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Awkward

Elowin
Elowin Member Posts: 206 ✭✭✭ - Distinguished
Elowin's thoughts in italics.
(Market): You say, "Seeking an ox tattoo."

Coran tells you: Sure.
You tell Coran: I'll come to you.
Coran tells you: Portal is open.

Bar at the Brass Lantern Inn (indoors).
--- Area 478: The Brass Lantern Inn ---------
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--- Bar at the Brass Lantern Inn  -14:2:0 ---
A wooden sign in a painted frame hangs next to the bar. Her graceful limbs tight with anticipation, 
Maire surveys the area. Garesh looms with his blade raised high. Garian the hunter lounges here, 
casually sipping his drink. Juggling bottles with fierce intent, Kammie, a lean bartender, stands 
ready to mix and serve any drink. Talking animatedly with one hand and balancing a tray against one 
hip with the other, Cherry, a vivacious tavern girl stands here.  You see a sign indicating there 
are WARES for sale here.
You see exits leading north, east, and west.

You close your eyes momentarily and extend the range of your vision, seeking out the presence of 
Coran.
You see that Coran is at A comfortable nook.  (29909)  (Prelatorian Highway, the)

Jarden greets you with a sincere smile.

Sorry, guy.

A comfortable nook (indoors).
--- Area 478: The Brass Lantern Inn ---------
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--- A comfortable nook ---------- -16:2:0 ---
A small square space carved into the western wall of the tavern, this dark nook is a perfect spot 
for private conversation or for watching the constant activity in the rest of the main hall. The 
space is primarily occupied by a hazelwood table that can comfortably seat half a dozen at most, two 
to each side. Deep benches are set into the walls on three sides of the table, outfitted with worn 
but soft cushions. A cowled figure skulks about here. A sonic portal, edges vibrating madly, is here.
  Oathsworn Coran is here. He is surrounded by one reflection of himself.
You see a single exit leading east.

"Heh heh heh," Coran chuckles.

You poke at a sonic portal urgently.

Coran says with a deep Delosian accent, "Sent it to you."

Coran coughs softly.

"I was already here," Elowin explains.

Coran says with a deep Delosian accent, "Ready?"

You nod your head affirmatively.

Coran chuckles long and heartily.

Coran lays out a collection of inks.

Coran gathers his inks together in one hand.

Raising his hand to his mouth, Coran begins to gently blow the inks into the air.

The ink momentarily swirls above your torso and then begins to adhere.

Coran frowns in concentration, and the ink begins to shape itself into a moss.

As the moss tattoo's shape is codified on your torso and the last of the ink leaves the air, Coran 
pauses for a moment, an admiring look on his face.

You have no ox.

Fuck.

"Ummmm," you say uncertainly.

Looking over yourself, you see the following tattoos:
Body Part    Tattoo                    Charges  Active  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Head         a mindseye tattoo         32          Y
Torso        a moss tattoo             n/a         N
Left arm     a moss tattoo             n/a         Y
Right arm    a shield tattoo           46          N
Left leg     a boar tattoo             n/a         Y
Right leg    a tree tattoo             40          N
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Coran says with a deep Delosian accent, "Oo."

Coran says with a deep Delosian accent, "Erm."

You say, "I needed an ox...."

Coran says with a deep Delosian accent, "Wipe that off."

A moss tattoo fades from view and disappears.

Coran mutters discontentedly.

You chuckle long and heartily.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He is a frog-like grook. Large, towering over seven feet tall and three more across his chest, wiry 
muscles support the large bones of his frame, though hardly the masses his race is known for. His 
hair is shoulder-length, the coarse ebon strands tied together with a painted red leather thong near 
the base of his neck. Eyes the color of molten silver peer out of his features, with high cheekbones 
and a slender, short nose below them. His eyebrows match the color of his hair, though they appear 
to be slightly bushier and seem cringed with age. His skin is rough in patches, showing a weathered 
look. The mouth that completes his face is an ordinary one, though two small tusks protrude from 
either side to accompany the large, sharp-looking teeth.

He is wearing:
   a pair of Landstrider's boots
   a ring of pestilence

Containers:
   a trader's satchel

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Strange.

Coran lays out a collection of inks.

As the ox tattoo's shape is codified on your torso and the last of the ink leaves the air, Coran 
pauses for a moment, an admiring look on his face.

Coran says with a deep Delosian accent, "There you go."

Kind of squinting at Coran, Elowin asks, "Are you a Grook?"

Coran chuckles and nods, looking at himself. "Apparently I am, yes."

Elowin nods and rubs her new tattoo, breaking eye contact with Coran. "That was 
rude," she realizes. "Apologies."

Coran laughs off your apology, shaking his head as his eyes gleam mischeviously. "Not at all. I look 
more like a troll than I do a grook. Probably because I used to be a troll, would be my guess."

"You're. Tall," Elowin observes, swallowing whatever else she was going to say.

You mutter disconsolately, "...h." ("Yeah.")

This is why we don't talk to people.


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