diatu | There totally isn't a dragon here [OPEN]

Who: Spyro, Sparx, and you!
Where: The Backwater or around the Diatu campus
When: August
What: Quest! Or general catch-all stuff
Warnings: Probably not

A - All that Glistens

Man, it was definitely a lot easier to fit in with the public as a human than a dragon. Not that Spyro was making any effort to mask his identity from those who already knew him by name. And while there were still plenty of places and stores in Anastara the form wouldn’t get him into, there wasn’t the worry of his kind’s reputation to constantly upkeep.

The Night Shift was great, just as incredibly accommodating for his tastes as he remembered despite the good ol’ rough and tumble atmosphere. But eventually, his wandering about in the city’s Third Ring brought him to The Backwater.

It's a natural place for anyone including Valhudor students to flock to test their performing chops apparently. The shapeshifted dragon would certainly keep that in mind as he poked his nose into a chat with one of the disgruntled staff waiting to start their shift.

”... More milk and eggs than we know what to do with! Any day now someone’s going to hand in an entire cow to cover their tab!”

“Or maybe a few sheep?” Spyro couldn’t help a grin at either the idea of a decent shank of mutton or sheep tossing, but regardless his dragonfly partner was just as quick to bump him on the noggin. “Hey!”

”Oh I hope they find that-” A very explicit insult. “-who caused this mess!” A different stranger cut in. ”All of my tips were in butter and goat cheese last night!”

Spyro put up a cl- hand to his chin in thought. The problem didn’t sound too hard to solve. Rogue wizards? Nothing his original dragon form couldn’t handle! “Huh… well maybe I’ll do it!”

The two coworkers peered down at him in disbelief, but then scoffed. One of them muttered a bit of insincere good luck to him at the task before they both left to reluctantly walk into the tavern for work, but that wasn’t going to budge Spyro’s confidence. The dragon-turned-human merely turned away from the entrance and shifted his gaze toward the insect hovering next to him.

“Well Sparx, I guess the first thing we gotta do is figure out how to find our wizard!”

B - Changing Room

But regardless of his noble quest being up on the task board, there’s still classes to take, notes to study, and magic to practice. In the mornings is a human walking out from Suite 132, while in the evenings it’s everyone’s favorite purple dragon.

Interesting.

Wildcard!
Got something else in mind? Come at me!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Tenn both shook his head and hid a smile behind one hand. It was amazing enough seeing people transformed behind makeup, but this was on another level.

"I'm glad." He meant it; he did worry about the little dragon. But with this... yes, investigating should be much easier.

"If you do go to the docks, try to find out the exact date and time this started. That may give us some indication of whether the culprit is a student at the local academies." Because it seemed like a student prank... but Tenn wasn't willing to bet on that just yet. He added under his breath. "Also... around that time, ask if there was anyone humiliated at the tavern."

Tenn was from the entertainment industry; petty grudges were a thing.

The Backwater itself is, perhaps not surprisingly, less busy than normal. Not less crowded, but certainly less musical, as the normal notes of song and instrument are replaced by clucking chickens, oinking pigs, and one plaintive cow that keeps trying to graze on the wainscotting. All of which have the glow of magic about them, for one willing to look, though what sort may take a greater effort to piece together.

"It started last Open Stage Night," the barkeep mutters, all the while polishing eggs because the mugs are all full of them. "And it's gotten worse since. I'll bet it's one of your kind who got booed off, we had half a dozen take the usual vegetables to the face! Really ought to consider not providing those, but it's a huge part of the appeal..."

Down by the docks, a man who looks like he ought to be drunk, and isn't, sits on a coil of rope and pats down his pockets with the air of one who's done this a hundred times without success. "Don't s'pose you have an egg I could buy?" he asks as Spyro approaches.

Tenn is not going to comment on that. The business deserves to take a hit if they are going to encourage humiliating performers. Though this is an extreme case of it. The spell on the animals is something he’d rather tackle with help, so Tenn takes another approach for now.

