[Memory] A Witch Walks into the Bar

(Bear and Boot, Aziza please)

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Jenson
Posts: 25
Joined: Tue Jul 10, 2018 6:39 am
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Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbour
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Wed Aug 01, 2018 10:20 am

bear and boot | mid-afternoon
6 LOSHIS 2715
Events took longer for Jenson to process then he would have liked. He remembered having a firm grip on Moony, hot breath escaping between them. Outside it was still raining, the damp sneaking in beneath the ajar door. The other patrons had truly shifted now, forming an almost ring around the interior of the pub. Aziza was weeping – or at least, that was what it sounded like. He was not paying too much attention in honesty; his priority was on the human before him. The drunk was still struggling in the grip of the three men, slurred and slowed despite the inevitable tossing that was coming his way. They were already guiding him towards the door, shunting and shoving despite his efforts to fight back.

At least, until he was ripped from their grasp.

The three staggered as Moony toppled away. The drunk was easily swayed, the blast knocking him off kilter. Jenson himself toppled back against one of the benches, stunned as he tried to tried to gain a sense of bearings. He grunted, hand finding purchase on the surface next to him, a flurry of blinks as he looked to the sailors opposite him. They were gathering themselves, the panicked screams of Aziza being the chorus that stirred them. Her tongue clicked in Tek, not that he understood the words. Jenson shook his head, ”Begads. Slow down. I don’t understand-“

Her expression was one of fear. No, horror. As he followed the gaze, the pub silent as the inhabitants awkwardly stared upon the victim of the mona. Even a few of the patrons were trying to get away, leaving over the dormant Moony while his blood began to stream across the floor. Jenson’s eyes swivelled to her, ”What did you do Spoke?”

Jenson pulled himself up, flexing his fingers as he stood. He briefly looked to the Sailors, who in turn were looking at him for the next move. He shrugged, he had no idea. One moment this girl was scared, the next she was all over Moony looking to right the wrong. Part of it made him think ‘serves you right’, but then the internal groaning of the mess that was beginning to seep everywhere made him move into action.

”Everyone out,” he exhaled. No one moved, ”Everyone out now!”

Patrons shuffled into life, groaning as they escaped out into the drizzle. Tankards were clunked down, coats shrugged on, they awkwardly stepped around the situation. The barkeep cursed under his breath, ”You idiot.” He shifted around to Moony’s feet, tugging and pulling them together, ”Hans, Peter, help me get him upstairs. You, get the door closed.”

The dead weight of Moony was taken between the three of them, the various grunts and groans as they took the matter into their own hands. Awkwardly they took him up the narrow steps at the back of the bar, up into the attic space and his own quarters. It kept them out the way then with whatever she was going to do next. He gave a barking order, ”Get the blanket, lay him out.”

Laying the drunken man out on his side, the Wick merely shot a glance to the others before stalking back below, ”Thanks, but I think you both should get out of here. Just going to get the place stinking.”
“You sure Boss?”
it was Hans who spoke, his voice a whisper.
”I got this. Go on, beat it.”
They shuffled downstairs, the Barkeep following to stop at the counter. Beatrice looked at him with her large yellow eyes, her tongue licking the moisture upon her chin. He sighed, ”Yes, I know. I know. I’ll clean up in a moment.”

He found the bottle of yellow rot, skulking his way back upstairs to place down the drink. It landed with a clunk, the interior sloshing within. He frowned, eyeballing Moony and the blood that escaped his skull. He pinched his brow, ”Sack it. Shall we add knockout to your fortune telling?” he shook his head, ”Unless you need me, I’ll be cleaning up down stairs.”

A snort, ”Though, wouldn’t be too nice to ‘im. He got what was coming.”
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Aziza
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Thu Aug 02, 2018 2:47 pm

Loshis 6, 2715
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Her words weren't too Tek-laden and yet she could see how Jenson struggled to understand her. He was hardly a wick at all! But perhaps he could be excused given the panic she was in, the unfamiliar accent, the sob in her voice as she rattled out words. She was distressed, pleading with him with every fibre of her being, her expression and body language heavy with it. They were all so slow. Why weren't they leaping into action? Why hadn't they spirited Moony away somewhere so she could properly try to assess the damage? People didn't move to help either, some of them actually taking the opportunity to step over the injured man, distancing themselves from the misfortune as fast as humanly possible. She hadn't meant to hurt Moony; she wasn't going to hurt them either.

When Jenson flung the word spoke at her, it felt like a curse. The young woman flinched away, crumpling before him as she began to sob in earnest, a high keening at the back of her throat. Oh by Hulali, what if she'd fatally wounded him? What if she was a murderer? Always so adverse to violence and keen to help others, this new situation was too much for the witch to handle and the accusation didn't help matters. It wasn't her fault, not really. The mona had gotten away from her, the sentient magic deciding just how much damage to inflict. She'd fed it with her pleading voice and scattered emotions and it had responded far, far too well.

