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Post by speakeroftruths on Nov 6, 2017 22:35:02 GMT -8
Borivoi looks up, only to find that his offering has been met with silence and open space. The innkeeper is no where to be seen.
Come to think of it, he muses to himself as he turns to regard the common room with its few inhabitants, The whole tavern looks a bit barren. Is something going on? A festival perhaps? He lifts his head to peer out the window, beholding a bit of light off in the distance. Further in the hamlet, a fire burns. Wonder what that's about. I should probably go find out... Ah, damn it all. No use exploring on an empty stomach.
"Nameless Thirteenth bless my endeavor," the soldier mutters to himself, raising one of several strange symbols hanging about his person to his lips for a quick kiss. Letting the symbol fall to its cord, Borivoi puts his arms down and vaults the bar. Rummaging around for a brief moment yields hard tack and some sort of dried meat. Trail food is better than none. The tough bread is already crumbs on his coat, the jerky fighting back between his teeth as the soldier lifts a dark green bottle from beneath the bar. Still gnawing away at the stubborn protein, he pops the cork and takes a quick whiff of the liquor held within. Not quite rotgut, but no honest man could call it brandy. Good enough.
He sets a pair of glasses on the bar, pouring a generous portion of the amber-ish fluid in each, and replaces the cork. Setting the bottle back behind the rough wood bar, he raises the glass closest to him in a toast.
"To the lucky ones." He tosses back the potent drink, then immediately doubles over in a coughing fit. He wheezes, trying to regain his breath in the wake of the burning liquid, and pushes the second drink towards the empty chair in front of the bar, as though inviting someone to sit.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 7, 2017 18:55:41 GMT -8
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? --- Ponytail seemed to think on this a moment-- or perhaps it was simply just the drink, or him searching for the correct word. "Hmm..." His fingers groomed the point of his beard while his olive eyes squinted pensively, darting to her face and then back to his drink again, the little remainder and froth of which he downed in a singular motion. "A good question." The hunter nodded, pleased, setting the mug down. His eyes rested on it longingly, "If a man plants once a seed-- maybe an apple, yes-- does he become a gardener? I say no." Glancing upwards, then, his gaze fixed on the barkeep, different than he'd remembered: this one was younger and reminded Ponytail of the barrel of a gun, with his shiny, dented head and his dark hair poking out like smoke. He certainly seemed pallid enough to blow away like gunsmoke in the wind. An amused grin curled across Ponytail's face, flushed from drink. What sort of bar begat a helmet from its bartender? "Barkeep, please!" His Frenchly accent cut across the din as he made to garner Borivoi's attention, "We are deathly dry!" |
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Post by speakeroftruths on Nov 7, 2017 19:30:40 GMT -8
"I am not your barkeep," Borivoi calls back without hesitation. He scoops up a tray, setting food and drink upon it, and snatches his coin pouch up to vanish into his pocket-laden coat. Vaulting the bar again, he tucks his spade under the crook of his arm and shakily balances the tray as he makes his way over to the table.
"On the other hand, you did say please."
The tray hits the table, the fluid in the bottle swishing about at the rough treatment, but all consumables make the journey relatively unscathed. The glasses less so, but they were so chipped dirty to begin with that one could hardly tell. Setting the spade down on the back of a chair, the lean man settles himself down, his coat practically eating the chair. Popping the cork much more easily this time, he pours into the two empty glasses portions of the near-toxic swill. "The name is Borivoi," he says, sliding the two glasses in front of the others at the table. "Who is it that I am drinking with?"
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Post by rumsztyk on Nov 11, 2017 10:14:23 GMT -8
Milo's manners were... nonexistent. He ate with both the cutlery and his hands. At least the boy didn't make too much of a mess.
He finishes the meal quite quickly, waiting for Francois. "No blacksmith." the boy shakes his head, shrinking. He coulnd't tell why he had the strength. But, a smile entered his face at the mention of more food. This basic human need was all that he needed to sate for the time being.
Milo listened to Francois as the knight explained the process of repairing the dent. Some words he didn't catch the meaning of. He tried to mimic the movements on an imaginary sword, as to better memorize the process.
