Miscellaneous Buildings

[azmoham]

The man guffawed, watching with interest as the little droplets splattered to the ground, rivulets running into the cracks in the road and soaking the blood-black earth.
"Truly this place is in a worse state of affairs than I thought. If I ever found myself the sanest man in a room, I'd be quite worried as to the state of its other occupants."
He smirked sardonically, holding his right hand out palm down and watching the water trickle over his dark skin, passing over the dark scar tissue which blotted his being.
"And I can assure you, I shall do my best to avoid being dragged into any further misadventures, even those on your behalf I'm afraid. Lavinia would never forgive me if I went and died trying to fetch something for you from the dungeons, you understand."
His tone implied a joke, but the content of his words was quite serious.
"Now, I for one would prefer to continue this conversation in-doors, lovely as this weather is."

[Vanitypirate]

"Right-o, then; to the tavern."
Admittedly, Tilly had been dragging her feet in an effort to postpone entering the tavern, the atmosphere of which was rather unforgiving to a sensitive nose.
And the rain was rather lovely.

With resignation, she shook her hand dry before letting it at her side. Amusingly, her hat served as some sort of umbrella-- as practical as it was fashionable (to Tilly).
She turned about a corner of the alley. It widened and spilled out into the Hamlet square, the tavern entrance was adjacent to the pair.

"Oh, heaven's, no-- I'd never want to send you down there. You have a terrible habit of getting beaten to an inch of your life." She laughed a little despite the rather grim subject.

"Worse comes to worst, we'll just hire some other shmuck."

[azmoham]

"I do have a rather remarkable tendency to miss death by inches, but then I suppose said tendency is shared among most who call this place home."
He mused, idly scratching his beard, before retrieving his bloodied handkerchief and letting loose another round of hoarse coughing. It persisted for perhaps thirty seconds or so before at last he wiped his lips and tucked the small square of cloth away again.
"Mmm, it certainly would be preferable to send someone there in our stead, and from the looks of it, the well of recruits has lessened little in my absence."
He paused, gazing out across the square to watch the people move to and fro. It was baffling, what men would do for mere gold, trinkets and baubles for strumpets and beer, won at the sword's edge. Stepping from the alley, he moved to the tavern's entrance and pulled open the aged door, the whine of its hinges lost in the wave of sound which poured forth from the bar. Inside, as always, patrons sat and sipped stale ale, stirring murky stews with wooden spoons that were chipped and worn with age. A wench could be seen shifting from table to table, picking up tankards here and depositing them there, swatting away grabby hands with stern good-cheer, her ruddy face like an apple in the hazy light. He was struck, almost absurdly so, with the realization that a tavern was much the same everywhere, even in a place like this. It was comforting, something to moor himself to in a town that still, even now seemed to brim with strange menace behind its haggard face. 

[Vanitypirate]

Tilly filed in swiftly after Jacques did, braving the sweat-and-blood stench of the tavern.
It should be easy, just in and out... all they'd need to was grab the tea and run.

But at the sound of the cough, and the bloodied handkerchief, Tilly found her attention entirely occupied.

"What-- Jacques!" Her voice was a borderline whisper, fanning a hand in front of her mouth, pointing the other at the handkerchief. "What's wrong with you?"

[azmoham]

He waved his hand, as if trying to ward off an irksome fly.
"Pah, it's-it's nothing, merely a cough."
He assured her, trying to stand straighter, attempting to shed some of his frailty.
"I know I may prattle on like an old man, but I promise you, I do not possess the constitution of one. Everything is fine."
Jacques took a half-step towards the bar, indicating for Tilly to do the same.
"Now, I do believe we were here for some tea, yes?"
He was obviously eager to put the troubling incident behind them, no need to incite further worry when there was already more than enough of that for the both of them.

[Vanitypirate]

"You can't tell me you're fine while you're hacking up blood!" Tilly whispered harshly, indignant, one hand cupping her mouth, now, both to shield herself from the tavern's odor and to hush herself, lest anyone else eavesdrop in.

She took a step forward, to follow, and then stopped, insistent.

"What's going on?"

[azmoham]

Jacques gave Tilly a warning look, brows folded together.
"Tilly, if you truly insist on knowing, I'll tell you when we're not quite so..."
He made a small, sharp wave to the crowd around them,
"exposed. But for now, I can say nothing save that I'm fine. Now please,"
His expression softened, almost to a look of pleading.
"Can we just get the tea and find somewhere to enjoy it away from prying ears?"
He made no further move towards the bar, but instead staid beside her, his sharp eyes meeting her own. 

[Vanitypirate]

Tilly rubbed her blonde brow, as if plagued by a sudden headache.
"Yeah, yeah... let's make it quick."

Silently, she lamented the trait in many of her mercenary compatriots, Jacques included, to insist that they were well until the very last moment.

"...But you're not allowed to say that you're fine, though." She told him in finality, making to stride to the bar with haste, if Jacques would follow.

