The Tavern

[Kidney]

 Smoke's porcelain face slowly turned towards the comment, and he laughed, "You would be surprised what a man could do before they put him in a padded room."
The idea peaked his interest, and he giggled to himself again, "Could eat glass, but the second you eat another man's food, they slam 'ya into the white room!"
He plucked some more strings, ending this selection of notes with a string of strums, a tumbling tavern tune. 

[Outisakanobody]

Tazia rolled her eyes, then left her seat to move toward the larger group. "It's an awful day to sit and drink alone. Might I join you folks?" she asks, making eyes at Duvall in particular.

[black379]

Jeanne Luc unwrapped her arms from Griswold's torso. He scurried to the booth to check Winifred's cuts - for no reason really than to see how bad they were, the boy couldn't help her any himself. But Wynne was too quick to seat herself, and Duval nestled in beside her. A concerted effort to hide what had happened.

He slunk into the other side of the booth and looked to Griswold expectantly. The leper's chest and mask were flecked with blood from the exploded makeshift-bomb-woman. The jester shot each of them a wide-eyed glance, awaiting some explanation, but Wynne and Duval seemed adamant to ignore the event.

"Cultists??" Jeanne spoke up. He bit his lip, turning to the girl. Maybe it had something to do with Jack, and a conflicting cult?

[hopper]

Winnifred took up her own drink, clinking it against Duval’s glass before downing the shot herself. It was a good sting that rattled its way down her throat and into her belly, where its warmth spread outwards into her fingers and face with a comfortable flush. She sart back, leaning away from Duval and into her corner, her arms crossed lazily over another and resting comfortably in her lap. She met Jeanne Luc’s gaze with a confident smile.
“I think they’re just some crazies who decided to pick a fight with us is all.”
She shrugged, looking to Duval for confirmation of her answer,.
“Really it wasn't that big a deal I think, sure I got a few scrapes and bruises but that's the fun part, right?”
She grinned toothily at the booth as a whole, looking from Griswold to Jeanne and then back to Duval. Truthfully she was slightly more shaken by the experience than she would care to admit, but it wouldn't make any sense to get Jeanne worried over nothing. So she smiled her jolly smile and drank and made merry, all the while gnawing steadily on one question.
Who were those crazies in the woods? And will they come back?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a stranger, Winnifred glanced lazily to the woman, sitting up to pour another shot for herself. When she had the bottle in hand, she instead offered it out to the woman.
"I can offer you a drink, but I'm quite 'fraid our table is full."
She gestured to the four people currently occupying the seats.
"Sorry about that."
An apologetic smile accompanied the outstretched hand, bottle clasped within.

[relentless]

Duval nodded in agreement with Wynne, wetting the inside of his mouth with his tongue as the strong alcohol left had dry stain on the roof and flooring of his mouth. He flexed his lips for a moment, tasting the moisture before he cleared his throat.
"Aye, I barely got a bruise on me. It's all done and dusted, those dumb pigshites won't be coming back round 'ere for a while."
Duval agreed, looking at Jeanne with clasped hands and a humored smile.

"Ain't no worry anymore, lad. Let it simmer and go cold, hm?"
Duval proposed with friendiness in his voice, though it was partially mocking, in a joyous sense that is.
"Or don't! Either way, don't matter now."
Duval chuckled as he finished off his point, leaning back into the booth. However as he leaned back, it made Duval notice a complete stranger, who appeared quite well endowed to be staring at him directly. He did not stare long at her face, as a rather sickening effect took hold of him very quickly in his gut, causing him to turn head on across the table across from Griswald. A churning, vile sensation trickled through his mind, and he looked away with a snap of his neck, eyes closed and a heavy exhale of air passing through.

It wouldn't take him long to regain his composure however, bringing his left hand to his mouth and coughing forcefully, only managing two coughs before he lowered his hand back down, and turned as if pinned his feet were pinned to the ground with a nail, to stare straight at Wynne, wide eyed and mouth shut. Through his mouth would open, and emphasized one quick word, then closing again.

