“Ant?” Hisses TT through clenched teeth as she takes cover behind your leg, “Got a plan?”

Something like that! No more running away, especially not from a source of passive income! Squaring your stance and clearing your throat, you prepare to address your adoring public!

“... Ya gonna tell me the plan, or ar-NYAAH~”

Gently placing your hand over Tzah-Tzie’s mouth, you take a deep breath… close your eyes…

“eeeyyy lookit me i’m anton peas and im goin outside here i go hehehe”

A hush falls over the tavern as your would-be bar brawlers’s eyes hop from your spot in the rafters over to the door!

“Oi,” one of them mutters, breaking the silence, “Who said that?”

“Anton Peas, apparently…” Answers another patron mid-wringing another’s neck!

“Whozat?”

Beads of sweat trickle down your brow as you struggle to remain still with your eyes shut… w-will they buy it!?

… quit licking my hand, TT…

“KNOW WHAT I FINK!?” Snarls the one-eyed Mox from earlier! “I FINK DIS’ ANTON BLOKE’S DA’ ONE WE’RE AFTER! AN’ KNOW WHAT ELSE I FINK!?”

“Tell us, Lobi!”
“Yee! Tell us!”

“I FINK… WE OUGHTA’ GO AFTER ‘IM!” Leaping atop a table, the Mox’s eye sweeps the crowd! “OO’S WIF’ ME!?”

The bar erupts in cheers as the mob kicks open the door and rushes off into the night, hootin’ and hollerin’ all the way! Their jeers and cheers fading into the distance, Inngo takes the opportunity to hurl a ball of brawlers through one of the many holes in the wall before turning to address the remaining patrons!

“Anyone ELSE wanna fight?”

The tavern is quiet as the grave-

“Errr, not tryin’ ta’ stir nuffin’ up,” Squeaks a Durher as he shoots an uncertain glance at his fuzzy friend, “But if we DO wanna keep fighting can we jus’ take it outside?”

The innkeeper lets the question simmer for a moment.

“... Aye. Jus’ don’t muss up the inn.”

High-fiving his fellow furball, the Durher and several other patrons vacate the premises as well, punctuating their exit with the sound of renewed combat outside! Wiping the sweat from your brow and the saliva from your hand, you hop down from the rafters and land next to your pals!

Well, you sigh, that could have been worse, huh?

“Huh?”
“Who’re you?”

Errr, you stammer, V-Volka? Morook?

“Nah,” Coughs the Skog, “I’m Mokka.”
“I’m Vorook.” Adds her Chytree pal.

Whoops, sorry! Three or four faux pas later, you finally track down your friends over by the now-vacated bar counter!

>CONTD.