After the clamour of the Mermaid and the grandeur of the Flagon, returning to the Fuzzy Bunny is a little like coming home again. The Bunny is quiet, it's cozy, it's comfortable, and most of all, it's safe. No one here looking to rob a purse or shank a mark. The clientèle of the Bunny are not just customers, they are friends. They are family.

The group that enters are greeted like long lost cousins. Two pretty young waitresses (including the one that gifted Tyrone with her favour the other day) greet them immediately, offering to take their heavy gear and get them drinks. The barkeep gives a surly, but inviting, nod from the bar before returning to his work, and Lucian, lord and master of his domain, greets them with an enthusiastic wave and an impromptu round of applause as they step through the door.

"Well done, friends, well done! I hope you don't mind that I had a few eyes watching the affair. A bit messy, but the message was delivered and the task completed, just as I asked." As he rises, a frown comes over his face, and he ushers the group to sit at his table, where a splendid lunch has been arrayed. "But you took so long in returning, I feared something had run afoul. All is well, I pray?"

"The boys were sheepish about all coming back, for some reason, so I had to take the roundabout route to 'throw off pursuit' as it were. As if anyone would ever want not to return to such a place as fine as this."

Tyrone's grin is expansive.

"We found slavers, we killed some, others will think better than to return to their former occupation 'ere they feel the wrath of Bolor, and the clientele of the Mermaid likely think us all madmen. We also found this slave. Who is blind. And possibly a priest.

"We thought it would be cruel to leave him."

"And there was my shoulder." adds Albert. "Much better now, but it did cause a delay." He clambers up into a chair. "I know we walloped their muscle, but I wasn't sure if we'd got the leaders. We did find a key, presumably to wherever the people were being held, but we're not sure where the matching door is."

Bolor hands over the documents he'd recovered as well.

"We didn't finish the job. Those fools were just the muscle, like Al said, but we didn't have a clue as to where to go next so here we are."

The dwarf looks uncomfortable admitting this.

"I'd rather have taken care of everything before returning. Sorry, boss."

Lucian takes a moment to absorb the news. At Bolor's proclamation, he shakes his head and grins. "Nonsense!" Taking the paper, he positively beams. "I asked you to go eliminate a gang of slavers, which you did admirably - the leader of the group was a petty thug called Mad Dog, whom my reports state was one of the first you felled." He waves the hand with the paper vaguely. "I figured there had to be some slaves unsold held somewhere, but never expected you to uncover them. But you've given me some excellent clues, which gives them a much better chance than they would have had otherwise."

He waves over one of his guards, who takes the paper and key after a short whispered conversation. He turns back to the group as the guard pulls a hood over his head and leaves the Bunny by way of a back entrance. Lucian is all smiles. "Leave the detective work to the detectives, yes? You did just as I asked, and more! I had a feeling I could count on you, and you have not let me down."

He waves towards the feast at the table. "Please, eat! You must be hungry after your ordeal." He returns to his seat and leans across the table, resting on his palms. "Now, I've had some reports, but nothing first-hand, from the heroes themselves. Tell me how it went."

Tyrone turns so he can catch the eyes of his audience. In his mind's eye Lucian is a Prince in a den of (noble) thieves, surrounded by his harem and bandits; a Lord in a Hall attended by Ladies and Courtiers, and Tyrone is weaving a tale for them all.

From the altercation in the alleyway ("we couldn't even get across the street without getting into trouble!") into the Mermaid ("We'd still be sitting there, arguing how to start the fight if it hadn't started for us!") not ignoring his own heroics ("So I dropped a chandelier on them. It works in stories.") or the others ("When a snake that big appears, you don't stop to think 'now wait a moment, there wasn't a twenty foot snake there a second ago'.")

Tyrone finishes with a flourish, mops his brow, and winks at his favorite serving girl to bring him a cool drink.

"Thanks, boss."

Bolor takes a seat, accepts a drink and listens with half an ear to the human's story. Thinking back over the fight, he'd done as best he could with what he'd been given, but it had still been as mess. He'd have been in trouble if not for the little magic-man. He'd have to watch that one though, Al had a depressing tendency to believe in the innate reasonableness of others. That tended to get a dwarf stabbed.

