“Don’t mention it.” Pookie said, holding up her flagon for her companion to clink with. “If nothing else, it beats the military gig you jus got clear of.”
“No question there.” Spyder nodded.
She took a long pull of her own drink, then set it on the table with a decisive thump.
“So, how do we go about looking for work?”
Pookie cocked her head in surprise.
“Why, exactly what we’re doing now. What did you think we were doing?”
“The same thing we’ve been doing for the last month.” Spyder shrugged. “Sitting around a tavern and drinking. Frankly I’ve been wondering when we were going to get started adventuring.”
Pookie held her hand over her eyes for a few long moments before responding.
“Look, dear,” she said finally, “remember what I was saying about us being pretty much criminals? Well, the old adage that ‘Crime does not pay’ is actually a shortened form of ‘Crime does not pay well.’ Well, in our line of work, that means that either you do a lot of little jobs…which ups the odds of something going wrong…or few big jobs and live on the proceeds between.”
“So what does that have to do with us sitting around a tavern?” Spyder frowned.
“I’m coming to that. Now there’s primarily two ways of finding work. Either we roam around and try to pick up a rumor or situation that takes our fancy, or we sit in one place and let the information come to us. Taverns in general are gold mines of information, and one’s like this that caters to dimension travelers of all types are prime places to hear about a specific caper.”
She glanced toward the door.
“Speaking of which, here comes a likely prospect now. Let me take the lead here.
Little sister.”
Spyder turned to follow Pookie’s gaze.
Just inside the door, steadying himself on the back of a chair, was a warrior.
His chain mail, helmet, and sword marked him as such, even though the body that was wearing it was rotund and hairy, topped with a head that sported a pig snout and tusks. Also noticeable was the fact that his left arm was in a sling and he moved with a noticeable limp.