Jenson finally took action, yelling for everyone to go, his voice triggering a near stampede as those who'd stayed after the initial rushed exodus left too. The witch got herself out of the way, aware that she now had blood on her hands and while she hated the new russet tone it added to her palms, she had nowhere to wipe it. Instead, she held the sullied extremities at arm's length, trying to make herself as small as possible as chaos reigned around her.

When the last person departed, she shut the door behind him before trailing the men and her new patient up the narrow staircase. Aziza stood silently in the room, watching as they set the drunkard out, trying to convince herself that the odd tone of his skin was a result of the light in the attic space and not the blood loss.

Blood on her hands...

The witch didn't really know what to do with him. She could clean him up, perhaps coax the mona into aiding his recovery a little bit but she wasn't advanced in her magic usage, and she was no golly to manipulate it to undertake fantastic healing endeavours. If she'd bruised him or given him the tiniest of cuts then she would have been able to help but with the way his head was bleeding... She had to remind herself that head wounds could look worse than they really were. It didn't make her feel any better.

The spoke drifted to Moony's side as the others left, looking around her for supplies she could use, well aware that this wasn't her domain. There was a chipped basin with water, scum on it showing that it wasn't the cleanest but that could be remedied. A little apprehensive of calling on the mona again, she recited a purification spell with careful reverence, trying to make her intent as clear as possible, silently asking that it only do as she wished it to do and no more. How badly could a purification spell go wrong? It wasn't something she wanted to find out. She watched as the scum dissipated, the young woman concentrating deeply as she willed each little speck of grime to disappear. When she had it clean, she reached for a nearby wash cloth, only realising as she dipped it into the now clean liquid that it wasn't clean itself. Sighing, she squeezed particulates out of it and began her purification again, feeling oddly drained after it all, a smell of rain in the air.

The Mug had just returned to the man's side, gazing at his closed eyes with a grim expression when the other wick returned with a bottle of alcohol. So he had heard and understood her.

"Thank you," she whispered a little hoarsely, sniffling as she carefully dabbed Moony's head, catching the rusty run-off in the basin, the water quickly discolouring. The second the other wick mentioned adding knockout to her services, she stopped, head whipping in his direction, still wet eyes suddenly burning with fury.

"This funny to ye, jent?" she bit out, choosing a word that marked him as other from her. He was wick by nature but that was it. She'd seen enough in the bar to tell that, heard enough as he'd struggled with her words. She too could cause offence, provided that he understood.

"I dint mean to hurt him! Case ye had ne noticed, I was afeard out o' my mind and the mona just- My intent was... upset," she explained, a mixture of shame and misery on her face. She shook her head. "I know what he was at but that don't mean he deserves this. 'Specially if I've- If I've c-c-cott him. K-k-killed him, I mean," Aziza added shakily, some part of her mind still alert enough to realise that the Tek might be lost on her tsat acquaintance.

"I don't want ye here if ye're gonna stand there wishin' ill on 'im," she added, field tense as she turned from him, going back to her cleaning. The water was quickly stained scarlet and she didn't think she could keep swabbing away at it. "Though I could like do with some more water and maybe something for a bandage."

The lighting in here wasn't great and she needed to be able to see what she was doing, see the extent of the damage. Once again, the mona moved around her, the girl using a lamp spell, flinching away from the ball of light as it flared brightly into existence and dimmed. She swabbed her forehead with the back of her arm, wiping sweat onto her blouse as she released a breath, doing her best to clear the blood from his hair, probing carefully for the source of the split and praying that it wouldn't be too bad. She wondered if Jenson would be any sort of help at all or if he'd just spew abuse about the man from afar. Best not to think on him though, her focus had to remain on her patient and on the ball of light that she was mentally maintaining, gently nudging it closer to illuminate the right spot.

When she had a fair idea where the gash was, she'd tug open the bottle of spirits and slosh some of its contents over it, the drunk groaning a little, raising partly into consciousness as he stirred.
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Jenson
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Mon Aug 06, 2018 8:03 am

bear and boot | mid-afternoon
6 LOSHIS 2715
”Make your mind up on your tone,” the floor boards creaked beneath his weight, his eyes scanning his room. The best he could currently do he reasoned, was throw one of his cleaner shirts to her. He paced around the scene, moving to the half open trunk before passing it in her general direction. He skulked back downstairs, found the full water pitcher and presented it with a clunk next to her ”It’s hard to keep up with.”

Jenson wiped his hands of the situation, for now at least. He was no healer, no man of medicine or understanding. To be able to pass such a responsibly off onto another was a relief; even if she did fire a string of abuse at him. He gave a long stare, letting it wash over him and splash at the wall behind him. He had dealt with worse, felt a firmer sting – both actual and metaphorical – from his patrons, from those who were looking for a fight or those who treated him like scum. She had no idea on what he had to deal with on a daily basis – but he currently did not have time nor energy to.

They were two worlds apart. But he knew that already, he was more surprised she did not.

He tended to his duties below, firstly by cleaning up the mess made. A bucket of water from the pump in the street, a collection of rags absorbing the worst of the blood that had managed to splatter around the door way. A few passerby gave him a quizzical look at he wiped at the door frame, scrubbing at the flecks and smearing them out of existence.
”Pub closed Keep?”
“Aye, someone picked a fight and made a mess. Be back to business come evening latest though.”
“What, already?”
“It happens.”