With a sigh, Bolor finishes his ale and leans back in the chair, waiting for what comes next.

Albert manages to finish a fair meal and plenty of liquid while listening to Tyrone's story; he's recently had breakfast, but he's also still a little weak from blood loss and his body's just finishing off replenishing that important supply. He interrupts only once or twice to correct details ('a five foot snake. Well, five foot and four inches, to be precise.') if Tyrone exaggerates something too far.

Getting the leaders, given that they hadn't known the leaders were there, had been an unexpected bonus indeed. Still, Albert was hardly likely to complain when luck worked in his favour... and it did seem to have worked out well. Even his shoulder felt wonderfully healed, thanks to the doctor and the blind elf; yesterday evening, he certainly hadn't expected to be feeling this good by this morning.

Hearing the greetings of the waitresses, Guai bows and says, "Hello ladies, may I touch your face?"

SPIRIT - Talent: Difficulty 6 (Impress a Friendly Crowd). Roll: 8. Aspect: 2. Total: 10. Success!

Tyrone's story is met with a resounding round of applause, the loudest coming from Lucian himself. Observant eyes (mostly Tyrone's) might note the elf in the corner who seems to be taking notes, but most of the crowd sat or stood in silence as the tale was delivered. At Tyrone's bow-and-wink, his waitress flushes, then hurries to fetch a drink helpfully cooled by one of the students of the University before being delivered.

"A masterful tale, my friend, and well-told," praises Lucian, leaning back in his chair. "Truly, my informants did you a great disservice to leave out such heroic detail. Well done, all."

Guai makes his inquiry of a pretty elf waitress that has been waiting upon him - probably the loveliest waitress the Bunny has, if you like elves. She demurely accepts his request, but Tyrone notices that same note-taking elf paying especial attention to the exchange. He is soon distracted by Lucian speaking again, however.

"You have done just as I asked, and more, proving I was right to trust you. You have earned your pay and your rest, though I fear it must be short-lived. There is still much work to be done." He motions towards the feast, which has had a healthy dent put into it during Tyrone's story. "But we can speak of what is to come once you have finished. Please, have your fill, on the house. When you are done, I shall tell you would I would have you do next."

Tyrone smiles and nods at Lucian, and then says without betraying his words with a change of expression.

"There is an elf who is recording everything that goes on in the corner. I am afraid our use as operatives without portfolio may have come to an end."

Tyrone swivels a bit of cutlery on the table so it is pointing at the elf, and then gets up and walks away to the feast, adding to his already padded frame.

Lucian follows Tyrone's gesture with apprehension, but when he spies the elf, he merely laughs, shaking his head. "Oh no, no. That is not a spy. I'd trust the Thieves' spies to have a little more tact." Lucian rises and waves a hand to motion the elf over towards his table. "Ellanias, do stop being such a nuisance and greet your subjects openly. I'm sure they'll be happy to have their lives chronicled as you have chronicled the Trio."

Albert knows the name Ellanias instantly. He's famous in the University; most of the underclassmen are avid fans of his work: the graphic novelization of the exploits of the Trio. It was Ellanias that coined the names for the members of the Trio: Zandar, the Golden Dragon; Kamal, the Angel of Death; and Akbar, the One Man Army, for those were the titles of the three eponymous works that brought Ellanias his fame (and fortune.)

Ellanias approaches the group, but his first words are for Guai, as he draws the waitress's face away from the blind man's touch. "Keep your hands off my sister, buddy."

"Ellanias?" Albert asks, surprised. "The Ellenias?" He had never - never - expected to meet this master storyteller personally!

The dwarf had sunken into a black mood, ignoring the goings on as he drinks another beer and pokes at the remains of his meal. These moods fell on him occasionally, so he did what he usually did and calls for a refill.

Ellanias looks up at the adulation - he was not yet rich and famous enough that it had become blasé. A smile erupts over his features and he makes his way to Albert, grasping one of the gnome's tiny hands in both of his and giving it a mighty shake. "Hello, hello! Always nice to meet a fan."

Bolor is brought a new drink with little fanfare.