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Post by relentless on Oct 27, 2017 15:32:43 GMT -8
Duval tuts loudly and gives out a tired sigh as the man completely missed his meaning, quite baffled onto how he didn't understand. Rubbing his facial hair a bit through a few seconds of strained silence, he thought to himself.
'Then again, he's from the church...'
He then swirled both his hands about in the air, close to his chest as he searched for a simple way to put his sentence without blowing Tod's brains out.
"Have you seen the myths and rumours that have gone around this place?"
Duval elaborated, yet again, chuckling to himself that he was in fact re-elaborating.
"Have you been on an expedition before?"
Duval stressed this last point, leaning back with a humoured grin. The man was funny, both to watch his lack of understanding for apparent phrases and such, along with Tod actually being somewhat humourous. He at least hoped he wasn't in fact one of those religious psychos, they do tend to put a bore on things.
Along with restricting some of the mans... desires under lock and key.
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Post by Kidney on Oct 27, 2017 16:22:38 GMT -8
Tod chuckled, leaning his body back with the chuckle turning into a laugh. He ran through his own head for the fun of it, remembering off he had seen anything peculiar. It was then that Tod's face turned sour. His eyebrows fell into a scowl as his mouth tightened, and he crossed his arms. "No, I haven't."
He seemed displeased in himself, for deep down he had actually seen one horrific thing here. That red vortex. That swirling mass of subjugated souls, it still ate at him. He hated himself for horrifically forgetting about those people for even a moment. His eyes watered as he blinked and looked up. "I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary, other than the melancholy attitude and the pessimism that everybody leaks out of their ass."
His face began to display a look of deep anger, before he suddenly looked up, his eyes drying a bit as he coughed and placed his hands on the table. The cup he once held now wobbled on the tabletop, and Tod cocked his head to the side with an audible pop of his neck.
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Post by rumsztyk on Oct 27, 2017 16:45:01 GMT -8
As she mentioned the words 'prisoner', the far reaching consequences of his actions finally caught up to George.
His hand tripped the second cup, which he planned to fill for Courcy, barely preventing it from shattering on the ground.
"Suit yourself." He shrugged, feigning carelessness, taking a sip himself. He looked over to Courcy laying on the bed, and grinned. After all, he liked what he saw - he could not deny it. So the smile was at least genuine.
"I think you did your time" Gods, what am I saying? "I'll grab some breakfast, you can leave the room open."
He left Courcy alone with her thoughts, the bottle of wine tempting her from afar.
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Post by ollieander on Oct 27, 2017 18:39:35 GMT -8
There was no reaction from the politician, and even the beast at his feet only perked its ears up. After all of the man's anger was spent and he moved onto another fish in the sea, Cudi could only blink with a blank expression on his face, then return to sipping the last of his wine.
Spineless, he thought with his dark eyes focused on the swirling red liquid in his cup. Kills out of fear, not for fun, prideful, greedy... Another sip came to his lips to finish off the glass, and his hands rubbed his face out of mild frustration.
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Post by black379 on Oct 28, 2017 10:47:35 GMT -8
Courcy leaned up on her elbows and watched George leave with some amount of incredulity. Yet he had made no pledge to her. In her drunken desperation, she had so freely offered herself, but the guardsman held no obligation to love her.
As she was finally alone in the room, the hellion got to her feet and sluggishly gathered her clothes. She was sullied after only having a wash the previous evening, but there was no time to correct that. Courcy tugged on her clothes, and snatched up her satchel and weapon. Heavy-handed, she escaped the room, leaving the bed and bottle as they were for the warden to deal with.
The hellion took belligerent steps down the stairway and across the tavern, eager to get on with her laborious sentence. Perhaps she could provoke blood-spill sooner than later if she caught an 'I told you so'.
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Post by relentless on Oct 29, 2017 11:50:05 GMT -8
Tod chuckled, leaning his body back with the chuckle turning into a laugh. He ran through his own head for the fun of it, remembering off he had seen anything peculiar. It was then that Tod's face turned sour. His eyebrows fell into a scowl as his mouth tightened, and he crossed his arms. "No, I haven't."
He seemed displeased in himself, for deep down he had actually seen one horrific thing here. That red vortex. That swirling mass of subjugated souls, it still ate at him. He hated himself for horrifically forgetting about those people for even a moment. His eyes watered as he blinked and looked up. "I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary, other than the melancholy attitude and the pessimism that everybody leaks out of their ass."
