantling up to the top alongside Raffiano. "Rock," he looks down at the drop on the other side of the wall, ten or twelve feet to the road on the other side, "hard place," the woman in the courtyard, still whacking at them. "Jump, I guess? OW WOMAN! Would you - !"

There is some shiftyness in his footing, a few scoffs of not quite pain and not quite an owe at being hit. Definitely gross, but certainly not the worst of gross at least. "Predicament, hard place it is." THe perfect place to catch a landing, a nice hard rock by nature of the roadway itself. "Hurry, yes, I'll hurry up," he concludes for his cousin. Then of course, he delays no more, but squats, one hand on the wall to at least try dropping, dangling first then dropping, to cut off five feet or so plus his arm length from that twelve to the bottom. Can't completely hurt, he tries to leave room as he does that, but probably falls off early if Cesare is in a hurry as well.
| Raffiano (Dex) |
| -----— |
| Success |
| -
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| Attribute: 12 Roll: 3 |

| Cesare (Dex) |
| -----— |
| Success |
| -
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| Attribute: 15 Roll: 6 |

Cesare kicks without aiming at the woman - well, really, at her broom, trying to deflect the dusty blows. She gets in a few more good whacks before he's lowering himself over the other side after Raffiano, hitting the ground with his heels first. He should tuck-and-roll, but that would be way too fly, so he instead winds up skidding down onto his rear-end. "I wish it was still yesterday," he pronounces summarily, wincing at little scrapes on his palms when he moves to lever himself back to his feet.

Raffiano faced the wall at least, so when he drops, he sort of back scrabbles a little, its hard on the knees, but no scrapes it would seem. That little ditch on the side for run off and drainage didn't help much. "It shall be then, for the remained of this day, it is yesterday." Half a grin, he starts dusting off his clothes to stand up right, to look presentable on this Via that the wall spit them out onto. Looking both ways to get his bearing. A slight cough as the broom dust in his clothes kicks up and into the air from patting himself. He'll help his cousin with his back if he wants the assistance in being presentable. It probably doesn't help much either way. "But get some rest, we mush crash the Sabastino feast tomorrow. By that, I mean, dance with the good Conte's sister." TO clarify he didn't really mean crash.

Cesare couldn't look presentable at this point if he tried (which, for the record, he doesn't). Instead, accepting the help up, he nods and offers some kind of banter-y response before moving dazedly through what's left of the day. Probably, he sleeps.

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