[azmoham]

The academic rolled his eyes fiercely as she stepped away, silently cursing her persistence when it came to these sort of things. There were more important things to attend to than a little cough, and he had certainly survived worse, it was almost laughable she considered this worthy of concern while the souls of her family were being held hostage.
"Indeed."
He trailed her to bar, stepping up to it at her side. He was both suprised to see the one-armed Hook still at his station, and in an odd way, relieved.
The more things change...
He pondered this as he watched the man go about his tasks with remarkable skill and speed for lacking an entire hand, then again, one can adjust to anything given sufficient time and motivation.
And what better motivation than money, after all?
When the mute made no move to address them, Jacques rapt his knuckles on the bar once, twice, three times. On this third knock, Hook at last turned his squat head towards them and squinted wordlessly, indicating he was ready to take their order, upon seeing Jacques the man's eyes widened for a moment before returning to their typically narrowed position.
"Yes, it's good to see you as well, sir Hook. Now, I was hoping I could perhaps have a cup of tea? And perhaps a biscuit and some cheese if you have any spare?"
As he spoke, he released his cane for a moment to untie his coin-purse from his waist, and then deposited half a dozen bronze disks on the bar top, which glinted dully in the candlelight. The barkeep stared for a long moment, and then with some apparent hesitance disappeared into a back room to meet the mage's request. He reappeared a little while later holding a china cup that may have once been white but was now stained a light brown from use, a few leaves stewed moodily in the murky liquid which occupied the cup, and steam could faintly been seen to raise off its surface. In his other hand he held a plate on which sat two biscuits and a thick slab of cheese. He set down the cup and plate and shuffled the coins off the bartop and into his remaining hand, giving Jacques a nod as he did so. The swarthy man smiled to the barkeep and shrugged off his pack, and began to search through it. A few moments later he made a noise of triumph and removed a cloth bundle, setting it on the bar he opened it to reveal a handful of nuts, a few dried berries and thin strips of dried meat. He set the biscuits and cheese onto the cloth and retied it back into a bundle, before returning it to its place in his bag.
"There we are, and now,"
he picked up the tea cup and took a few long gulps, setting it back down on the bartop, drained of liquid, the dregs remaining at the bottom.
"I'm quite ready to leave, unless of course you'd like to read my fortune?"
he gestured to the teacup with small smile.

[Vanitypirate]

Tilly had lingered patiently behind, enjoying the merciful breeze from a nearby, open window, hands in her pockets to push her coat close to the front of her.
She recalled a time when she had called the tavern home and met a great deal of her compatriots in this very room.

The thought brought a smile to her face; some years ago, when a young mage burst through the doors and declared himself the greatest wizard anyone had ever seen.

Watching him now, tromping about with his cane and hacking up his lungs he seemed to have aged and sombered with the rest of the town. The streets were quiet and grey, and no longer bustling with demonic activity-- at least, it seemed so from the outside.
Now there was just the typical, worldly conflict: man versus man. It should have brought some comfort to her, but it was one of those conflicts she tended to lose most in.

As Jacques approached again, she gave a start.

"Fortune?--" She blinked hard and glanced to the teacup and then back, with a short chuckle as she stepped towards the entrance, "Oh! Thought you were the fancy mageling, weren't you? You have the turban to match."

[azmoham]

He laughed, shaking his head.
"I do indeed, in this very bag in fact."
He patted the pouch in question while making to move towards the door.
"Unfortunately, I left my tarot cards and incense at home, more's the pity I suppose." 
When he reached the door he pushed it open and held it for her, trying to stay under the eave of the tavern to avoid the worst of the rain, which fell in a steady if light wash. 

[Vanitypirate]

Tilly tipped her hat at him in thanks as she more or less hopped out of the door, pleased to be free from the tavern at last.
She never thought she'd see the day when she'd be more eager to visit the abbey than the tavern, but there it was.

"You kept it after all this time?" She rose her brows, incredulous, and then laughed, "You really ought you wear it, y'know! It'll do good against the rain!"

[azmoham]

"I would but the bloody thing takes an age to put on properly, I was planning on wearing it to the ceremony."
He explained, releasing the door and allowing it to swing shut, cutting off the warmth and sound which breathed from the doorway. Submerged once more as they were in the cool, grey streets, he couldn't help but shiver just the smallest amount, wishing he'd thought to bring his cloak with him as they set off through the rain.
"So then, the Abbey, aye?"
He nodded to the imposing tower of stone which hunkered like a sleeping titan on one side of the main square. 
"I must admit, I'm quite looking forward towards a good bath, it feels like its been years since I've had a proper washing."
Loathe as he was to admit, hygiene had taken something of a hit in favor of not-dying, and then in favor of caring for his sister and then in favor of not submerging himself in the frigid waters of the river which ran swiftly by the village, despite Lavinia's mockery and insistence that truly 'it wasn't so bad'. He had largely subsisted on thoroughly wiping himself down with a rag soaked in warm water, which while technically adequate, was hardly as satisfying as good bath. 

[Vanitypirate]

"Ach, ages? Stars almighty, goodness me. You'll singe my eyebrows off." Tilly lamented with a jesting exaggeration, flapping a hand in front of her admittedly long nose as though the odor was suddenly unbearable before her theatrics were interrupted by a short, amused cackle.

"I jest-- you're not horribly ripe. A hint of dirt looks good on you." She amended, starting up the stairs at a hop, pausing to let Jacques catch up.
It was strange, to be on the precipice of ruin both regarding and beyond the mortal plane; Jacques's apparent illness that he called 'fine', and then the blood-curse of herself and her family on the latter.
Still, she found herself simply delighting herself in the presence of an old friend, embracing the 'now.'

Margerie always said she never planned ahead.

"Maybe not as good as a turban, if I'm honest. Is it what all the fashionable scholars wear now-a-days?"

[azmoham]

He snorted, pulling his coat tighter about himself as if that would abate the rain falling on his head and dripping through his beard.
"Ah indeed, all the worthy half-mad, narrowly-death-avoiding academics wear them."
He smirked.
"And I would tend to disagree, I tend to find I look rather silly traipsing about in a fine coating of grime, doesn't match my beard you see."
He stroked the neatly-kempt swath of hair on his face, combing droplets of water from it which left his fingertips damp.
"I'm sure it would look simply dashing with that hat of yours, however, given how both are equally unfortunate."
He reached up and flicked the tip of her hat, causing the wide brim to wobble for a moment, sending the accumulated moisture springing into the air before landing back down in the mud they now walked through, much to his secret dismay.