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Post by relentless on Nov 11, 2017 16:42:55 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. Duval scoffed and waved the suggestion away with a flick of his hand, then shaking his head in more clear disagreement. "Oh no, he's not religious and neither am I!" Duval admitted with a weak smile, bringing his drink up to his lips with his left hand, hand brushing through the handle and gripping the mug loosely. Rather abruptly would Duval twitch and hiss through his mouth, his grip tensing suddenly as he held the glass in his hand before he could even take a sip. His brand burned and made him bite his lip, as if responding to that comment he just made. Mustering enough willpower to muffle the pain, he offered a smile to the man with awkward eyes and a slow descent of his hand, placing the glass on the table. "He... just wouldn't take it that well. He's a good lad and he'll know wha-whats best!" Duval tensed up and rasped the last words out, bringing his hand to grip his left forearm tight with a visible wince. |
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Post by Kidney on Nov 11, 2017 17:00:26 GMT -8
Tod grew slightly uneasy, his eyes squinting as his hands left the surface of the table. They hovered and a surrendering motion, and Tod let out an uneasy chuckle as Duval squeaked forth his last selection of words. "Understandable, a lot of things can revert a man's faith here," his eyes opened wide now, and he smiled. It was the best thing he could do.
"Would it be rude of me to ask what is wrong?"
The words came out sincere, a strange instinct of zealous vigor, to shield the damage, no matter how small. The hiss and the flustering made Tod more concerned, his head running hundreds of horrific scenarios through his sheltered brain. He ran a thumb over the forehead of the figurine on his crucifix, calming his own uncoordinated anxiety building up. Had he been saying something wrong? Had something shaken the man?
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Post by black379 on Nov 13, 2017 17:58:56 GMT -8
Jeanne Luc peered over her shoulder as the other girl returned to the room. As they were left alone again, she settled more comfortably from her huddle in the bed's sheets. Though the jester stood from the bed, crossing the room to face a grungy mirror. From her cap to her boots, she disguised herself once again.
"Who was that? D-did they see me?" Jeanne half regretted what she had done - so quick to forfeit her secret to Winifred. Even so, she loved how whimsical she could be with Wynne, and that was exactly what excited her so much about the rabbit god. The 'boy' played quiet as he turned to face his last night's lover, but inside he was eager to feel Jack's grasp again.
-
The redhead tensed up as her name was called. She hardly stopped before barging out of the front door, and swaying towards the woman who called on her.
"Ell...llie?" Courcy let out, exasperated. Her head cocked to one side as she anxiously awaited whatever reason the girl had to stop her. She couldn't recall Ellie wearing such a hefty coat before, and as the stench of perfume reached her nose, she realized where it had come from.
"Now's not a great time."
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Nov 14, 2017 13:15:37 GMT -8
Ellie reached Courcy, the smile on her face still wide despite Courcy's apparent tired attitude. For once after Francis's death and Rems leave, Ellie felt happy and alive again, a refreshing feeling for sure after her melanchonly sadness and despair before. Duval's coat was definitely a good boon, although it looked a few sizes too large, it was exactly what she wanted and she was happy. Only problem now is getting on an expedition in the first place which should be easy enough.
"Oh? What's the matter? Have a bad night with the Warden?" She teased acting like Duval, meaning no harm in the small jest, she could only guess what might've made Courcy grumpy. The warden was the best cause although it could've been anything else to be honest since Courcy on the few occasions always seemed tired or angry. Other than that, Ellie had just wanted to talk so she hoped the hellion would be in a good enough mood to do so.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Nov 15, 2017 6:23:30 GMT -8
Adonis strode out of his room down to the Taverns bar, he had spent a good deal of time in his room asleep and now he wanted to start a routine like back home. He had his medical satchel and his usual attire with the mask as he walked down the stairs, his eyes scanning and looking around the room for anyone that looked important. His own self looking unique compared to the random man in the crowd, easy to draw attention of those who saw a fresh and presumably rich face.
