Last time, Flintlock Burnfur helped Captains S’Returru D’Magio and M’iaa T’Chall burn the bodies of a pair of Borg. After a small talk, the prospect of food became obvious.
With T’Chall and D’Magio wearing makeshift robes, Flintlock lead them into Butcher’s Block. It was a celebration. Charr and Norn were heartily eating and taking part in the games of combat. There were charr cubs lead by their Primus. There was even two Sylvari watching all of the events. Flintlock tied her Dolyak inside the gates of the village, and approached one of the vendors.
“Well, look who’s back,” the charr female called out with a grin as Flintlock approached. “Can’t stay away from this place, huh?”
“Are you kidding?” Flintlock replied with a grin. “It was here I learned some of the best barbecuing techniques.”
“Said like a true chef,” the charr replied with a boisterous laugh. “Now, what can I get you?”
“Ran into a couple of travelers looking for a place to get food,” she said as motioned to T’Chall and D’Magio. The female charr looked over at the pair, giving a sniff as she scrutinized them both.
“They look like mice,” she said as she looked to Flintlock.
“Trust me, they aren’t,” Flintlock replied. “Just need some food, then I’m guiding them to Rata Sum.”
“Ugh! Whaddya want with a buncha shark-rats?” She moved past Flintlock and approached the two. “At least you two are gonna get in a good meal before meeting with the most egotistical species in all of Tyria.” She stopped for a moment and looked to Flintlock before adding, “next to Flame Legion, that is.” Quickly she looked back to the pair. “What can I get you?”
“…um… well, maybe some meat,” T’chall said, not knowing what to call anything. “A grilled leg of… something.”
“A slab of the biggest, widest steak you’ve got,” D’Magio said quickly, interrupting T’Chall. “Make it two, she needs something like this as well. Introduce it to the fire. Just put it on the pan long enough to sear the outside, flip it and repeat, add some spices and slap it on a plate. Maybe garnish with onions. Oh, and some of those pickled eggs and a mug of…” D’Magio stopped and looked to Flintlock. “What was that ale again?”
“Boiled beer,” Flintlock said with a nod.
“Two of those,” D’Magio said with a firm nod, and motioned to T’Chall. “She’ll have the same.”
“And a leg of whatever that is,” T’Chall said as she pointed to a spit, finding her confidence and getting to know the attitudes of the people. Like Klingons, but not entirely like them. Obviously, they liked a good party. The female charr clapped her hands and grinned, getting to work gathering their order. T’Chall took D’Magio and Flintlock aside for a moment. “Do you have any money? Because I don’t?”
“Six bars of gold pressed latinum,” D’magio said quietly. “…locked in a trunk in my ready room on the bridge of my ship.”
“Hardly helpful,” T’Chall replied with a sigh. “And I doubt gold pressed latinum is a currency on this planet.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Flintlock said with a shrug. “I got this. You guys need some help, least I can do is pay for your food.” D’Magio and T’Chall nodded their heads in thanks, and when their food came, they graciously took it and found a place near a fire to sit and eat. Flintlock watched them both; they weren’t much different than charr as they did not hesitate in picking their food up with their hands and digging in. Although, T’Chall seemed a bit more delicate with her eating than D’Magio.
The three of them were soon joined by a small group of cubs, a Fahrar as Flintlock had explained to her travelling companions. Their Primus was in good spirits, having returned with his cubs after a successful hunt. Each cub was given a mug of warm milk, and several pickled eggs to share. They seemed rambunctious and curious. Eventually that curiosity turned to the two wrapped in their robes.
Eventually, T’Chall felt a tug on her tail. She turned in her seat just in time to see a small cub holding the end of her tail as he bounded up on the log she was sitting on. “I told you this mouse had a tail,” he called out as he triumphantly held the end of T’Chall’s tail above his head.
Normally, a Caitian might be upset by this action. Even D’Magio looked over at T’Chall with caution. But the captain of the U.S.S. Ocelot merely set her food tray in her lap, reached up to her hood and flipped it down. All the cubs gasped at the sight, now that the dark brown fur and long mane was revealed along with T’Chall’s feline features.
“You’re not a mouse,” the cub said in a whisper, still holding the end of T’Chall’s tail.
“No, I’m not,” she replied as she leaned over to the cub. “She has a tail as well.” She motioned to D’Magio, who gave T’Chall a look of warning. The Caitian chuckled mildly at the look, and spoke to the cub once again. “But she had to cut it off. Just six inches is left.” Now all of the cubs looked to D’Magio. T’Chall chuckled again. “Oh, c’mon, S’Returru. It’s a story of heroism and adventure.”
D’Magio just looked to all the cubs surrounding them both for a few minutes. Then, without warning, she set the remainder of her food aside, placed her Bat’Leth against the log and rose to her feet. She removed the robe, displaying her armour and weapons, still holstered, and she spread her arms wide. The cubs gasped again, seeing D’Magio’s feline features. Much more stark and ferocious looking than T’Chall’s. “Fair enough. If it’s a story you want, it’s a story you’ll get.”