A few days had certainly done wonders for Lett's coin purse, though perhaps not for his general level of decorum. Devros's gold had been pleasantly heavy, funding a string of delightful, if brief, indulgences – a particularly potent vintage of Chelish wine he'd "liberated" from a snooty merchant, a new ribbon for his lute (bright purple, very fetching), and a rather memorable evening with a pair of acrobatic twins who worked at a dockside carnival. He was, however, starting to run low again. The Puddles rumour mill had been churning about "One-Eyed" Maeve's sudden… absence, and the name Silas Scab kept popping up as the halfling who knew how to profit from such vacuums. Opportunity, Lett figured, rarely knocked twice, especially not when it smelled like easy coin.   He swaggered into the Rusty Mug Tavern, the familiar fug of stale ale, cheap tobacco, and unwashed bodies a comforting aroma. His lute was slung jauntily over his shoulder, his baggy trousers were artfully stained, and his chest displayed its usual constellation of freckles. He was humming a slightly off-key, very bawdy tune about a barmaid and a surprisingly flexible gnome when his eyes, habitually scanning for marks, entertainment, or trouble, landed on a figure at the bar.   Pale. Human. Cloaked. Talking to the bartender. Boring.   Lett was about to dismiss them and seek out this "Scab" fellow when a faint, familiar scent drifted past his nose, cutting through the tavern's miasma. Mint? His humming faltered. He took a more deliberate sniff. Definitely mint. And there was something about the way the figure stood, a certain… rigidity even in a relaxed pose. And those eyes, even if they weren't the full, piercing gold he remembered, had a certain intensity…   A slow, incredulous grin spread across Lett's face. No. It couldn't be.   He sauntered over, his feet making little sound on the grimy floorboards. He leaned casually against the bar next to the disguised figure, close enough for his shoulder to brush theirs if they shifted.   "Well, well, well," Lett purred, his voice laced with amusement and just a hint of something else. He didn't look directly at Devros's face, instead inspecting the newcomer from the side with an exaggerated air of appraisal. "Fancy meeting you in a place like this, Sunshine. Or should I say… Moonbeam, given the new pallor? Trying out a new look for your adoring fans?"   He let his gaze flick up to Devros's face, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Didn't take you for the type to slum it in the Puddles, especially after our… memorable evening. Hope you're not missing anything too important. Say," he feigned sudden realization, tapping a finger to his chin, "you wouldn't also be here to meet a 'Scab,' would you? Because that would be a hilarious coincidence."   His eyes sparkled with mischief, daring Devros to deny it, or better yet, react to the implied theft and the unexpected reunion. This was shaping up to be far more interesting than he'd initially thought.

Opportunity rarely came knocking for Devros, usually he was found stumbling into it and then trying to claw his way out. So when the door opened of his left, his gaze flickered only briefly before noticing no one there, assuming someone had left instead. And yet, he could already hear a soft tune playing, teasing his ears... His scowl twitched, a slight grit of his teeth as it certainly sounded familiar... before hearing the "Well, well well,". A small glance to the side as he took a good, hard look at Lett...   Then came the glare. The wordless look down at the man as Lett didn't need to be a genius to see what Devros thought of him. A slight jostle of the man's cloak, and his hand was already on the handle of his estoc, ready to pull the blade free as a bit of steely glint could actually be seen reflecting candlelight. Here in the Puddles, a festering submerged district of criminals and addicts, no one would look twice if a halfling disappeared... People disappeared all the time before their bloated bodies rose to the surface of the waters...   But suddenly the arm tensed, as though something was preventing it from moving. Devros grinding his teeth a bit... before his other hand shot out towards Lett. The sharp speed easily allowing the human hand to wrap around Lett's neck before being squeezed. The halfling suddenly lifted into the air with one arm, held with dangling feet over the nearby stool before Devros asked in a cool, calm voice, that certainly didn't sound like he was looking for an excuse to rip the halfling's throat.   "Now... you have one chance to give me a good reason why I shouldn't toss you into the Brine missing half your fingers..." He spoke in something of a growl, trying to remain civil, tightening his grasp around Lett's neck as he continued, "It was my mistake in placing trust in you... that will not happen again..."

Lett's feet left the floor with a sudden jolt, the world tilting as Devros's hand – now decidedly human-looking but no less powerful – clamped around his throat. For a split second, surprise flickered in his hazel eyes. Then, almost immediately, it was replaced by a familiar, reckless thrill. His breath hitched, a strangled little sound escaping him, but the grin that stretched his lips was anything but fearful. If anything, it widened, a bright, infuriating slash of amusement.   "My, my," Lett rasped out, his voice tight from the pressure but still managing a teasing lilt. His hands instinctively went to Devros's wrist, not so much to pry the fingers loose as to steady himself, his own touch surprisingly light. He dangled there, kicking his bare feet idly, a parody of relaxation. "Strong hands, Sunshine. Did you miss me that much? I didn't realize our parting left such a... gripping impression."   He met Devros's furious, golden glare with an unwavering, cheeky gaze of his own. The threat of being tossed into the Brine missing fingers barely registered beyond a fleeting thought of how inconvenient it would be for his lute playing.   "Fingers?" he choked out, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. "Darling, I need those. For my lute... among other, more... intimate performances. You wouldn't want to deprive the world – or yourself, should the mood strike again – of such talents, would you?"   At Devros's growled words about misplaced trust, Lett's smirk somehow deepened. "Trust? Oh honey, that's a four-letter word I rarely use. I thought we had a perfectly clear... transaction. You got your memorable evening, I got a... souvenir. Seemed like a fair exchange for services rendered, wouldn't you say?" He even had the audacity to wink, or at least attempt a one-eyed blink given the circumstances.   He gave a little swing with his legs, as much as the grip allowed. "Look," he continued, his voice still strained but losing none of its infuriating cheerfulness. "As much as I'm... enjoying... this rather... elevated perspective and the personal attention, aren't we both here for the same Scab? Talk about fate, or at least incredibly poor taste in informants, bringing us together again! Killing me now would be terribly inconvenient for your little underworld dealings, don't you think? Unless you fancy explaining to this 'Scab' why his other appointment is currently decorating the bottom of a canal."   He tried to crane his neck just enough to give Devros what he probably imagined was a charming, conspiratorial look. "How about this: you put me down, we hear what this Scab has to offer, and then you can decide on the appropriate level of dismemberment? Maybe we can even... collaborate. Two heads are better than one, even if one of them is currently feeling a bit... compressed. Besides," his voice dropped to a breathy, suggestive rasp, "making up can be so much fun..."

