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Post by speakeroftruths on Nov 25, 2017 22:56:21 GMT -8
Hmm. Something's off.
A few other idle thoughts zip across Borivoi's mind as he sets the drinks down. Something about the tableau before him sets the sharp edges that have pulled him through so many campaigns to ringing. Or that might be the slightly metallic song that constantly plays where hearing once stood. Hard to tell. Still, nothing wrong with having some drinks with strangers.
But... maybe it's not them that is waking a survivor's caution in him who else then? Borivoi turns his head slightly to regard those in his peripherals. Not many at the tables. Those that are represent a motley of hard working types, farmhands and dockworkers, the odd guard, a few unsavory sorts, and most of them seem to be... looking out the windows? Huh.
"S'cuse me for a moment."
Having set the drinks down, he moves to the nearest window, beginning to pick up traces of yelling as he does. Some sort of festival perhaps?
The flaring light of unchecked flame flashes across the window as he nears, and one of the yells becomes a much more chilling sound, a blood-freezing tune that he has seen people dance to far too often. A death knell, the bellow of desperation and fear wrought of rent bowels and spilled guts. Screams of denial, of pleading, of sheer horror as light fades and life spills out on the thirsty soil. Though he cannot see the victims or the perpetrators, imagination will gladly fill in the blanks.
"Oh, kurva, za mnou následovali syny kurvítek."
He spins, jumping back to the table where his spade and oilskin satchel rest. He dumps its contents out on the surface, then shovels a pile of what appear to be mathematics tools back in. What is left is several tightly corked bottles with labels in Bohemian, and an armful of tightly bound packets.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
Det charge alone won't work. Need shrapnel. Like a hotshot from one of those big cannon. Where's a plate of shot when you need it?
He frantically pats down his coat, rough-checking the interior pockets, when one clinks metallicly. He pulls it out excitedly, then groans to see his purse.
"I had hoped you'd fill my belly. Beggars can't be choosers I suppose."
He opens the pouch and sets to work.
***
A few frantic minutes later, the Bohemian sapper stands back against the tavern door. One hand, white-knuckled around the grip of the sharpened spade. The other, holding one of the packets from before. It is noticeably looser and lumpier than it was previously, as are its fellows tied to the belt of the greatcoat. In the copper brim of the helmet, a slow-burning wick glows with heat and quiet menace. The hand with the spade loosens enough to finger one of the charms hanging from an open pocket.
"Let's see... Marduk, huh? Alright then. May your fifty names see me to safety. As your father passes his power onto you, pass your magic onto me. Come on Šťastný, they're playing your song."
He throws open the door.
*EXIT TO HAMLET STREETS*
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Post by black379 on Nov 26, 2017 8:08:07 GMT -8
Jeanne's expression fell morose as he watched Winifred flutter to the window, then crumble to the floor. Her vividness faded in an instant, and the boy hurried to her side, as if he could catch it and return her to life.
"What's-? Again?" He ducked his head to look into Wynne's face, to let her know that whatever had happened, he was still with her. "Whinny, w-we're not near it." The jester peeked out the window to the column of smoke in the distance - it was no less frightening despite being so far.
"C'mon... Let's drink." He put an arm around her shoulder for some sort of comfort. Though unaware of what had happened, Jeanne Luc told himself that it was surely being taken care of. He wanted to offer Winifred at least that much ease.
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Post by hopper on Nov 26, 2017 8:32:06 GMT -8
Winifred creased her brow, an uneasy frown across her face.
"No we need to, welll...Ufhhh"
She trailed off, seemingly frustrated with the difficulty of trying to put her scattered brain into words. Fingers drifted across her mandolin, and she struck a high, tense chord which lingered in the air like an unplaceable smell. She knew what she should do, obviously she should go find out what the trouble was, what type of person saw a fire raging and didn't go to help? But the answer rose to her mind unbidden, almost as if whispered in her ear.
Your kind. Our kind. My kind.
She shivered a little and looked up to the dusty rafters.
"Y-yeah, sure. Let's drink."
She nodded heavily, as if her skull were made of solid iron rather than the bone it actually was. She never imaged she'd have such a hard time shirking responsibility but here, it itched terribly. She felt as if two sides battled noisily within her and she almost wanted to cover her ears.
What if I go anyways?
