After some time to get reacquainted with the Buckle staff, Tori asks for the tour. She takes a closer look at the additions to the inn, and marks silently the alternate means of egress she's informed of. She is plain faced and plain spoken, but does not need to be shown anything twice.
As the change in the heavens becomes more and more the topic of conversation, she glances to the gambling tables and asks to be kept apprised of any change in overall trends of luck, particularly of the professed Deliarites. She defers to Melody and Edward to treat with those getting out of hand with their opinions and pronouncements of doom, but notes those that affect the patrons and gain support rather than scorn.
Should the unlikely occur and her opinion is asked, she will shrug and remind that "some folk allays lookin' for reasons to drown, an' 'em what decidin' only trouble comin' get what they askin' for." She keeps to herself, but when prodded only says that the gods are always up to something or another, and people should take it as a favor that they've made any sign at all - and that the only disaster that is certain is the one that comes when people abandon their trades, fields, homes, families, because of the view that's changed while they're sleeping.
"Ain't nobody e'er payin' any mind to 'em folk beggin' coppers an' sleepin' off they drink 'til noon, 'til workin' sorts got somethin' to be afeared about. Try for copper charity an' folk kickin' you out the road. Start sellin' fear an' folk go linin' up to bury you in silver."
In the meantime, she requests a meeting in private with Miz Elly to discuss the specifics of the inn's wards.
((I will simply update this thread when Tori is working on something here, to avoid forum spam ))
It is Oclar 23rd, and Tori appears to those who've an eye for such things to be both extremely hungover and moving gingerly in her breastplate. While her face is beat up some, it's hard to tell if her nose was broken since it's already been a few times before... Though she was not previously known for drink, she does not curse, or moan, or stagger, but is particularly grim and tight-lipped. After returning through the back door without her crossbow, she mostly keeps out of sight to avoid interacting with any patrons, one or two of which may be bar-hoppers who might gossip about a fight that broke out at another tavern the night before.
"Fugitives? Well, petty crimes are petty. I am inclined to let them be so long as they behave." The Red Bard stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankles. The water in his office fountain sings a melody of patient erosion, and his shoulders relax at the familiar sound. "I'm glad you're still here, Tori. Some of the others are not so understanding about my, errr, holiday. Can you give me a pulse on the Buckle's clientele these days? How is Mariner's holding up?"