His face began to display a look of deep anger, before he suddenly looked up, his eyes drying a bit as he coughed and placed his hands on the table. The cup he once held now wobbled on the tabletop, and Tod cocked his head to the side with an audible pop of his neck. Duvals expression fell a bit, modesty and happiness slowly began to flush itself out as he watched the man become more agitated, irritated and generally peeved after what he said. Had he struck a nerve? Or was he going through a phase of PTSD? He didn't know, though it made him clear his throat and lean back a tad. "So I'm to presume you believe these rumours then? Unless you pretending to be a boiling hot kettle is just common practice?" Duval assumed, smirking as he observed Tod having a moment. Rather weakly Duval would point toward his glass as he held his own, before sipping the glass he held, swirling the liquor cherishingly in his mouth. "Mm! Tastes like dog piss! Not that I would know, anyway.." Duval hummed, the smirk remaining as the glass left his lip, though his eyes lingered to the left, away from Tod. For a moment, he caught sight of the woman who slept with George without a care, and his smirk would flicker momentarily before he grew back again, moving his eyes back onto Tod as if he were just flicking his eyes upon the crowd for distraction. For a moment, he sat there in momentary silence, before he sighed and placed his glass on the table in front of Tod, leaning forward with his overcoat covered arms crossing over one another upon the tabletop. He stared down at the wood grain, before he raised his relaxed gaze toward Tod with a more weak, but genuine smile accompanying Duval. "Alright, you look... religious... ish, so I'm gonna throw you a question-" Duval paused, further analysing the man further, his right hand smoothing across his forearm as he massaged the brand with a wince as it stung. "..Eh, I don't know how I'm gonna explain this... y'know what, it's nothing mate." Duval said quickly, retracting to his booth as he held his branded forearm, disguised by the thick, rich cotton of his overcoat. |
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Post by Kidney on Oct 29, 2017 12:14:27 GMT -8
Tod shook his head again, he might have looked mad, but the idea of his sanity being lost was apparent to everyone who ever spoke to him. His eyes again brightened, the wave of anger at the idea of the walking dead passing, zealous rage coming from a broil to a slow unending simmer. He smirked, purely, plainly. A joke was welcome, even if Nick had no idea it was funny to Tod. His eyes searched him again, "I believe them because my job would be useless if they weren't true."
This time, the answer may have been cryptic on purpose, for Nick had begun to ask a question and then stolen it's intrigue away. His hands brought the cup to his mouth again before he took another painful swig of the harsh liquid. He swallowed, but coughed seconds after, his face giving away his already apparent distaste for the drinks of men. He rubbed his tingling lips, "I am a religious man. Rightly so, belief is my shelter."
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Post by relentless on Oct 29, 2017 12:25:46 GMT -8
Duval paused in his retraction, giving the man a quirked look followed with a cock of his head to the left. A peculiar man indeed... Duval expected some nonsence of religious babbling, at least from most of his experiences with the faithful. Though he didn't appear as extreme in belief as he had witnessed before, so it made the smile return.
"Oh really?"
Duval noted with a rather curious tone, looking down to the floor in thought for a moment before looking back up, clearing his throat again, this time exhaling sharply with a glimmer of potential relief in his eyes.
"Well. I guess you like wine right? Seems to be a... religious choice, if I'm right? Or are they complementary drinks at those places?"
Duval inquired loosely, his right hand raising up to his face, stroking his jet black facial hair across his jawline as he studied the potential compadre.
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Post by Kidney on Oct 29, 2017 12:35:03 GMT -8
Tod laughed, quite genuinely at that, rubbing his clammy hands together as he finally abandoned the cup on his side of the table. He nearly mimicked Duval in a way, rubbing his chin, before moving it up his face to take his thick curls off his forehead. He seemed happy to be able to disprove a fact that Nick had been taught or conditioned to think. It was dickish, sure, but Tod would take this opportunity to be a cuss for just a moment. "No, actually. I don't drink at all, really, I accept them when they are given, but I rarely finish the glass. Or mug, in this instance."
Tod returned to his passive stance, his relatively dominant series of sentences now expelled in any way. He continued the smirk, but it was more childlike than this previous one, it turned nearly naive. "My order was more strict than others, we have, harsh punishments for disobedience. But hey, ol' Saint K isn't going to smite me for awkwardly drinking is he?"
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Post by relentless on Oct 29, 2017 12:59:25 GMT -8
Duval laughed, but there was a slight tinge of worry clouding his voice. A strict religious order usually brewed the worst 'holy saviours', so with this new found brand... he shuddered, visibly onto what those consequences would be. Though he kept his composure, unlike his fellow man across from him. A bombastic sort it seemed, one with easily flaked skin, at least in regards to his faith. Perhaps he would act more feebly in the face of non-religious matters.
That jest from the man caught him off guard, and so he laughed once more, the smile warming his face. However his back traveled cautiously back to his booth, maintaining his expression of joviality around the man as not to give in to weakness. Hell, even thinking of maintaining such a thing felt as if he were being hunted from across the globe.
"I see... so you don't drink at all, huh? Looks like my friend could use some tips from a fella such as yourself."
Duval proposed in a jestful manner, smiling sincerely, though there was a sense of truth to those words.
George.
The hamlet, surrounded by the horrors of the unknown; walking bones and daemonic fishmen... only to be protected by a heavily alcoholic war veteran, with his left set of fingers in his ass... and the other set of fingers in someone elses.
