Gale skulked along the street, turning a rough scrap of paper in their fingers. A crude map had been drawn upon its surface, denoting the twisting streets of the city to where they were supposed to go. It turned out, much to their annoyance, that the delivery for collection was not all at the Mad Queen and the smith was forced out of their comfort zone to find them. Not that they knew exactly what they were collecting, all of that had been neatly left out of their knowledge.
At the junction, the smith turned the map around in an attempt to find their bearings; before taking the left. It was, supposedly, just a short jaunt across the bridge to the Quarter Fords, only a few minutes away. The establishment was a smoking den; though the what was neatly avoided by the small aid they received.
Short jaunt my arse. Been an hour out here now
Stepping off to the side, the smith stopped once more on the side of the street watching the various others pass on by. In return the various eyes settled on them, the small curious tilts of the head, the dark eyes seemingly weighing them up. It was only as they went in deeper, head down, shoulders hunched in, that Gale began to notice the difference in population. The green orbs bored down into the ground ahead of them, the face steeling over to a neutral expression.
It was enough of a focus that the smith almost walked past their destination – again.
Breaking to a sudden halt, the head turned to where they thought it would be and instead found a rather plain looking building. Unremarkable as it was, they would have missed the narrow set of steps that descended down to a basement beneath the house and the lingering mass of Mugrobi muscle that guarded the top of it. They blinked, shifting between man and door way.
The raise of the chin, the unfolding of arms as each weighed the other up. The smith forced themselves to uncurl, glad for the lack pack, but glad the familiar weight of Liberator pressed against their spine, yet hidden beneath the coat. The smith cocked a thumb, a gesturing point as they awkwardly stepped around and towards the steps.
“Where you think you’re going, boy?”
Gale paused, turned on their heel and weighed him up and down. The lip turned into a curl, a small snort as they channelled every ounce of Artful, “For a smoke.”
He did not make a move, eyes narrowing down. With nothing more said the smith made a quick retreat down the steps and finding the door was not locked, quickly entered.
Gale’s only mild regret was not bracing themselves before hand.
The overpowering scents of some narcotic mixed in with cheap tobacco slammed into her, a thick layer of smoke having gathered across the ceiling. The next was the aroma of flowers, a thick, pollen laden one that only worsened. A steaming hiss of coals as moisture was poured onto them, a cough escaped as they shifted from the narrow entrance and into the room proper. Gaudy paintings upon the brickwork, the various lounging bodies – a majority if not all being Mugrobi or descendent of – lazing and blowing upon water pipes. Towards the back stood a bar, a mingling of bodies leaning up against it.
Odour infecting their lungs, Gale pushed forward towards the bar. Brow creased into a line, it was the firm stepping of two bodies in their path that halted them. Rearing back, the firm hand of another Mugrobi clamped down onto their shoulder, the eyes staring intently, “Ent seen ju here before adame. Where ju come from? Who told ju Anaxi?”
“Well I… got told here’s a good place for a smoke from a friend?”
“Yaka, don’t think so oveka.”
Gale internally winced.