“Uh-huh, uh-huh. And then? What happened after you broke into Trare’s palace?” Kestrel prompted, his quill scribbling furiously across the parchment. Silence. The Gypsy licked his lips as he looked up at his unresponsive muse. Elric ignored the mage-bard, twirling the diminutive brush around in the gun chamber. Kestrel responded with a well-aimed poke to the back of the head. “Hey. Blastazoid,” The minstrel droned with annoyance, “Don’t ignore me. This is prime stuff!” The bounty hunter continued in his well-maintained silence, moving on to the next chamber. Kestrel sighed, running a hand through his thick black hair. “You know, we can do this one of two ways. You can tell me by your own free will, sparing no detail or fact, or I can pick up my harp here and force the story from your unwilling lips. Now, spill it, you gun-maniac.”

Elric’s mouth quirked up in a wry grin. He knew perfectly well that nothing irked Kestrel as much as an unfinished story, doubly so if he was in the process of converting said tale into a song. It was a favorite amusement of his to get the bard riled up, and then leave him hanging for a while.

“Just try it, bird-boy. You won’t get a word through these lips without my consent.”

“I’m almost tempted to try.” Kestrel responded, flexing his fingers in annoyance. “And I would too, if it weren’t for the fact that coercion seems to leave out a lot of details and the real good stuff.” Elric only grinned, sending the silver barrel into a whirl and snapping it closed with a sharp click. The bounty hunter turned his attentions to the first gun’s twin while the Gypsy continued on in the same vain, ranting in frustration. The two sat on the porch of the same old, generic inn the gang usually met at, enjoying the fresh, crisp night air during one of the bard’s rare breaks between performances. An ambiguous drone of laughter and rowdy conversation drifted through the oaken walls of the inn, an oddly pleasant background for the two friends. It was with great anticipation and amusement that Elric had started up on the Trare and Haelor story, even beginning the tale off by showing off Kiba to the eager Gypsy.

Kestrel had just raised his fiddle in (hopefully) mock preparation to bash it across Elric’s head when a streak of blinding white light flashed across the velvet sky, slamming into the mountain raising off the horizon and sheering clear through it’s top. Kestrel almost dropped his fiddle with his jaw, and the tiny cleaner fell forgotten from Elric’s hand. With almost as much abruptness as the . . . whatever it was, the door behind the pair flew open, a rush of sound washing over them. Both heads snapped around, looking up to stare at the innkeeper’s rugged face.

“Oi! Musicker! Break’s over! Get yer sorry self in here now!” The large man barked sharply, wiping his hands against his beer-stained apron. Kestrel’s jaw dropped all over again, almost asking how on earth the man could not be inquiring into the momentous event that had just occurred.

“But— Wait— What—” The Gypsy sputtered, his eyes wide as he found himself—for once—at a loss for words.

“No excuses! Play, now!” The man growled, slamming the door shut as he retreated back into the din of the taproom.

“You heard him.” Elric remarked smugly.

“What?!” Kestrel exploded, rounding on the bounty hunter. “How can you— Did you not just see—? Oh, my God, what is wrong with you?!” He exclaimed, twisting his fingers in his hair. Elric only smiled, waiting for the bard to arrive at the obvious solution to his problem. It didn’t even take as long as he had thought. Kestrel’s face faded from shock and indignation to enlightened annoyance and resignation.

“50.” The Gypsy snapped, forced to play the bounty hunter’s game.

“100.” Elric shot back calmly. Oh, how he was enjoying this.

“75!”

“85.”

“That thing just shaved the top half of a mountain off! What is wrong with you?” Kestrel asked desperately, attempting to appeal to the bounty hunter’s sense of adventure over his sense of money. Heh.

The door opened again, the massive innkeeper’s build blocking out most of the light. “Musicker! Now!”

“I know!” Kestrel shouted at the closing door with anxiousness before turning back to Elric. “80!”

“85.” The orange-haired man repeated coolly, peering closely at his fingernails.

“You heartless, thrice-damned bastard!!! Deal!” Kestrel yelled, snatching up his fiddle and papers. “And it had better be gooood. By all the little gods and goddesses, if you don’t get some real juicy stuff for me, I swear I’ll—” The door behind the bard flew open, and all of the innkeeper that emerged this time was a large, hairy arm that closed around the back of Kestrel’s shirt and hauled his inside. Elric burst out in laughter, snapping the gun back up and closed as he leapt to his feet. A deal’s a deal. Time to see what just chopped a mountain in half.

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BAers: Due to technical difficulties, I cannot view your characters. Please email their profiles (not links!) to HXrisH@gmail.com if you're RPing with me. Arigatou. (Sig by Insaney)