'No.'
Before turning to face Jeanne with a completely new expression; a moderately happy expression that appeared quite strained on her part.
"So, John is it? Or is it... Luke? You look like a Luke."
Duval hummed his curiosity audibly as he turned his head on a swivel to Griswald, squinting at him through the mask, nodding slow and waggling a finger at him.
"Howard. It's gotta be Howard."
Duval asserted to himself, passing an intense glance at Wynne, smile faltering into a thin line, before looking back at the two people across from him with the smile returning once again.

[Outisakanobody]

Tazia tilted her head at Duvall's reaction to her, and decided she wanted to get to the bottom of that. So she grabbed the offered drink and grabbed a chair from as close as she could manage, and pulled it closer to the table.

"I suppose I could stand to drink over someone's shoulder." she says before setting up her chair behind Duvall and sipped at her drink as she looked him over again from a closer distance.

[black379]

As dismissive as Winifred and the roguish man were being, perhaps it was nothing to fret about after all. At the same time, Jeanne felt as though they were hiding something to keep him from worrying, which inadvertently caused the boy worry. The juggler's small hands wrung together nervously. He finally relaxed, as best he could, in the seat.

Griswold sat silently in the booth. His wrapped appendages hidden beneath the table. Only his leather cuirass moved slightly as he breathed, accompanied by a hoarse groan from still metal lips. He was a statue.

Jeanne Luc's eyes looked with worry to Winifred, but she finally settled and glanced around the table, to Duval and the other apparent entertainer in the mask.

"Jeanne Luc..." He corrected Duval, then crossed his arms in front of him to lean on the table. "This's Griswold." Offering a mustered smile, his cap nodded to the leper beside him.

[hopper]

Had Winnifred not lived the life she had, perhaps she would've found the sudden shocking stare Duval had pelted her with as intimidating in some impersonal way, like a snarling dog was intimidating even if it wasn't’ snarling at her. But, being that she’d seen many shocking things, the glance merely struck her as odd, and she quirked her brows together, lips turned into a confused pout as she shrugged at him. As soon as he looked away she leaned forwards and grabbed the bottle and poured herself another shot, she could notice the effects of the liquor in how her hand seemed to sway in the air beside the bottle for a moment before she managed to grab it, she did so firmly and brought it over to her shot, and poured, though a tad clumsily.

She grinned and set the bottle down, raising her glass to Jeanne Luc and then taking the shot. Her face scrunched as the liquor fired against her tongue and then was catapulted back into her throat. Setting the shot glass down a tad heavily she sat back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment and then closed her eyes, collecting her scattered thoughts into something resembling a train, though the caboose was the third car and the engine was in the back for some reason. She opened her eyes and looked down, shooting Jeanne a winning smile. She slumped down further in her seat till her head just peaked about five inches above the tabletop, grinning contently.

[relentless]

She didn't get it. She didn't understand. None of them would, really, but the person right next to him who had welcomed this 'Tazia' into his personal space had a unanimous agreement. He clenched his eyes tight, and leaned back into the booth, hand clasped firmly on his drink. From the interior it, his palms pressed up white against the glass, whilst a partial sweat began to draw up on the mans wrist. But on his face, there lacked any sweat, but his expression appeared expressionless, his eyes were closed and jawline sharp.

From what others would see would be Duval crossing his arms over his chest and his legs over one another, making himself small and compact within the booth. A shaky, drawn out exhale of air would whisper out of his mouth in a thin stream, eyes opening once again. He nodded toward Jeanne, his hands reaching up to one another from their crossed position and rubbing his palms together slowly, the tops of his palms had sprinkles of sweat beads dancing across the top, along with a slight shake.

"Oh a-aye, nice names all around I see!"
Duval said in a rather forced, and ill manner, head fixating on the window and nothing more. A few more audible exhales from his nose perceded, retaining the same dryness as the last one.
"What about you, Jester?"
Duval gulped dryly, his voice clearly trying to maintain composure, though it was ultimately shaky, almost pained as his arms tightened slowly around his chest in a crossed arm motion.

