Private The Slups A Nameday to Remember: Company of Strays

[FinnianBrightfur]

After he fled the docks, Finn found a place in the Slups to lay low and regain his composure. The foxkit drew a tremendous amount of unwanted attention -- a well dressed young todd blinded by tears stuck out like a sore thumb. Some watched with concern, others out of morbid interest. At least two saw an easy mark, and a scuffle in a back alley left Finn battered, bruised, and several gilders poorer.

It was a fitting end to the day, he felt. The cherry on top of a miserable Nameday, indeed. Finn found a warm warehouse to rest in, and crashed by the boiler where he lay as a dead beast. He felt entirely numb all over, and the only thought that occurred to him was how quiet his thoughts were. His mind was stiller than an empty cavern.

Hours later -- Finn had lost all sense of time -- he stirred, pushed himself to his feet, and wandered out onto the streets. Bully was on its way to bed now, the only business open were a few taverns closer to the dockside -- and a blind vendor selling noodles. The scent was... comforting.

Cricket had to be around here, somewhere. Maybe she'd feel up for noodles. The foxkit scraped together a pawful of pebbles, and tossed them at walls, hissing her name in a hushed tone. "... Cricket?"

 

[Korya]

A soft, yellow-green glow settled over the noodle stand situated under an oilcloth awning, the light flickering now and then. The fireflies and glow-worms in jars hanging from the awning made little tinkling sounds against the glass, drowned out by the pitter-patter of tiny raindrops that began to fall from the darkened sky.

Warmth radiated from the stand. The crackle of fire in a stove and the sizzle of frying oil beckoned, but there was nobeast left to beckon at this hour. The row of upside-down buckets that served as stools for the ramshackle serving counter were empty, but padded with soft blue cloth draped over each one.

Korya had made good after Westisle Cultural Appreciation Day, and on top of all these additions to her noodle vendoring, there was a cask of ale and a new sign which was now readable in the firefly glow as:

Korya's Spicy Noodles (and Ale)
​

It was also her last evening selling noodles. She had to empty her stock, and move her things to the BlackShip for her next adventure. The stand would be taken down, the pieces stored in her little apartment down the street, for whenever the ship would return her to town. But the vegetables, the shrimp, the noodles - these wouldn't keep long at all.

She leaned against the counter, wiping down a mug with a soapy dishcloth, listening to the hissing little voice and the tink-tink of pebbles bounciing down the street.

"You look lonely," she said softly, but loud enough to be heard over the pattering rain. "I can fix that... with a bowl of piping hot noodles!"