"I see. Might there be a list of those who performed on last Open Stage Night that I could see?"

If the barkeep seems hesitant, Tenn turns on the ~~Lv. 50 Fame~~ idol charm. "It is troublesome if one of my classmates acts out, you know? Performing here will be difficult if this place continues to turn into a barn."

This kid sure is judgey for a person who attends a school run by that Birony lady. He's heard stories, and lots of them!

"I get ya," he says, waving a chicken to fend off that charm assault. It works, because being charmed is difficult when you are waving a chicken. "But we only know the ones folks like. No one cares who's bad, ya know? But maybe someone here'll remember the look of one of the bad ones."

What a fowl diversion! But possibly useful for the future. He'll remember that.

It’s unfortunate they don't keep a sign-in list, but Tenn can understand the reasoning behind it. If performers are putting themselves at risk of vegetables to the face, he can sympathize with the reluctance. As it sounds like there are many of those on a regular basis, he’ll need to find someone who comes here fairly often and has a good memory for voices.

"In that case, could you point me to someone who comes here for open nights regularly?"

(But if Barkeep NPC has run out of dialogue, assume Tenn takes a seat in a central location and listens for any snatches of relevant conversation to get a feel for who might be open to talking. And he'd keep a look out for anyone he might know from Melody's, since that’s where he does most of his related socializing.)

A few helpful souls immediately crowd Tenn, and soon enough engage in a conversation he can easily steer towards the open night performers and the worst of the worst. They're eager to tell more than a few tales, all of which Tenn can remember and only one of which may prove relevant in the long run once he meets up with his partner: a wizard named Gary Hartson, who fancies himself a singer and comports himself as an oaf at best. A lot of people vow to get them all, the patrons relate, but he had that particularly wild look of a man who just might consider it.

"Nope, no eggs on me," Spyro replied. Not this time certainly. His dragonfly 'familiar' buzzed something in the kid's ear, which made him frown at first before nodding. "But I've heard that curse takes anything from any farm animal."

With a simple flourish of his fingers, Spyro called on that silly bit of magic to produce a sea salt ice cream pop from.

"Do you think ice cream counts?" he asked before sticking the treat in his mouth. "No money needed, just info on whoever swore revenge on the place."

The only other product he has to offer is spitting up perfectly whole slices of bacon, but even the shapeshifted dragon doesn't want to attempt it in this form, let alone walk around with the knowledge of someone else having consumed it.

"Ugh," says the dock worker, who has never really gotten the appeal of sea salt ice cream. He's a mint chocolate chip man himself, and will swear not only by the flavor, but by the texture as well! The crunch of chips against the smoothness of the ice cream, that's heaven.

But he also really, really wants an ale. "Can't hurt to try. Not sure I can help you, though. "There's always a guy or two who storms off, vowing revenge on the folks who didn't 'preciate his singing quite as much as he'd like. Most of 'em are all talk. The rest just come back in disguise and try again."

As someone with a sweeter tooth than for ice cream that isn't based entirely around salt, Spyro would agree. He conjures a new one and simply hands that over. The guy can figure out how to keep it from melting too much, surely.

"Funny, you'd think they'd stand out... but thanks anyway," he said.

(Spyro is going to keep walking about, questioning more nearby folks, stopping at maybe a handful or so. Who knew a silly power would come in handy for the more unexpected chance of a bribe in the world.)

No one seems to quite remember one specific face or being who they could pin the troubles on, but a pattern soon begins to emerge: a red-robed man, slightly portly, by the name of Harrison or Garrison or Gary's Son or somesuch. He'd been a vociferous complainant, when his efforts to sing a Maladrine composition had fallen flatter than his voice in said efforts. No definitive proof, but sometimes you go with the lead you have, yes?

There totally isn't a dragon here [OPEN]

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> talk to barkeep

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> dock worker

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