[porkylabrador]

Stafford couldn't help but take particular interest in the motley crew of individuals in the far-booth, generally the darker corners were where the more interesting people sat. His drawing turned to sketching that turned to scribbling as his attention absently wandered in their direction. With a nonchalant drop his charcoal and the clank of brass cigarette case opening, Staff produced a deftly rolled fag and popped it into his mouth with a cocked eyebrow, all too obviously watching his muses with no regard for how quickly they'd notice his distant interest.

Shoving his pooch gently in the ribs to shift her off his boots albeit it with no great success, Stafford set about his doodling again, this time focusing more on the dour-faced rogue and the lass who seemed to to have appetites other than liquor doting after him. "Bah, least some things don't change, eh girl?" Vicky snorted awake at his feet, wagged her docked tail limply and flopped back against the boards, snoring from her compressed nostrils.

Simply, his doodling hand wandered to his tankard and putting on his best grin Staff actively and obviously toasted the booth-hunkered table over yonder, chuckling to himself at some private joke.

[Outisakanobody]

"You can call me Tazia, friends." Tazia says, though she internally balked at the title of "jester" being applied to her. Despite this she did not want to appear rude and sour her first impression. She studied Duvall all the more as his breath hitched and his skin wept drops of sweat.

"Maybe you need another drink, friend. Or, perhaps, a soothing ballad?" Tazia offers, hoisting up her lute and waggling it before the man.

[Kidney]

Smoke perked up, his head cocking to the side as he looked upon the woman, producing a lute nonetheless. He produced a single pop from his lips, a playful noise before an idea stuck inside his skull. He looked over at the newcomer, seeing the dog beneath the table peaked his interest. 

Smoke lifted his shoulders, but as they came down, he raised them again. Like a machine, Smoke moved up and moved down, almost a spring in his movements as he began to strum his lute into a happy collection of notes that commanded a presence. This song was loud, and with no lyrics, Smoke relied on his fingers, and his deft strums. 

It was a pleasant tune, one that was unused in this setting, and Smoke could feel the room light up as he lept up, standing on the stool he was once sitting upon, ringing with his foot-bells. He looked towards the newcomer, and the group. He dared. 

"Perhaps the newcomer with the lute can join in? Perhaps they have a better singing voice than I!"

[black379]

Jeanne tilted his head at the woman at the end of the table. It surprised him how many performers inhabited the town, or perhaps it was just the tavern. Either way, it was a more positive thought than any about any troublemakers outside. The boy fetched another shot and sat back in the booth.

Gulping down the fiery drink, he smirked at Winifred who was just peeking over the table. Playfully, he kicked his feet at hers beneath the table.

The leper was content enough. It suited him to be among company, yet to be largely ignored.

[relentless]

Duval flicked his head toward Tazia, focusing on her face with one open eye, a whisper forming in his ear had began dissipating quickly.

'More... give us...'
It stopped unexpectantly, nodding toward her with a slowly forming smile.

"Yeah, yeah sure. Drum away!"
Duval commanded with a rather exaggerated and stereotypical 'commander' tone, stern, and a heavy beat to it, eyes closed as he turned away and spoke the sentence.
"I hope the floor doesn't break underneath us all standing and sitting in one spot! Don't think the liquor would agree with that."
Duval says with an awkward chuckle, sloshing the drink around to see how much remained. Almost over halve... impressive.

'Looks like I might make it afterall...'
Duval thought to himself, topping his drink up with a slightly more genuine smile, though sweat still remained on his wrists.

"Perhaps something slow? The couple..."
Duval paused as he gave a teasing point back with his thumb, then forming it into a waggling index finger toward griswald.
"-would appreciate a bit of romance."
Duval hummed with a sudden joyous, none anxiety riddled giggle.

[Outisakanobody]

Tazia looked at the stranger who had began playing suddenly with an angry pout. "What's that saying about too many cooks..." She grumbles and finishes her drink, then look around to find her method to refill.

"I'm not very used to playing duets." she says to Duvall, sounding very frustrated and not very seductive.