The Tavern

[Kidney]

It was perhaps the scent of alcohol, or the look of bandaged wounds, or the general atmosphere that finally snapped the puny facade that Smoke had made himself to be in this time. The normal jovial nature was superficial, and in this time, even the warped Smoke understood the noises he heard outside, or what he saw through windows. His idea of happiness in the form of song would simply not work here. And in this place of doubt, in the place of retracted statements, Smoke allowed Hugo some influence. 

He slowly hopped from the stool he stood upon, Hugo driving the steps of this body, the hand drawing the mask across his face. The deep blue hue of the mask now sat on center, and Hugo allowed the sad face to remain a mask, and not allow a sorrowful disposition to drag this place further down the abyss. Instead, Hugo allowed the sadness to remain at it's current level. At this, Hugo realized respect may have made this better than before. 

He approached the group, staying at a distance as to not trigger any hostility, but allow a low volume to be hearable. "I am sorry."

The sentence was a simple one, it was an attempt at appeasing the disgruntled musician that Hugo assumed Smoke had offended. He also looked upon another man, this one seemed nervous, and Hugo swore at himself internally, his own personal monologue scolding the horrible Smoke. 

Hugo brushed some dust off his neckpiece, and adjusted his getup to one more presentable than usual. He brushed dirt off himself, and held his lute with a tightened attitude. He restrained himself, and looked as if he was attempting to gain some respect he had lost while locked away in his own mind. 

"What I have said before, I lament. I am an entertainer at heart, but I fear that after tonights events, a tavern song may not raise the spirits as it should." 

He was well spoken, but in this moment a sincerity touched on his words, for Hugo allowed no lies in this, he did not allow a silvery film to coat his tongue. He looked up at the woman who had pulled up her lute before, "Perhaps," Hugo looked over to Winifred, but just for a moment, to register a small apology with a glance. "we could allow instead, an ode to the fallen to fill this place."

[hopper]

Periodically, Winifred had been sitting up to peer at the people as they slowly, obliviously crowded her table. She hissed through her teeth, face growing more and more dour till it almost resembled that of the rotting man across from her. All she’d wanted was a nice meal and to get very drunk after a long day of being almost-stabbed and here it was being spoiled by some stranger with an ugly guitar and that same jester. The jester, her eyes went to him and down again and she force her lips not to curl into a deep and pugilant grimace. At last as the jester, that masked jester, the one who hounded her from her first steps to her room and now here, began to sing, she made her mind up.

“Sorry all, but I’m quite afraid it’s past my bedtime.”
Sitting up fully, she grabbed the bottle and clambered up onto the table. From here she could fully see the set of strangers who had made the small groups’ private conversation their business and frowned stormily. Carefully weaving around the various cups accumulated on the table, she hopped off the very end beside Tazia. There, she glanced to Tazia and gave her a nod.
“And I just cannot sleep without my teddy bear.”
She took hold of Jeanne’s shirt and began to pull him to his feet albeit as gently as she could, making direct eye contact with Griswold through his mask and nodding to the stairs with as much subtlety as the drinks in her system would allow. Looking to Duval she mouthed the words ‘You can come too.’

[relentless]

Was this woman an angel in disguise? A savior from such strange, nightmarish feelings and thoughts from what he apparently committed unconsciously. A glimmer of hope sparkled in the mans eyes, and he almost let his expression turn into the most joyful boy in this bar, as if he were farm child skipping through fields of wheat with a rose in his mouth.

But he composed himself, let out a cough, and patted on the table.
"Oh aye, aye! I should vacate to my quarters anyway... its been a long day!"
Duval winces his statement as he stretches long and hard, a crack in his back showing signs of knots forming in his back. He did need the relief, either of sleep or of the bottle. Pushing himself up, he slid himself out of the booth and past Tazia, keeping his body well away from her unconsciously. He dusted himself off, and began to fasten his overcoat back on, nodding toward the lady, and Hugo.

"Well I do hope you all have a joyous evening..."
Duval gave his thanks to each and every individual there, sharing a light smile with them, finishing it on Jeanne and Wynne.
"Oh, and to Miss Wynne especially. The sharing of wine will not be forgotten back then."
Duval nodded graciously in her direction, raising his eyebrows twice at her as he met her gaze, before he sauntered off with faux confident stride, glancing at the bottle held in Wynnes hand.

But for a moment, he turned his head to the side as he passed by Wynne, slowing down slightly and mouthed some words to Wynne in exchange, as if they were undergoing a secret operation. Though it was more of a 'hit and run' operation as he passed the message off quick, and accurately.
'Meet at the top of the stairwell.'
Duval would pronounce under silent tongue as he passed her by, before winking toward the lad, Jeanne, before continuing onward.

[Outisakanobody]

Tazia huffed as she was left in the lurch. She didn't think she had done anything deserving of such a sudden and large scale departure. Internally she blamed this other fool who had started playing music so abruptly, and was now looking to apologize?