She prodded the darkness of her mind, trying to feel out...something, perhaps it was but a passing moment of madness, it wasn't impossible and she always thought it rather likely she was at least a little mad. A nervous giggle escaped her lips,
"It'd be a hell of a thing to find out you're insane the same day your house burns down."
She chuckled, grinning once more, even though it was perhaps a watery grin without its normal verve. It would do, at least she wasn't frowning so much anymore, perhaps Jack would decide it was time to stop tying her shoelaces together so to speak and let her get on with it.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 26, 2017 9:32:17 GMT -8
---
"Lovely mood..."
Tilly's mind was scattered; as one thought entered, the other fled her.
She was in the tavern, and it smelled delightful. Her legs shook under her.
"All we're missing is candles, hm?" She grinned, despite herself.
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as it watered.
"We've already got the incense."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 26, 2017 11:00:55 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Mmm, aye..." The Ex-Lord agreed absentmindedly, as his stride had him weave between tables and patrons alike; unsurprisingly, many of which were only vaguely watching the tavern door with worry. Most, he wagered, more worried about their coddled drink than the lives of anyone out there, or in here... Or anywhere, really.
He couldn't blame them. In ways, Tilly was his coddled drink for the time being; sweaty and tired as she was, he eventually slumped her into a stool beside the counter and rapped twice upon the woody surface for Hook's attention.
Though, he scanned the room swiftly, before looking to Tilly with a growing anxious tic; his foot tapping, his self bobbing up and down.
Still, he cocked a bemused smile at her japes and nudged her gently with his elbow; making fast to hold her other side incase she fell over. His face curled up against hers, nose to nose: something less intimate given the part's length.
"... I'd say you've the heat and ripe scent to cover for both, my Love." He purred in a whisper, slipping a small kiss on her cheek, then pulled back to a more kindly distance as he heard Hook's gait stomping over.
"Though. I'd say you're closer to putrefaction than... cinnamon-y bliss."
Fishing out a purse of gold, he counted off a healthy chunk of 75 coins from the purse of a hundred, and shot Tilly a smirk and wink, before looking up to Hook.
"Red Mutton, bread... Ah" He glanced to Tilly, then to Hook again,
"Water, and honeyed porridge."
The Tender stared, looked to the door, and huffed as he swept the coins into a pocket of his apron and lumbered off with no due haste.
Lekalis, however, shot Tilly a quick and eager look; brows risen, and shrugged.
"How're you feeling?
\\
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 26, 2017 11:25:16 GMT -8
Tilly slumped on the barstool, but leaned against Lekalis at his embrace. He was warm, and it certainly did not alleviate her already over-heated state, but it worked to slow a racing mind and pulse.
It was a welcome support, and in more ways than one; in the literal sense, it was because the stool lacked a backrest.
Nevertheless, her elbows worked to prop herself up as well.
She still had the sense of mind to stare hopelessly at the lost coin.
"I feel faint-- and we're under attack, and I'm... putrefying..." She sighed into her palm.
"...and that's bloody expensive, y'know."
Regardless of her complaints, the dinner was plopped down unceremoniously on the bar counter.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 26, 2017 12:20:34 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"The expense is worth it : it's going to keep you alive; it's like paying for a Doctor." He spoke rather quickly, a river flowing to an ocean, as he drummed his fingers on the counter and rubbed Tilly's shoulder with a humm, squinting off to where Hook casually prepared the food.
It was the Lordling's turn to huff, as he looked to the food and bowed his head in thanks to Hook.
"I've a mind to head out myself... But I don't rightly feel like leaving your side." He explained, looking over to Tilly, as he voiced his thoughts.
"Think you could eat fastlike? We can bring the porridge on the way."
\\
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 26, 2017 12:30:25 GMT -8
Tilly perked up, some, at the sight of food, blinking slowly.
"It's just a bitty raid..." She gave a flippant shrug and bit into the mutton-- it was a relief.
"Knowing this place, there'll be another one next Monday. But, oh..."
She found the mutton, and, with the plate, set it delicately down on top of the inventory of her satchel; she made a mental note not to jostle the bag as she walked, and sat the bread squarely beside the mutton.
She picked up the bowl of porridge by the brim.
"Lead on, then." She waggled a hand theatrically by the door and set about drinking the porridge as she stood...
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Nov 26, 2017 13:08:10 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
"Well... that's a fair point." He mused, cocking his head to the side as he rather genuinely considered her words; looking over to her, he shrugged, popping an eyebrow up as he shrugged.
