“RAIN!” Hem Slonnigum II shouted the word in dismay and frustration.

“Ain’t so bad now,” Blom replied. They were in the Ragged Maiden. Gilba Gilba shut itself down quite effective-like during the Autumn Storms. They got to be so fierce that any folk caught out in the peak of their ferocity was flirtin’ with a dangerous situation indeed. “Storm season gives us some time to focus on the interior of our lives.”

Hem had no CLUE what that meant so he just murmured and muttered his irritation at the natural phenomenon currently blowin’ its water all over the land. He didn’t like the Storms. Well, sometimes he did. Sometimes he didn’t. He was a three-dimensional character whose whims were often whimsical in their nature. Boys o’ his age often changed their minds and it was the job of the elder folk to pay attention and steer ‘em into a sorta well-rounded relationship with the world. Hem wasn’t gettin’ much o’ that from his proper da, Hem Slonnigum I, so he unconsciously sought that mentorship out in Blom. Blom didn’t mind. He hisself was such a character at that age. Not sayin’ I can deliver a scene worthy of this concept but it’s a rumination worth ruminatin’ on, ya understand.

The common room was warm and orange with the fire. The Growlin’ Grafters were over at Teevee’s for the time being. No sense heading out to the Wildness in this weather. Patrons were talkin’ and laughin’ and the Outland guests were enjoyin’ themselves. Hem was watching everyone interact. The Outlanders had that romantic look about them, full of adventure and weaponry and STORIES that were just practically fallin’ off them. He watched one guest, tall and attentive, wreathed in hard black leather and a savvy-lookin’ hood that blurred his ruddy features.

“Aye Crylax, get yerself another ale or somethin,” Blom called from behind the counter. “Makin’ me a mite uncomfortable with that hood now.”

“Blom you know I don’t go in for that sorta stuff,” replied the very man Hem had been lookin’ at.

“I run a sensible business and keep a jolly atmosphere, nobody here needs an old cloak like yourself pollutin’ our establish.” It was clear Blom knew the man. Crylax did not look like a man you said this sorta stuff to unless you knew him.

“In that case,” Crylax answered as he wandered out of the common room and up to the counter area bar zone place spot, “bring me Glen’s favorite beverage. Delivered by Glen himself.”

Blom’s face darkened and Hem wondered WHAT that was all about. “Glen’s been in ’n out these days. Can’t keep him around.”

Crylax said nothing, but then he said something. “Hope I can catch him. Think we need a little conversation, he and I. And you. And not this boy.” He turned his face right at Hem.

Fire spread up through Hem’s face as he realized with a shock that he’d been eavesdroppin’ without a bit o’ stealth.