Tazia hid her grimace with her wide hat brim, scrunching herself down into her seat. She was, seemingly, trying to leave as well, but without having to stand up and make some excuse before hurrying away in defeat. That would have been utterly humiliating, to her at least.

She was defeated, her goals thwarted, but she at least endeavored to maintain some of her dignity. To her, this meant not engaging with anyone else in the bar as a whole. At least not until she could get her bearings back. Idly she took a chance and reached for a forgotten bottle and poured whatever it was in her glass so she could sip at it. It was something else to distract from the disaster she had just endured.

[porkylabrador]

Stafford was watching the whole interaction between everyone at the table and even from here, what with people stepping over tables and yoinking each other's shirts the not-so-subtle nature of the conversations was fairly apparent to him. Even if he was misinterpreting, he had his interpretation.

With a guffaw he sank the last of his beverage and straightened himself up, letting out a surprisingly languid stretch and yawn, more feline than canine. "It's a wonder, girl..." The wandering artist leaned back against his booth's seat of tatty leather with his wrists crossed loosely behind his head, a cigarette billowed smoke about his person. "Why is it even in the grimiest hovel all people care about is threading a needle with a pork sausage? Bollocks, maybe that's the appeal..?" Vicky opened an unmolested eye of pure disinterest while her Master nodded as if he were debating the philosophical subtleties of the universe.

"The mind boggles, Vic." Even though he was speaking to himself, he was a big enough personality that his voice might carry at least in part to nearby tables, even to the subjects of his conversation. With that he initialled his latest work:

The Pisshead's Paradise.

[Vanitypirate]

[Entering from the Sanitarium]
Tilly wasn't seeking liquor or bread, but like instinct, her footsteps always lead on back to the tavern. It was a good enough base grounds, she supposed, and the premise of sitting on her own and simply just... sitting there, quietly, grew to be a more unpleasant one the more she talked to others.

So she pulled open the tavern door and slipped inside, but stopped in her tracks. Her gaze locked on the dog: dangerous creatures that she only seldom encountered, it always served her to befriend the ones that she did come across.

With a small, almost impish smile, as she pulled out the bone from the mutton she had eaten earlier this morning out of her bag. She clicked her tongue to garner the attention of the beast, and waggled the bone in some attempt to entice it...

[porkylabrador]

Stafford didn't notice the newcomer right away, still engrossed with talking to himself and pondering his muses as he was, he barely felt the shift of weight from his tootsies as Vicky stirred 'neath his table. The beast was prone to flights of fancy and wandering which he didn't begrudge her given her previous line of employment.

The grizzled brute raised herself to her feet and gingerly approached the offered morsel, a damp foam already forming at her wrinkly chops. With a couple of anticipatory snorts Vic's mean eyes glazed in wonder of the foreign delicacy and suddenly she wasn't padding carefully... she was bounding.

The sound of claws-on-floors drew he Master's attention. "No! Nononono!" His cigarette fell from his lips and landed atop his thigh, drawing a series of curse words as he tried in earnest to rid himself from his booth and avoid a burn to the love-spuds.

Vicky sailed through the air like a ballet dancer who'd been starved for two weeks as her craw opened towards the sheep's unfortunate remains held by the offering hand, her jowls like bed sheets in the wind. "Keep your hand flat!" Stafford shrieked in true horror as the scene unfolded in near enough slow motion.

[Vanitypirate]

In truth, Tilly had limited experience with dogs. As a child she was not permitted to entertain them, and as an adult, she had only tenitively befriended strays; their loyalty was easily bought by way of scraps.

So she froze, momentarily, when the jowled creature came bolting over. Growing fearful for her arm, she opted instead for distance.
It was an energetic one; those were always the kind that proved to be the most fun.

"Catch!" She cackled gleefully, tossing the bone in the air. She aimed for a spot just above Victoria's head, so that she might catch it with a good jump.

[porkylabrador]

Instantly the magic of a dog sailing through the air was interrupted by the cruelty of physics. Already in mid-flight Vicky had almost no time to compensate for the bone's sudden movement, with a failed lunge to grab it with her maw the morsel's end hit her directly in the forehead with a muffled 'thump' sound. Careering in the air, the gnarled Bulldog managed half a back-flip before landing incredibly ungracefully next to the bone.

Huffing wildly Vic became a mass of wild limbs as she joyfully spent the next few seconds rolling around with her new treasure, gnashing and gnawing at it to make sure this new nemesis wouldn't be moving again while the stump that was her tail beat with furious happiness against the floor.

Stafford finally caught up to the pair avec a small hole in his trousers and a dash of pink creeping across his cheeks and nose. "Er..." He watched the display for a moment as Vicky bucked and kicked her legs, upside down in front of the Tavernites, bone safely lodged between her the canine's canines. "Good catch... I s'pose..." He chuckled trying to muster some enthusiasm for his 'well trained' companion. His eyes moved now to the newcomer. "An' good reflexes on your part, I've seen her collide with the owner of the hand that feeds her before now, ahem, more than once I might add." He grinned, a single fool's gold crown in his teeth glinting in the firelight.

