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Post by azmoham on Mar 12, 2018 17:52:05 GMT -8
"Too many cooks spoil the stew, Jeanny."
The girl warned, waggling a thin finger with exaggerated care, giggling. The truth was only about as complicated as that, to be quite honest. She'd had enough of the noise and the crowd, especially considering the day she'd had thus far. It would be a relief to share a quiet moment away from the peering eyes and croaking voices of their fellow mercenaries downstairs. At the other girl's request, her smile hardened for just a second, fragile like glass before it smoothed itself once more, hopefully escaping the knife-flinger's notice.
"Well, alright."
She paused for a moment, holding up her slim hands as it to examine them herself before she lay them out before Jeanne. What she saw there was the same thing that had been there yesterday, and the day before that, and perhaps another thousand before those. Memories swam beneath the surface of her mind, like smooth fish they slipped away before she could get a proper grip and haul them into the light for closer inspection. What she could glean was dense heady smoke, and a sharp drink in a small clay cup, and the burn when the knife began its work...She shrugged the thoughts away and finally held out her hands. The lines comprising the designs etched upon either palm were thin, a shade of white-pink that stood out against the girl's otherwise pale complexion. One a treble clef, the other a sixteenth note, both prayers to the capricious deity she'd spent her life in service to.
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Post by Kidney on Mar 17, 2018 16:39:54 GMT -8
A mighty man, with the sound of a miniature earthquake, entered the Tavern. He walked in shoulder first, to squeeze through the door, and with a look towards those of the Tavern, he knew his place.
He took a step forward, but stopped, looking back, and placed his gigantic blade up against the wall, leaving it in sight, but out of mind. With that out of the way, the tired leper made his way closer to a table. He reached with a relatively clean glove, yanking a seat back at an empty table near the side of the room, and sat down with a loud thud.
No wench came to serve him. He looked down, and shrugged to himself. He reached over to a satchel on his side, small to him, decent sized for others. He reached within, a sound of a jar being opened followed by the slosh of liquid, before Roard pulled up a soft, half-fermented apple from the leathery contents surrounding the large glass jar. He stuck it into his mouth, weak, yellow teeth sinking in to the flesh, biting the whole thing in half.
Roard sat like this, quietly munching, removing a stem, and then munching again. By himself, but seeming content to a degree.
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Post by relentless on Mar 23, 2018 14:48:27 GMT -8
Calamity ensued in the Tavern. As per. The recent victory against the horde of cultists and other fiendish beasts was enough to inspire a more active customer base within the tavern. Singing was fruitful, cheering was aplenty and the clash of mugs, the splatter of ale onto the floorboards and the slap of cards on tabletops was apparent. It was a very positive atmosphere despite the nature of things, at least for the majority.
Duval was sat at the counter, overcoat folded up nice and neat on the stool beneath him, his business vest pressed against the counter as he leaned forward. He seemed to be performing a coin trick, flicking and fumbling the coin down his fingers before scooping it up with his thumb, putting it back on his end finger and repeating the process. He seemed content, the distraction was nice as he sat away from others, enjoying the sight. In his eyes, he could see the distorted reflections of two individuals that danced in his head.
Mirela, Grace, Mirela, Grace.
The faces would change as the coin's side was changed, going from heads to tails, causing the reflection to change. During the flip, their faces would grow more pronounced before slipping onto the next, and the next face of Mirela or Grace. A faint smile was put on his face, a humored one at best.
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Post by Kidney on Mar 24, 2018 21:15:30 GMT -8
Shufflings, quiet, but noticeable. Gambling eyes shift, turn me into chips. My armor into cups, my soul into a whore.
Roard quietly shuffled in place, looking around before finally swallowing the chewed other half of the fermenting crabapple. He had turned his head the right slightly, cocking it just barely askew as to not allow any pieces to push forth from the holes in his cheek. Although, the gaps between the few teeth he had left made eating already tricky.
He looked around, eyeing various peoples of various places. From desperate highwaymen to villagers of the ilk Roard once walked beside to strange figures shifting in the back, eyeing him, then returning to half-drank ale.
