The Searat Shows her Chops (open)

((Righto, here's a little dealio to test drive my new searat character. I'd like to point out that despite the location, this fight is equally open to woodlanders as it is to other vermin. Please don't smack me with any exceptionally powerful characters, thanks. Vorna was made to be a highly competent vermin warrior, not to take on wolverines or badger lords or great raptor birds and the like. Thanks.))

The seedy bar, catering to anyone mean enough to enter and tough enough to handle the poisonously cheap grog, was hardly without its history of fights and bloodshed- to be frank, brawls happened at least twice a week, and serious duels were far from uncommon. Vorna Scarclaw knew this, of course, but didn't let it deter her- she fit in with this rough crowd and almost nowhere else, and even if the grog was terrible, at least it was cheap and there was lots of it. Blowing on the bowl of indeterminate stew before her while her horribly scared right arm firmly clutched the tankard of grog (as if expecting imminent attempts at theft), the burly searat attempted to concentrate on her repast and not on her simmering anger from the day, that threatened to boil over and would be assuaged only by choking it with food and a well-deserved stiff drink. That became difficult with the arrival of a near-drained tankard that sailed through the air to clonk the back of her head, spilling grog dregs on her tunic. With an impetuous roar, she stormed up, hurling her chair aside and slamming the table with a clawed fist as her scarred arm reached for her cutlass' hilt.

"Arright then yeh pile of inbred, flea-bitten, knock-need, frog-fondlin' cowards, which o' ye's got a deathwish!"

ooc- I thought I'd try something incredibly unconventional here.

bic- A random grinning stoat suddenly stood and and started waving his arms. "I do! I do! Pick me! Over here!"
    Whatever his intentions, either he was extremely unwise, or crazy, or he knew something that the rat didn't. Maybe it was all of the afore mentioned. Whatever the case, things didn't look so good for him anymore.

ooc- I you want me to delete this, or if you had something specific in mind for this thread and I just messed it up, just say so. lol

With a snort, Vorna stomped over to the stoat, who she pegged as being unable to handle his grog. Drawing her cutlass with a dramatic ring of steel, she flourished it and seemed about ready to strike, a blow fit to cleave a beast in two judging by her burly frame and expert grip. At the last second however, she shifted as if appearing to reconsider, and instead punched out- sending a punishing knockout blow from the cutlass' heavy brass basket hilt soaring right towards the grinning stoat's face. Fight finisher or not, that should wipe the stupid expression off his gob… Teach him a lesson in manners, too.

The stoat's eyes went wide the instant before the brass cutlass hilt caught him a hefty blow to the snout. He flipped backwards and landed belly-first on a small table directly behind. The table gave way, crashing to the floor and spilling several tankards of ale.
    The burly and not comparably intelligent-looking crowd on vermin stood up, shouting curses and drawing their swords all at once. The stoat on the floor lifted his head slightly, just enough for the group to see he silly grin return before his face fell into a bowl of soup.
    Finch calmly took a sip from his tankard, which he just managed to save. "Keep your tempers in check, ladies. He is a friend of mine, after all." The remarkable young ferret turned to Vorna and winked. "That goes for you, too, Brunhilda. Nice punch, though."

Vorna snorted at the cocky ferret in front of her and sheathed her cutlass. She wasn't old, but she was old enough that Finch came across as an impudent child. "Poor choice in friends, then, if they go down so easy. An' my name's Vorna Scarclaw; call me 'Brunhilda' again and I'll give yeh the same lesson I gave t'yer buddy." Striding over to the adjacent table, she booted a drunken rat out of his chair and promptly sat down in his place, resting her booted feet on the head of the unconscious stoat. "Unless you were th' one witha deathwish?" the searat asked flatly, sipping the grog of  the rat she'd displaced.

"I'd say sorry, but that would be lying."
    At Vorna's second question, Finch shrugged. "Nah, I wouldn't have wasted a tankard of grog like that. Even as poor as it was." He lifted his tankard slightly. "See? Still got mine. It wasn't me. It wasn't the stoat, either, but it doesn't look as though that is a fact that will change his state much." He turned his back on her and walked over the broken table, then stepped over the fallen stoat. He resisted the urge to kick Vorna's paws out of the way and sat down in his own seat.
    "Out of curiosity, Vorna," The ferret made a point of getting it right this time. "What's a searat  doing this far inland?"
    The stoat under Vorna's footpaws groaned as Finch stretched out his own paws, making similar use of the downed vermin.

"What a searat's doing inland's her business, but let's say she was a lot better at not drowning than some cowards thought she'd be, and leave it at that." Stomping the head of the stoat with her boot, she chuckled as his cut-off groan and turned to the ferret beside her. "So where'd you dig this worthless trouble-borrowing garbage up? Hired expendable on some caper you've got a mind to?"

Finch shrugged. "Perhaps. He's dumb enough to follow my orders, but smart enough to sometimes be helpful. But, as I have no right to your business, you likewise have no right to mine. So I will leave to caper-question unanswered."
    He settled back in his chair in an -overly-relaxed fashion. "So, you obviously ran on some ill-fortune, by the look so it. I have a lot to offer. Mainly, I'm a tradesbeast, a mercenary or assassin. Or strategist, if there's difference. I'm in a position to help you in whatever ways you need, if you are interested. Name it, and I can do it, for a price."

ooc- Sorry I took a while getting back to you on this

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