"Still; it'd be good to gauge some fellows. Maybe make some friends, look heroic while we're at it." The Ex-Lord pointed out, happy to see Tilly's strength come back, if but by some mediocre margin.
The Ex-Lord accompanied his dearest Graverobber, and bowed his brow as he passed her by and left the Tavern for the violently electric air of the Hamlet Streets...
[Blood and Tilly leave to the Hamlet Streets. With Breakfast.]
\\
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Post by black379 on Nov 28, 2017 8:27:52 GMT -8
Head held in his hands, the boy rubbed his aching temples. His glazed eyes fixed on the emptied glasses. At some point, Jeanne Luc lost himself to drinking. Winifred must have slipped out then.
"'Nother...?" He requested quietly, folding half-gloved digits together on the bar. The jester hadn't cut ties with Griswold altogether. And he couldn't have exhausted his time with Wynne so soon. Jeanne chewed on the end of his finger, anxiously awaiting at least one of them to fetch him.
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Post by Kidney on Nov 28, 2017 20:05:27 GMT -8
With a gentle strum, Hugo began to hum to himself as the various patrons filtered out. With quiet elegance the sun peeked above the mountains, and the various men and women of the Tavern who had drank here all night slowly rose to go home. But now, in a mostly empty place, it's walls were quietly touched with the sounds of music, as gloved fingers plucked and pulled and strummed.
The song was a childish one, one with easy lyrics to learn and an even easier finger movements. Hugo's hands slid across the lute as the song went on without vocals, a cheery tune compared to the mania happening outside. The yells and roars did not bother Hugo that much, Smoke had pranked him in his dreams enough to prepare him for any possible illusionary sounds and images.
Again, he strummed. This time, he added in lyrics at the middle of song, where he happened to be.
"We all went on a fishing boat, a fishing boat, a fishing boat, rocking all around."
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Post by black379 on Nov 28, 2017 20:41:57 GMT -8
Ears perking up at the tinny music, Jeanne Luc peeked across the room. The song didn't come from Winifred as he'd hoped, that he had simply misplaced her in his drunken stupor, and that she was there the whole time. Instead a masked performer strummed at the instrument. The boy shrank in his seat, but idly watched Hugo from afar.
"Jack?" Jeanne uttered to herself, or at least to the... spirit? That she hoped would hear. "Hh... What'm'I doin?"
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Post by Kidney on Nov 28, 2017 21:05:19 GMT -8
Hugo continued, porcelain face gleaming in the modest light. He strummed again, the light blue face losing luster as he moved to a darker part of the room. "We went on a fishing boat, thrashing, bouncing, turning 'till it all stopped."
Hugo let out a louder chord, tapping his ringing left foot, "A maiden in the water, a maiden fair, glistening from hair toooooo breast."
Hugo took another step forward, leaning against the back of a sleeping drunk, "We feared, we gave, we sacrificed, lest.."
Hugo paused, waiting for the rhyme to take effect, "we die!"
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Post by Unter on Dec 3, 2017 7:07:12 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. Francois made a loud "Tsk" sound with his tongue. "By the Light Milo, don't eat with your hands. You need to respect your hands, they are made to fight for good, for the Light ! Respecting yourself, and respecting your body is one of the step to Salvation!" He drank his beer loudly, showing no interest in the manners he tried to teach Milo. There were bell noises, and people rushing outside shouting. Francois didn't move an inch. "Let these peasants take care of this. Let's continue our meal." Finishing the quick repairs on his sword, he sheathed it and looked at Milo. "What do you know about Chivalry, Milo?" |
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Post by black379 on Dec 11, 2017 18:58:13 GMT -8
Jeanne Luc was hunched over the bar counter, hands folded over his head. Already small as he was, it was redundant to shrink himself up, but he did anyways. His eyes traced the shimmers and reflections of the glass mugs sitting emptied in front of him.
He'd made a mistake, leaving Griswold alone. The tie was obviously severed. Winifred had slipped away too. After just one night - he felt used, as he had been warned - just a body to keep a bed warm.
-
Griswold squinted his eyes at the jester, even suspicious or skeptical of her generosity. His glare shifted to Duval, intruding through the passage ahead of him. The rogue at least met his expectations. With a nod and a metallic sigh, the leper followed into the tavern.
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