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Post by Kidney on Oct 29, 2017 13:08:24 GMT -8
Tod thought for a moment, his smirk dropping for a moment. He thought deeply for a few seconds before he smiled with his wide teeth and said something probably not the best. "Well, I am a priest. I could help him turn to the Light for help? I mean, sounds like maybe if you could keep him sober, I bet there's a confession booth somewhere in that maze of an Abbey."
He seemed serious, in Tod's mind he though he could be of great help. But Tod seemed a bit withdrawn, he hadn't done a confession before. He just knew he was capable of doing one.
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Post by stealthclaw on Nov 1, 2017 7:27:46 GMT -8
In spite of the ale, Ponytail seemed to sober, some. His eyes lowered and he stared into his drink as if to divine some words of wisdom from it. Though, he only was able to spy his ginger-stasched self. He pressed his fingers on one side of his curling moustache and drew it to a point, drawing truer wisdom from the small act of vanity. "You must know: there is no greater insult than to deny a beast an honorable fight." He nodded, and the garish green feather bobbed with him. "Yes, and, you must also know that a hunter is not a killer." The hunter smiled at the warrior woman, "There is... more glory in the pursuit than in the killing. You see. It is a progress." The fellow hunter's words gave her pause and she shot a look over at him before returning her gaze to her mug. "Aye, I suppose 'ts true." She replied, but found her lip curling up in distaste despite herself. "But a question remains, least t' me. If a killer becomes a hunter, d' they remain the same? Or will 't be always tainted by the murder?" Katja found her fingers tapping against the side of her mug. Would such a thing as honor matter in the face of a cold-hearted murderer? The warrior woman didn't know. There came another question, but she did not voice it. If her quarry, her very father, was not an honorable fighter, would it matter then if she had honor in the fight? "Can such a t'ing a honor be found in the heart o' a murderer?" Katja asked, looking over at the hunter beside her. That was the true question in her heart. After aiding in the murder of innocents, could she ever be seen as a virtuous being? |
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Post by Solface on Nov 2, 2017 9:00:43 GMT -8
Albrecht watched patiently as his companion dug through his bag, listening to the tinny cacophony of various items being shuffled and shoved around and aside. Markus was searching for that one special bottle no doubt, the one that held as much liquid as it did pride, an entire family's pride condensed into one brew - a quite flavorful one, admittedly.
The hunter began tapping his knee, humming inaudibly. Sentimentality was something beyond him, as was dwelling on past events; a moment lost value to him the second it passed. Of course, that did not mean he didn't care to remember them still.
Sharing a drink of that particular whiskey however, that was something of actual meaning to him. Not from an emotional aspect of course, but for its significance, its symbolism. It was always a sign, almost an omen of things to come, a toast to welcoming the foreseeable future with opened arms. Now Albrecht wasn't one of much optimism, much less a superstitious one, but he had always felt like maybe these occasional drinks of 'Winthrop Whiskey' they shared were a harbinger of good fortune.
Finally, his comrade produced their conveniently labelled drinking glasses as well as the bottle in question, ever as strikingly green as he had remembered it.
He nodded to himself, then stretched out his gloved hand to accept the drink Markus was offering him.
"A year at least, I'd say. Probably more."
One and a half, in fact. Beside a dying campfire, less than twenty feet away from the skeletal remains of a chap that had hanged himself in the middle of the woods. But going into that much detail was uncalled for now, even he knew that.
Nodding once more, confidently so, he raised his own glass to mirror his companion's gesture.
"To success."
With that, he slowly lowered the glass to his lips, holding it there for a short, almost reverent moment, before taking a swig.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Nov 2, 2017 13:16:21 GMT -8
Ellie finally woke up, slowly getting herself up and ready for the day. She looked about and spied the overcoat Duval had left her, a soft smile on her lips as she put it on, finding the loose fitting but very protective piece of clothing perfect for what she had wanted. She would uphold her end of the deal, if of course she was ever accepted into an expedition that is. She knew that would have to be worked on, which begged the question of how that would happen.
Leaving these thoughts alone for now Ellie exited Duval's room and walked down the Tavern's stairs, spotting Courcy who was about to leave. Ellie, who was extremely curious about what might've happened between her and George last night, hurried along and tried to catch up with her.
"Hey Courcy!" She called out, hoping to catch her attention now before she left.
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Post by speakeroftruths on Nov 2, 2017 18:11:00 GMT -8
In from the streets stumbles a man looking far older than his years, whether from hard living or simple fatigue is impossible to say. He does not bother to look about the room or take in the sights of his fellow tavern-goers, but rather makes a beeline for the first open seat at the bar. He sets down his spade and rummages through one of the many pockets of his great coat, pulling forth a small scrap-leather pouch which lands on the bar with a sad clink, deflating around its meager contents. "Innkeep, for the love of all that is holy, please tell me Bohemian 'Thalers are good coin here. A thousand times a thousand blessings be yours for a plate of something edible and a mug of something that is not brackish water."
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