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Post by Alerick Brenthor on Dec 12, 2010 11:36:32 GMT -5
Rules: 1. Open for absolutely ANYONE who wants to join. 2. Keep to some sort of posting order I suppose. 3. If someone doesn't post for a long time, we'll skip them to keep things moving.
Plot: There's no real plot or anything... Just: Brenthor and Lysand go for a drink.
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He didn't wander the city often. He saw no need to really. After all, everything he needed was right there in the castle. Yet he decided that it was somewhat refreshing to be free of the place. If only because the eyes of the guards weren't constantly trained on him here, despite his present company.
Brenthor entered the Dragon's Keep, his eyes sweeping the patrons for a moment. He felt a faint air of disdain; such commoners frequented this place! Yet he still entered, heading for an empty table and sitting himself down. He certainly needed the alcohol after the day he had.
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Post by Tobias Lysand on Dec 12, 2010 11:43:20 GMT -5
A Brenthor and a Lysand walked into the tavern...
It sounded like the start of a joke. Lysand's lips twitched slightly in amusement at the thought as he followed the ambassador warily into the tavern. There was an air of caution surrounding him that he couldn't quite suppress; being out of the castle made him slightly nervous. After all, the last time he had left he ended up bound and gagged in the back alley somewhere. A shudder worked its way up his spine at the thought, and he shifted unhappily. Well, he needed to push past that. He couldn't stay locked up in the castle forever, after all...
Still, maybe he should have tried leaving the castle first with Banez. Oh God. Banez.
The guard captain was going to kill him for this. In fact, he half expected him to burst through the door right now and demand what he was dong. With another wary glance to the door, he made his way to the table Brenthor was sitting at, taking a seat next to him.
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Post by Lumikki Piirka on Dec 12, 2010 20:48:02 GMT -5
Not too long after the two politicians entered, a girl opened the door to the tavern. Which actually might have been a bad move, because she was almost instantly repelled by the sheer smell of the place: alcohol, sweat, more alcohol, and.. something sweet, whatever. She let out a single coughing gag before she seemed to get used to the odors enough to step in.
The wood under her bare feet felt rough and grainy, and the coffin grinding against it probably didn't help with its quality. She sauntered over to a small free table at such a pace that the coffin drifted behind her with just one long SCRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPEEE until she sat down and jerked the coffin closer to her with a short tug of the chain. She rested one foot on the stain-designed lid of the coffin, as if it would further trap the thing inside, which smelled sickly sweet to those with supernatural senses. With that taken care of, she pushed back her orange mess of hair and looked around for a bartender. River water was starting to get really dull at this point!
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Post by Malcolm Selder on Dec 13, 2010 7:22:14 GMT -5
Malcolm liked the way tonight was looking. Just a moment ago, two stuffy-looking types had strolled on in, one possibly...fairly...definitely more heavyset than the other, and they had both taken a seat at the same table. From that, Malcolm felt like he could reach a few conclusions.
Their stuffy air hinted that they were at least a little ‘better’ than the commoner’s crowd, ‘better’ being a sense of money, which was always good. At the very least the big one should be well off, and the nervous guy might be frantically polite enough to leave a good tip.
Unfortunately, he hardly got to take one step towards the two before an enormous scraping, shrieking noise assaulted his ears. He immediately turned to the door; fortunately, the source of the racket wasn’t hard to find. Some nutcase dragging a coffin around like a pet. (Did coffins need to be walked? Probably not.) Malcolm was almost as curious as he was angry.
The stuffies could wait. As the crowd’s stunned silence turned into murmurs and then a crescendo up to normal volume, Malcolm pushed his way through and over to the oddball’s table.
“Hello, what the hell did you just drag into my bar?” He paused, noticing that he was a moment to late on thinking before he spoke. But what was said was said, she he ignored it and added, “Also, could I get you a drink?”
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Post by Fabala Moonlance on Dec 13, 2010 8:42:20 GMT -5
Shortly after the werecat and the coffin she toted around passed through the door, another figure decided to make an entrance. Mandolin slung over her back as usual, Fabala approached a table alongside the two well-dressed males and plopped down into the empty chair, her small satchel falling onto the floor beside her. She was a bit out of sorts today, having made less than usual. Plus, it was cloudy. She hated playing when it looked so dreary outside, especially when it looked like rain. It was just so...depressing.