"Transactions... involve both parties being aware of the deal being made." Devros said, his eyes narrowing it a bit more as clearly the halfling was thinking with the wrong head. Though... at the mention of Scab, he couldn't help but to be... a little conflicted... He was pretty sure that if he stabbed Lett, he wouldn't be able to get out his gold... or anything else really. The point was made, but the message didn't come across well enough for Devros's taste though.   He gave another scowl before glancing behind Lett, a small idea forming in his head before reaching out to Lett with his other hand. This time, grabbing Lett's lute before pulling it off the halfling before releasing the bard's throat, letting him drop unceremoniously to the ground as he held the lute. "You are right about one thing." Devros said, slinging the tiny lute around his shoulder so that he could hold it securely, "It would be inconvenient to make a scene right before meeting an informant..."   His eyes narrowed again, almost looking its devilish self for a moment before returning to the normal human gaze. "But... I'll be holding onto this insurance until I receive my gold from you. Until then..." He glanced back to the bartender, seeing if he'd direct Devros to Scab, or if he had to go find him himself....

Lett hit the floor with an undignified thump, landing more on his backside than his feet. He let out an "Oof!" more from surprise than actual pain, scrambling back a half-step on instinct before realizing Devros wasn't actively trying to throttle him anymore. He rubbed his throat, a theatrical grimace on his face, though the sparkle in his eyes hadn't dimmed in the slightest.   "Well!" he declared, brushing imaginary dust off his already grimy trousers. "That was... invigorating. A bit rough on the vocal cords, but you certainly know how to make an entrance... or a re-entrance, as it were."   Then, his eyes zeroed in on his lute, now slung incongruously over Devros's much larger frame. His jaw dropped. The playful smirk vanished, replaced by a look of genuine, almost comical horror.   "Hey! Whoa there, Sunshine! Hold on just a Desnan minute!" Lett scrambled to his feet, his earlier nonchalance evaporating. "The gold, fine, we can discuss recompense for your... generosity. But Bartholomew?" He gestured wildly at the lute. "He's an innocent party in all this! He's sensitive! He doesn't like being manhandled by anyone but me! And you're holding him hostage? That's... that's lute-napping! It's barbaric!"   He took a step closer, then seemed to think better of it, eyeing Devros's still-tense posture. The comment about him "thinking with the wrong head" clearly hadn't gone unnoticed.   "And for the record," Lett said, puffing out his chest slightly, though the effect was somewhat diminished by his stature, "I happen to think with all my heads quite effectively, thank you very much. They all tend to agree on what's enjoyable." He shot Devros a pointed, suggestive look.   He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his messy hair. "Alright, alright, point taken. Insurance. Clever." He forced a slightly strained smile. "Bartholomew and I will consider ourselves... under your protective custody until financial matters are resolved. But you better treat him right! He prefers silk linings, not... well, whatever that cloak is made of. And he gets nervous around sudden loud noises, unless they're applause... or other specific, rhythmic sounds, if you catch my drift."   He looked past Devros towards the bartender, then back at the disguised Tiefling. "So, are we going to find this Scab, or are you just going to stand there looking intimidating with my pride and joy strapped to your back? Because as much as the 'strong, silent type holding my instrument' has a certain... rugged appeal, I'm actually here for business. And to get Bartholomew back into my capable hands, where he belongs." He grinned, the full force of his audacious charm attempting to resurface, despite the very real threat to his most prized possession. "Perhaps we can even... collaborate... on recovering those funds for you? Think of it as a team-building exercise."

Devros continued to glare down at Lett as he was on the ground, scrambling back up as he kept a nice, firm grip on his hand... He might have wished he had a gauntlet for a moment like this... but a regular punch would be more than enough in his opinion... Before just rolling his eyes in the end as he said "Yea... and Bartholomew here is insurance... Because if you don't pay me back, you'll be learning to serenade with a kazoo next time you meet something."   He gave a small grumble before reaching under his cloak, pulling out a small handful of copper to purchase himself some ale. Keeping his gaze on the bartender before accepting and sipping his drink. He didn't reply to the... innuendos or by Bartholomew's strict treatment... He might use the lute as a makeshift club if he was ever unarmed. But even so his gaze did flicker to Lett's request, giving something of a sigh before saying "If anything I'm expecting Scab to approach us rather than us finding him. Last thing you'd want to do is to spook a man already on edge. And with him as our employer or closest thing to one, best course of action is to wait."   He goes back to drinking his ale, turning around to lean against the bar counter as he continues to sip his ale slowly as he inspects the room. "Though, depending on the job, we might have to go about things a different way... But we'll see what it is in the end..."