[Vanitypirate]

Watching the beast take flight was as miraculous and graceful as watching a cow set into a tap dance, in that it was more heavily miraculous but significantly less graceful.
As the bone struck the dog in the head, she was unsure whether to commend or to scold herself on her aim. Luckily, Victoria seemed not to mind all too much.

Despite herself, Tilly grinned jovially.

"I've never seen a creature more graceful. What's her name?" She nodded to Victoria, then to Stafford, hastily wiping off a mutton-greased hand on a coat so patchworked that the stain seemed right at home.

"And yours, while I'm at it?" She tilted her hat back, angling the brim away from her face as she extended a newly-cleaned hand.

[porkylabrador]

"Yeah?" Staff couldn't help but smirk and kneel next to the slobbering brute at his feet, his hand extended for a rubbing of Victoria's tummy but hastily retracted as a low growl permeated the air, the hound was less than found of the mitts proximity to the food apparently. "You haven't? You might need to get out more, buy yourself a picture book or visit one of them fancy menageries the rich erect when a tabby cat just don't quite cut the mustard." He chuckled, winking at the hat-toting lass whilst remaining entirely unconvinced of his own companion's grace.

"Victoria, Vic for short, like the queens." The fellow pointed to the dog. "Stafford, Staff for short... er, like the dog and the place I s'pose." The fellow pointed to himself wrinkling his nose at the irony. "I'm sure Vic'll thank you later, when she's done re-killin' that, s'nice to know not everyone here is a dour faced looking sod, Ms..?"

[Vanitypirate]

"Tilly, sans the 'Ms.'." Tilly introduced herself, eyes flicking sheepishly between the beast and her master as she let her extended hand fall limp and slink off, defeated, to a coat pocket, where it was held warmly and safely.
The growl only served to reinforce that this was, indeed, a living, breathing bear trap that could outrun her, so she took a respectful, if not small, step back away from Victoria and her prize.

"S'nice to meet you both, Queen Victoria and her lovely Staff." The other hand went to rest comfortably in a pocket, too.
"I sure hope you weren't looking for picture books or menageries coming 'round this little place."

[porkylabrador]

Stafford took note of the slight reservation on this 'Tilly's' part and nodded a barely noticeable approval, not that he wanted people to fear his pooch but this was certainly a more sensible response than he was used to and that was the truth.

The rapscallion bowed with surprising grace, succeeding rather well at emulating the reverence of a household butler. "Ah, my liege, Queen of the great newt-ponds and conqueror of garden-turf... ahem." He straightened himself up and brushed busied his digits by straitening his lapels while Victoria remained oblivious to anything that wasn't half mutton bone.

"Mon dieu, madame!" A false display of pain crossed his face and he gripped his poorly buttoned shirt as if his heart might break. "'Picture books' Tilly-sans-the-ms the says, you wound this poor vessel for the arts that deals primarily in... so called 'picture books'." He couldn't get through his own performance without snorting at his own self mockery. Clearly he was not offended in the least and more than willing to make a fool of himself.

With one hand lifting a cig to his lips, the other gestured to his booth a few feet away, atop a few sketchbooks sat a battered leather tricorn hat, on one of the chairs an easel and trellis. "Behold my menagerie." He side-smirked at Tilly.

[Vanitypirate]

"Ah... the hat is a work of art!" Tilly jested with a little laugh, but she approached the artist's station regardless, giving The Queen of Newt-ponds a respectful, wide berth as she skirted around her.

"An artist, though...? I don't see a whole lot of those around these parts; that's less competition for you, I suppose!" She eyed the sketchbooks, but resisted the urge to flip through it with her dirty mitts.
She at least knew that much.

"Can I see?" She waggled an elbow at the book and looked to Stafford expectantly, with a smile that betrayed all her excitement for this 'picture book.'

[porkylabrador]

"Once again, you wound me Tilly!" Foppishly the fellow leaned towards the table that he might faint upon it should such righteous indignation become too much for his human heart. "Unearthing trade secrets in such a way! Every 'good' artist knows in order to beat one's competition, one must hide away from all people in their entirety." The gold-crown-grin surfaced once again as Stafford ever-so-slightly adjusted the bun his hair sat in.

"By all means..." He said with some reservation, pawing at his sketches as Victoria dragged her bone back 'neath the table. "And any you should like, feel free to keep, I've precious few walls to hang them on anyway and even fewer people to sell them to."

If Tilly were to look at the images properly, she'd notice a break away from all of the fashionable trends of artistry. Gone was any semblance of idealisation, people were rendered with every scar, every wart and every dour expression. The closest comparison in the style of drawing might be a medieval German woodcut, there were no aristocrats, all the muses were the idle and dull folk one might find in establishment such as the one the pair stood in now... each however, was rendered with great detail and study, a style that could only come from a practised and/ trained hand.

Staff lifted his hat away that she might view them better.