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The Tavern
Nov 15, 2017 14:15:09 GMT -8
via mobile
Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Nov 15, 2017 14:15:09 GMT -8
Brenton briefly moved his goggled gaze from the the small pile of gold to glance at Charis' activities. His keen, hidden eyes caught sight of her worn arm, and as the doctor did he gave a low and curious hum. "Hhmm...That is quite an impressive collection of scars you got there, sister Charis." he remarked with a smirk. "May I ask how you acquired them?"
Edgar kept his head facing forward and did his best to remain still for whatever he believed Charis would do next, but he couldn't hinder himself from trembling. Wether from fear or surpressed frustration was unknown. Though if he truly did not want Charis' treatments then he would have gotten up and made distance, but still he chose to remain put on the floor. Perhaps a part of him still wanted to be loved, to be treated with kindness and care, no matter how foolish or dangerous Edgar's mind deemed it to be. Despite his best efforts the small, muted longing still remained - he was only human after all.
Was.
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Post by black379 on Nov 15, 2017 20:48:50 GMT -8
Courcy furrowed her brow and looked Ellie up and down.
"I must've had a better night than you." She chuffed, gesturing to Duval's coat with a wave of her hand. She would've laughed at how desperate Ellie appeared, but in truth, she was silently ashamed for spending the night with a practical stranger herself.
"No, I'm in a hurry. I have to meet up with Blood." She nodded and waited just a moment, expecting that Ellie would not let her off so easily. At least Tilly and Blood probably didn't expect her to be prompt.
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Post by twostepsback on Nov 15, 2017 22:18:58 GMT -8
"Hmm? Oh, it's a side effect of my healing ability. I often end up with rough 'copies' of the injuries I heal, though less severe when compared to the original." Charis explains, before pointing to the long t-shaped scar on her left forearm. "This one, though, I gained when I ran afoul of a Pattern Killer. The Dunwall Chronicle called him 'The Anatomist', you can probably guess the state that his victims were found in from the moniker."
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Nov 16, 2017 10:23:20 GMT -8
"Hate to prove you wrong. We drank, we slept, we didn't have sex, and he gave me this for free to help protect myself. It's really defensive, and it keeps me warm, it was a nice gift." Ellie said, being glad to prove someone wrong for once that she had a good night. When she heard she was going to meet Blood Ellie thought it to be another good opportunity. See what Blood was like now since it had been a long time since they met at the Abby before the fire.
"How about I just come with you? We can still talk and when we get there I get to talk with Blood and then I can leave afterwards if I need to." Ellie proposed, honestly not wanting to talk next to the door as they were, she didn't like the idea of anyone listening and knowing the Tavern she didn't want to be in the way of some beast or fight.
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The Tavern
Nov 16, 2017 14:07:22 GMT -8
via mobile
Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Nov 16, 2017 14:07:22 GMT -8
"Aaahh...How peculiar." Brenton commented and placed his index finger against the scruff of his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Such a gift that you have been granted... Truly you are a woman of selflessnes; healing the wounded at the cost of your own well-being. Although a rather foolish method if you ask me, but still admirable in its own regard."
The doctor leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs beneath the table. "So, you say there had been some serial killer who went by the nickname of 'The Anatomist'..." Brenton smiled and interlocked his thin, glove-covered fingers. "You've managed to spark my curiosity, sister Charis. What was your experience with that criminal like? Did you ever encounter him in person, by chance?..."
Edgar flinched once Charis explained the origins of her scars. As if it had been bad enough that the nun had reached out to him with her kindness - appearently her treatment would scar herself in the process.
Edgar felt bad now for having wished for more of Charis' soothing and wonderful magic now that he knew its consequences. He had changed his mind; he didn't want more of her treatment - at least of the magical sort. The previous longing for acceptance was gone; now replaced by consern for Charis' health. Edgar looked back at the nun with a freightened and worried expression. His mouth was slightly agape, as if he wished to say something but couldn't find the proper words for it.
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Post by twostepsback on Nov 18, 2017 15:18:08 GMT -8
Noticing Edgar's expression, Charis gives him a soft smile. "It's fine Eddie, I know my limits." She soothes, before looking up to address Breton. "'Strange and terrifying' is how I would sum up my encounter with the Anatomist. It didn't help that the current iteration of 'The Anatomist' was also a Morgh..."
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