Roard found himself looking for a wench, or waitress, as he had heard them called. He seemed displeased with the idea, change meant awkwardness, awkwardness led to fear. Fear led to persecution. In short bursts, he would pretend to adjust himself, but at the same time look around from his head's high perch, staring at those deemed shifty. He was no Lawman, but perhaps becoming one in the idea of a bar brawl could solidify him as a reliable ally.
He saw one man alone.
Roard enjoyed men who sat alone.
The idea of a man sitting alone meant that one could approach with a conversation unless the man meant offense by ignoring the second. The twisted rope of thought seemed good enough for Roard to deal with, but his legs could not force themselves to move. Roard looked down at them with a look of disdain, but also understanding.
"Fuck."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 1, 2018 21:46:47 GMT -8
"Soup is fine." She nodded, grateful that Tilly was offering a meal so that she wouldn't need to grovel for one. Courcy followed on her heels and slid inside the tavern. As uninviting as the stuffy bar was, she was glad to return to familiar territory. The faint smell of food and drink was alluring enough. "You wouldn't even put a nick in the blade." Courcy teased, her finger gesturing to Tilly's stick-like frame from head to toe. The halberd was almost unwieldy in a crowd, but most everyone eased out of the way of such a weapon. She incidentally made a path for them toward the bar counter. "So..." Tilly was maybe her closest friend, yet anxious about recent events, the redhead was resigned to talk of much. Men were much easier to deal with. --- Tilly chuckled, stepping into the tavern, "Sure explains why I haven't made a hobby of it, eh?" As if cooking up some master plot, Tilly clasped her hands together in anticipation for the soup. She followed after Courcy to find a comfortable perch atop a barstool, where she leaned in to Hook and flashed a small sum of gold, which was swiftly exchanged for the soup of the day: chicken, apparently, and an assortment of vegetables that Hook neglected to specify before he swept the coin away to go retrieve the beloved soup. Tilly found this satisfactory, and resumed her typical fidgeting, though her eyes still occasionally wandered anxiously to the door, or to an open window... "Got any plans coming up soon?" She steepled her fingers thoughtfully in front of her mouth, leaning forward, and eyed Courcy with an odd intensity. |
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Post by black379 on Apr 2, 2018 12:22:30 GMT -8
Taking the seat beside Tilly, Courcy made herself comfortable. She leaned one arm on the counter top and rested the other in her lap. Her eyes idly followed Hook, but she wasn't as starved as she made out to be. She had kept fed better than most of her days in the hamlet, thanks to Blood.
But as the blonde shifted in her seat and leaned in, it was obvious Tilly had something on the tip of her tongue. Courcy gave her an expectant look, brow raised in anticipation.
"Like I said, I've got nowhere to go. That squire wants me to train him or something." The redhead noted with a bit of a shrug. She wanted to be done with her debt, so she might actually earn wages enough to buy a drink for herself. "When d'you think we'll go out again? For 'one more' mission?"
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 2, 2018 12:39:45 GMT -8
There was no good way to tell Courcy that Tilly's 'one more' mission was exactly the mission prior.
"Oh, it depends on when you're ready, really... best be good to get your arms healed up before then." She went on, antsy fingers dancing along the bar surface as her eyes followed Hook, who was returning with a bowl of soup in tow.
She sighed; it was an expensive meal she could have likely substituted for bread. Perhaps she could bribe Courcy into remaining friends with her.
"And also on when you've got the time." Tilly reached into her coat and withdrew the invitation, with Courcy's name written in fine writing on the front. It was rolled up and sealed with a string of twine.
She pushed the bowl of soup and the invitation towards Courcy.
"Lekalis and I are marrying in a fortnight."
Tilly promptly prepared to flee.
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Post by black379 on Apr 2, 2018 13:06:25 GMT -8
As the soup arrived, she swiveled more toward the counter than to Tilly. She licked smirking lips and straightened her back. Courcy nodded to Tilly's answer, ambiguous as it was, hoping for a more proper timeline. But at the last statement, she paused. Her head swiveled to look Tilly in the eyes and her grin widening for an instant.
"You serious?" The instant passed, and the smirk fell from her face, replaced by a hard stare. She rigidly arrested the invitation and plied it open.
