View source for Hub2: How Ember and Mara Met

Ember perches invisibly on the dusty wooden chandelier, high above the crowd, safely out of harm's way.

Mara slouches into the Rusted Marlinspike, her enveloping black robe dripping misery and rainwater as she makes her way to an empty chair at a small table by the wall.  She coerces a waitress into bringing her a tankard of industrial-strength something and buries her face in her hands.

Ember flicks an olive. The olive flies straight into a man's eye, causing him to lose his balance and and tip his chair over backwards, dousing the patron next to him with the full contents of his mug. The chair pulls the rope tied to the barrel. The barrel, when it falls, knocks into the billiards table, ruining someone's shot. The ball comes flying off the table and right into the most desired (endowed) bar wench's cleavage. The wench, busy trying to fish the ball out of her bodice, trips over the man soaked in ale as he leaps sputtering and angry out of his seat. The wench's entire tray goes flying, coating that half of the floor in a lake of foam and shattered mugs. The billiards player steps back, placing his foot square in the puddle of foam. He slips, throws out his arms to try to catch himself, hits the chandelier with his cue and flings the resident criminal mastermind into a tankard on a passing tray. The unknowingly burdened waitress scuttles through the throng to deliver Mara's fey contaminated spirits.  The man whose turn it is in the Multi-Darts-of-Death tournament slips on the puddle of beer, flinging his darts wide. One goes through the chandelier extinguishing a candle, one lodges in the left butt cheek of the man soaked in beer, and the third bounces off a shield, pings a glass mug, and ricochets off the flying billiards ball before striking true on the exact bulls-eye of the target. 

There is a brief moment of stunned silence.

Within that moment the aggrieved eyes of the billiard-busted wench meet the enraged glance of the sodden dart-riddled sot.  They fall immediately and deeply in love.  And begin to immediately and deeply express this to each other.

An outcry cascades through the bar, as all of the patrons she has previously spurned erupt into an unthinking envious rage and attack all in sight with jealous fervor.

Mara, grieving and completely oblivious, picks up her tankard to drink.

"Please don't drink me!" 

A pair of brawlers crash through the next table.

A pause. The elf sighs.  "And now I'm hearing voices." she mumbles. Her look becomes yet more despairing as she resumes mobility of tankard to lips.

"I'm not just a voice. I'm not just a voice!" the beverage screams. There's a brief pause. "Crap. I'm just a voice aren't I." Suddenly, the dark faerie poofs into view stuck in the tankard. "See, now I'm not just a voice!"

There is a sickening crunch as someone is violently introduced to the polished mahogany bar.

Mara had heard about instances of despair driving people to insanity and hallucination.  She had hoped never to sink so low in the prime material.  Yet here was evidence to the contrary.  She closes her eyes and resumes attempting to drink from her protesting tankard.  Ember tries but she can't get out of the mug fast enough, "EEEEEE I promise I don't taste good!"  Ember flutters and struggles, wildly striving to get out of the tankard.  As a tiny foot smacks into her nose, Mara finally realizes something weird is actually going on.  She pauses. "You're real.  A fairy in my drink.  I'm not insane yet."

Unable to contain their fervor, the amourous couple takes shelter beneath Mara's table to quench their lust.

"I don't care whether you're sane or not, just don't drink me!"

A bar stool crashes to pieces on the wall above their heads.

"I really, really think we should leave now!" Mara considers the faerie in her drink and suddenly becomes aware of the violence taking place around them and the heaving beneath the table.  She pulls the creature out of her tankard. Finally liberated from the offending spirits, Ember shakes out her wings.

Gripping Ember, Mara dodges through the brawl and out into the balmy night.  

"Um, excuse me can we get this...Stuff.... off of me?"

Mara, at something of a loss,  glances from the faerie to the rain barrel by the door. 

Glass shatters at her feet as a man is thrown through the front window.

"NOT IN TH--"

Mara swiftly dunks Ember into the rain barrel, swishes her around and shakes her off.

The drunk stumbles to his feet and charges back into the bar.

Mara pulls up several folds of robe to dry her faerie off. Ember spreads her wings to dry. Suddenly, Mara notices the intricate patterns on Ember's wings. A spark of recognition lights up her eyes.  

"So, where are we going now?"

"Um, The Snail's Shell?"

Tucking the disheveled Ember into her hood, Mara strides forth with a new sense of purpose.