Reaching into her satchel to locate a few coins for a cider, she randomly scooped up some of the pieces and began to count them out. When she got to one particular coin, her finger froze over it.
The gold coin Teir had given her...
Fabala sighed and returned the golden piece to the bag, knowing she wouldn't need that much for a simple cider. She wanted to save that for something important...plus, the seemingly meaningless token of appreciation held some value to her, for whatever reason...it reminded her of the fact that she wasn't the only one suffering. She only hoped he would stay strong...
She noticed the bartender taking the order of a woman with a...wait, was that a coffin? Fabala's eyes widened slightly at the oddity, but steeled herself so she would not offend the one whom she assumed owned it. She simply decided to wait her turn...besides, everyone had their little quirks to them.
Fabala only wondered why this person's was a coffin, of all things!
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Post by Travis Huntman on Dec 13, 2010 9:20:58 GMT -5
Upstairs, Travis was finalizing all the equipment he needed for his search. The bowstring on his bow was tight, his hand-crafted arrows were all in his quiver, his blades were sharpen, and had enough coins to get around and back. The ranger wasn't going to miss this place, and for sure as well he wasn't going to miss Malcolm. While his duty was to search the assassin, he figure he'll meet up with Draven and search for his brother. Maybe he had some sort of information on her, or knows a person who knows her. Either way, it was nice that he was going to hit the road once again.
After strapping his equipment on and putting on his cloak, he walked out of his room and went downstairs. The bar was crowded as it usually was. And wouldn't you know it, Brenthor was there (thought he would drink at a higher established pub), and he was drinking with...Lysand? Well, that was strange, hell even stranger than the woman with the coffin. From what the ranger was told, they were worst enemies, yet here they are causally drinking. He was really hoping that they didn't see him.
Making his exit, he was really hoping he didn't make any contact with Malcolm or Brenthor. But as he walked along, he couldn't help but see a familar, friendly face. Moony? Was it was really that day? The woodsman felt sort of bad; he noticed she was staring at the coin tha Teir gave her. That wasn't something you should waste it on, especially since Malcolm wasn't the type of guy who gave back change. He couldn't leave the young girl alone. He figure he could pay for the woman's drink and make some small chat before he left. Though, why did she pick the table next to Brenthor?
Travis simply went over to the Fabaula's table and said to her, "Do you need company?" before taking a seat next to her.
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Post by Alerick Brenthor on Dec 13, 2010 17:59:43 GMT -5
Brenthor's eyes narrowed as he heard the scraping sound. What the hell was that supposed to be? A coffin? His lips pressed into a thin line. Either that was a really stupid vampire, or one warped person. However, seeing as she was not being pursued by any guard or angry wereanimal, he supposed she wasn't a vampire.
His eyes darted over to a nearby table as he took note of that irritating ranger. "Tch. Small world, isn't it?"
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Post by Tobias Lysand on Dec 13, 2010 18:09:51 GMT -5
Oh God. Why was that woman dragging around a coffin? Why the hell was she here? Why te hell was he here? Oh God. He wished Banez was here.
Of course, being that he was with Brenthor, he refused to show weakness. Instead, he set his face into a hard line, refusing to show any of the nervousness that he felt. His eyes flicked to the ranger. Part of him wanted to melt away then He was supposed to hate Brenthor yet here he was, drinking with him. Who knows what that ranger thought?
Oh wait a minute. Who gave a damn about that? He raised his chin, staring at the barkeep as he waited. Service was a bit slow here it seemed... Was there only one bartender for all these customers?
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Post by Lumikki Piirka on Dec 13, 2010 19:04:23 GMT -5
Geez, you'd think these people never saw a coffin before! After all, they were all going to be in one someday. She wondered if she could find a carpenter in this city. Then maybe she could try to work on her family's craft herself....
When Malcom approached her table, Lumi smiled obliviously. Between the smell of alcohol, people, and the vampiric smell coming from her own coffin, her senses were thoroughly confused when it came to the barkeep. "Do you have cherry wine?" she asked, feeling the need to treat herself. That's when she doubled back to Malcom's previous question, leaning forward to him and grinning. "And I brought a friend. He wants cider," she said, in a way that seemed joking but was difficult to tell.
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Post by Malcolm Selder on Dec 13, 2010 22:36:43 GMT -5
“Cherry wine, sure,” Malcolm mumbled, still eyeing the coffin as though any moment it would burst out and unleash some sort of horrible love-scene-crashing demon. He switched his gaze from the woman to the coffin, then back again. With the screeching long gone, all he had now was his curiosity.