"T-this because I tried it on with him?" Courcy glowered at the note before discarding it on the counter. She turned in her stool, but was suddenly disinterested in the soup too.
"Fuck..."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 2, 2018 13:15:04 GMT -8
Tilly's expression grew more pained, and she looked between Courcy and the soup, almost panicked.
"Yes-- and no! We had it planned since... before the expedition. But we didn't know how to let people know, or if they'd react well, or if they'd hate us." Her eyes desperately scanned Courcy's expression, and her arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug.
"...You're welcome to attend. There's an invitation with your name right on it. It'll be a lovely, spring day-- outdoors..." She rambled, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Her arms slackened.
Tilly was quiet for another moment before she further pushed the soup in Courcy's direction.
"...Have some soup." She insisted meekly.
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Post by black379 on Apr 2, 2018 13:40:08 GMT -8
She sank forward, her face grim. Her eyes stuck to the names written almost too neatly on the invitation. To Courcy, the flourishes and ornate seal were an apparent taunt. It only brewed the jealousy in her chest. Her guts were twisted, and she knew the meal Tilly meant to sweeten her with would be tasteless.
"Good on you." Courcy barely choked out and pushed her seat back. Before she could escape, she lurched forward and hid her face in her hands.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 2, 2018 13:55:29 GMT -8
There was a cold fear brewing in Tilly as she watched the other woman more-or-less crumble before her eyes.
She sat there, awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. Was Courcy angry with her?
Would it be too much to ask for other people to be happy for her, for once?
She quirked her head and rose an uncertain hand. It rested on Courcy's shoulder in some small attempt to be comforting as Tilly scooted in.
"...Are you alright?" She asked, needlessly; the answer was quite obviously 'no.'
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 2, 2018 14:11:40 GMT -8
The older man nodded, not entirely satisfied but unwilling to push the matter and risk the companionship he'd just gained, He loved Rudy but she wasn't much for jacks, unfortunately. "Very well then, no matter, makes no difference to me in the end I suppose." He hummed as he made to enter the establishment. Granted, it was still terribly strange, but that was what this place was supposed to be right? Strange. But if the oddest thing he encountered was a dusty toyshop and a Frenchman who didn't know he was French, then Trent anticipated a very quiet life indeed here. Hopefully not too quiet, wouldn't want to get bored after all"Now, as for jacks, there can be as many players as you can fit around a table and jacks you have to play with, although it generally works best with two or three men, preferably after a round of drinks and with a few coins to wager." he gave his comrade a cheeky grin, nudging him gently with one broad elbow before entering the establishment proper. [Trent enters the Tavern] --- "Ah, then we must find another good man to enjoy Jacks with." As though scanning the horizon, Ponytail held a hand over his brow as a make-shift visor (An act that was even more unnecessary, considering the indoor setting and the hat he wore both negated any sort of sun in his eyes) and peered into the crowd. "Do you know any other men, Mister Trent?" He asked, squinting into the crowd, "Or shall we invite a new friend?" |
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Post by black379 on Apr 2, 2018 14:44:44 GMT -8
Rubbing her eyes to suppress tears, Courcy sucked in an uneven breath. She didn't want to break down in front of Tilly, let alone the rest of the crowded tavern. It wasn't fair to be angry at Tilly for getting exactly what she longed for, but it was unbearably difficult to be happy for her either.
"I'm n-" She bit her tongue to keep from pouting. A lot of good it would do to cry. "I wanna die..."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Apr 2, 2018 15:06:31 GMT -8
It was not an excellent start to that distribution of invitations.
Tilly pulled Courcy in close in a sort of side-hug and rubbed her shoulder.
She had no clue on how to tackle the next of those no-doubt alarming words, and briefly considered the sanitarium as an option.
After all, it was only just barely that she had saved Grace and Ariana.
"...Why?"
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Post by black379 on Apr 2, 2018 15:44:59 GMT -8
She barely kept herself together as the other woman hugged her. Courcy wanted to disappear in her arms to hide her shame. If she were gone, life couldn't fuck with her any more, and she couldn't fuck up her life any more.
"Baignard loved me. Really. No one is-"
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