01-22-2020, 01:14 PM
Word was quick to spread in any clan, and in a clan that was as tightly-knit as the Typhoon, it didn't take long for the word of an allied party to reach Revolver, despite his having missed on the original invitation. So it was that the ocelot began his small journey, walking across that railroad bridge that first brought him to the place he now lived, a travel to some backwoods swamp town, for all he knew. He'd spent a lot of time in swamps, of course, so he knew how to live with the muck and the plants and, worst of all, the gators, so it would be trivial for him. A simple task, even if every step he took would probably float a feeling of discomfort and distress, of being alone in a battlefield, higher and higher in his brain.
It was shocking for him when he reached the town of Tanglewood, which was swamp-adjacent at most, and seemed awfully quaint to him regardless. A pleasant shock, of course. He didn't want to relive memories of a weaker version of himself anytime soon. He approached the tavern, and the technicolor leopard that guarded it, with a caution befitting someone in unfamiliar territory, mental hands tugging at his red scarf, desperately trying to stave off the paranoid voice that told him he was in enemy territory, that he had to be on his guard. What he had to do was relax - there was no point in coming here to socialize and gather intel if he was going to be wound up tighter than a rattlesnake in heat.
"Howdy," he said to Feza upon his approach, glancing at the people gathered around already. Roxanne and Roan, people he was acquainted with, a lion, who looked very placid at best (though it didn't take much in-depth observation to see his battle scars), and - shit. He sure hoped that wasn't who he thought it was. He had one person from his past pop up, and one was far too many. It'd distract from his schmoozing if he was busy reconnecting with someone from his past, especially someone who might have not liked him too much.
With force, he tugs his eyes away from the phantom, looking back again to Feza. "I'm from the Typhoon - do I just head on in there?" He kept his voice smooth, unstressed, despite the very present stress bubbling up in his chest. So far, this was not a very positively productive trip.
It was shocking for him when he reached the town of Tanglewood, which was swamp-adjacent at most, and seemed awfully quaint to him regardless. A pleasant shock, of course. He didn't want to relive memories of a weaker version of himself anytime soon. He approached the tavern, and the technicolor leopard that guarded it, with a caution befitting someone in unfamiliar territory, mental hands tugging at his red scarf, desperately trying to stave off the paranoid voice that told him he was in enemy territory, that he had to be on his guard. What he had to do was relax - there was no point in coming here to socialize and gather intel if he was going to be wound up tighter than a rattlesnake in heat.
"Howdy," he said to Feza upon his approach, glancing at the people gathered around already. Roxanne and Roan, people he was acquainted with, a lion, who looked very placid at best (though it didn't take much in-depth observation to see his battle scars), and - shit. He sure hoped that wasn't who he thought it was. He had one person from his past pop up, and one was far too many. It'd distract from his schmoozing if he was busy reconnecting with someone from his past, especially someone who might have not liked him too much.
With force, he tugs his eyes away from the phantom, looking back again to Feza. "I'm from the Typhoon - do I just head on in there?" He kept his voice smooth, unstressed, despite the very present stress bubbling up in his chest. So far, this was not a very positively productive trip.
tags - "speech"