“Well,” he sighed, “if he wants cider, he can ask me himself. I’ll be right back.” He turned and strolled back to the bar, making sure to walk past the stuffies’ table in case there was good gossip going around. The duo was disappointingly quiet, but Malcolm was just as intrigued to see Travis and a stranger (another women; he was already over Miss Chey from the market?) chatting just a table down. Malcolm smirked; he would’ve kicked the poor idiot if they weren’t so close to the two gentlemen and the little fellow didn’t look so damn nervous.
Instead, he walked by, kept his ears open for any noise, and headed for the bar. Behind the counter, he pulled over one of the glass cleaners and ordered him to serve two tables, the one with the big guy and the one with Travis, and if he heard anything good to give the details later. The worker nodded and scurried over to the politicians’ table first, politely asking, “Could I get you gentlemen something to drink?”
Malcolm, in the meantime, poured the aforementioned cherry wine and walked back to Coffin-Girl’s table. He set the glass in front of her and went back to staring at the coffin. “So, who is this friend of yours?” he asked, letting curiosity kill the metaphorical cat in this case.
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Post by Fabala Moonlance on Dec 14, 2010 13:41:27 GMT -5
Fabala jumped at the unexpected voice beside her, but quickly calmed herself when she saw who it was. “Oh, hello, Travis. And no, I wouldn’t mind it.” Once he was seated across from her, she leaned forward, forearms on the table. “So, anything exciting happen lately? Not a whole lot’s been going on with me…this weather hurts my business.” She sighed and tapped the table with her fingers. “Was just coming in here to grab a cider and warm up.”
When the rather large man at the table beside her spoke, supposedly to Travis, she regarded him lazily. But at the harsh tone to his voice, her face fell just a bit. “Hello there, sir. Do you know Mr. Huntman, as well?” She was fairly certain she had seen both men before, but she couldn’t figure out where, or recall their identities…one thing she knew for sure, though, was that they were most definitely well off; their clothing was that of a higher class than she, and they stood out quite a lot in a dingy place such as the Dragon’s Keep.
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Post by Travis Huntman on Dec 14, 2010 21:17:00 GMT -5
"I decided to look into that rumor the other day," replied Travis as he ordered a cider for the both of them, "it turned out to be true. Now, I have to chase down and capture an assassin." He turned his head over to Brenthor's table. He couldn't but agree with his comment before turning his attention back to Moony. "I do feel sorry that you had to turn in early because of the weather. How about I pay for your drink?"
However, Fabala turned her attention and decided to poke Brenthor the angry bear. Telling from his body language, the ambassador wasn't having a fine day, and by further mention of Travis would most certainly add more weight to his day. "Ugh, yeah, you could say that," mumbled the ranger.
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Post by Alerick Brenthor on Dec 14, 2010 21:59:39 GMT -5
Brenthor looked to the worker who was taking their order. "Pinot noir. The most expensive you have." His eyes narrowed slightly. "And it had better not be watered down." After that his gaze shifted to the adjacent table. "Yes... We had the... pleasure of meeting the other day." The word pleasure was emphasized to make it clear that it was, in fact, not a pleasure.
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Post by Tobias Lysand on Dec 14, 2010 22:14:05 GMT -5
"Amontillado," Lysand answered the worker. He didn't bother saying to get something good. He figured that they would try to squeeze every bit of gold out of them that they could, and that would mean serving them good wine. He glanced at the ranger as he looked reluctant to acknowledge Brenthor. He would have felt the same way if the situation he was in was any different.
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Post by Lumikki Piirka on Dec 14, 2010 22:28:28 GMT -5
Lumi threw her head back and laughed when Malcom told her that her friend would have to ask himself. But there the bartender went, and the redhead was left to look around the tavern and peoplewatch to amuse herself. There were two stuffy-looking men near the table that had a girl and a woodsman, and it seemed like the two stuffy-looking men knew the woodsman.
She glanced up and smiled when the bartender returned. Hurray, actual flavor! She took the cherry wine and took a generous sip. Oh, the bartender was staying? Heh, that was a funny question for him to ask. "Oh, I'm going to sacrifice his dead body to a volcano, to appease the gods of fire rain," she said, again in that light tone that seemed joking and serious at the same time. "Nice tavern you have here~" she added.
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