He watched the speaker shake their head as they walked away.

He rinsed the cloth, wiping the residue that had gathered around his hands. Inwards he moved now, closing the door once more. Collecting the split drink, righting the tables as he wiped them down. It was the process of righting things, a ritual of not only calming his stewing mind but reaffirming the Bear and Boot as his own.

Beatrice chirped at him. Having clambered her way down from the bar, she was intently staring at the shimmer left. A paw dabbed at it, leaving an imprint and a curious glance. He sighed, ”What do you want trouble?”
The yellow eyes looked back at his, before slowly blinking. A warbling cry escaped, and giving her a suspicious look he flicked a few droplets of water at her. A hiss, her fur bushed out before it pounced at the offending hand. It reminded him in some regards of the Witch upstairs – starting something, screwing up and then promptly blaming the nearest who displayed distain and called them out.

She had chosen to call upon the Mona when things were under control. They were going to push him out the bar for the day in a mundane and boring fashion. Not send him smacking into the ground and make a mess of things. Stunts like that made business difficult.

He let the teeth gnaw at him, allowing the tiny creature to take revenge for a while. With it he felt the slow burn of his temper begin to calm, the other hand coming round to stroke upon the back of the kitten – and leaving a streak of moisture there. She complained more, a squeaking noise that marked her has clearly offended; but he did not miss the rumblings of a purr.

She’ll be good for you, mother had said, give you something to focus on other than work and hitting people.

Held in his hands now he took his perched position next to the table. Tankards were discarded there from the sudden exodus of patrons – but they could wait. He was far too distracted, his own voice making a mocking purring noise in comparison. So he sat, cradling the ball of fluff and letting it cling to him, while his own husky voice cooed, ”Who’s a silly thing? You are. But it’s a good thing you’re so damn cute.” The Wick cleared his throat then, briefly remembering himself. He called out to the inhabitant above, ”You alright up there?”
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Aziza
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Mon Aug 06, 2018 7:00 pm

Loshis 6, 2715
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Her gaze fixed on him, brows tugged together, a slight wobble in her lips as she absorbed her words. Could she not tell how upset she was? Did he not realise how many different emotions were warring within her right now? Did he really expect her to be emotionally stable after what had just happened, what she had just done?

Maybe he did. He didn't seem nonplussed by this at all. How much blood had he seen spilled on his floor? How much blood had it had to drink up for him to not bat an eyelid at it? It was impossible for her to understand. It didn't matter how much pain and suffering and death she'd witnessed, the witch was simply compassionate to the bone, leaving herself open to it all, even though it hurt her too. It was a weakness perhaps but she'd rather be overly empathetic and suffer for it than have her heart closed. Still, she shook her head, the apology rising readily to her lips, not wanting to hurt this man who probably hadn't even felt a sting from her angry words.

"Epae- Sorry, I'm upset. I do ne mean to be... short or... confusing. I'm ne thinking straight right now, ye chen?" she murmured, taking up the shirt he tossed her way with a sheepish smile that she wasn't even sure that he saw. Sighing, she set it aside for now, doing her best to wring as much of the bloody water as possible from the cloth she held, not wanting to sully the fresh water the moment she got it. She could have cleaned this water perhaps but it would have taken a lot of energy and effort that might better serve healing him. Even if it exhausted her utterly, the spoke was determined to do everything in her power - and beyond - to try to rectify the horrible mistake she'd made.

The water was placed beside her, her expression puzzled at his words before she realised they were a continuation of what he'd said before. It was processed too late, the barman having skulked off, leaving her to deal with her own mess. It was deserved, she supposed. She went back to her cleaning, tending to the wound as gently as she could, well aware that when she tried to deal with this, he'd be dealing with a fair bit of pain; she had to be kind when she could be.

Once the area was cleaned enough, the cool water stemming the flow of the blood for the time being, she was able to access the damage, probing the area gently. The spoke adjusted her light, tongue protruding slightly from between her teeth as she considered.

The gash on Moony's head was about two inches in length, not seeming too deep but the flesh had been wrenched apart, a fissure opened in his scalp that was too wide for it to heal neatly. She envisioned infections, light tips that sent it gushing blood again and knew that she had to narrow that gap, attempt to join the two sides anew. The fix spell she knew was a simple one, not really designed for something as big as this, and she didn't know how she could stretch its function. She could try to stitch it with the right materials but she wasn't as good at it as her mother and she could see herself making a terrible mess, not to mention that the idea of pulling a needle through flesh made her feel a little queasy. No, she would have to do what she could with the aid of the mona and if that wasn't good enough then stitches it would be.

The witch gathered her field, shaking the man gently to rouse him so she could give him a warning about what was coming. His eyes were a little unfocused, glazed and it wasn't clear whether he'd taken it in or not. Holding the mona in her field, she began to recite the words she knew, the fix spell rolling off her tongue in a desperate, pleading tone, urging and begging the sentient particles to help this man. She did not say the words once but repeated them over and over again, the spell becoming a mantra, her will remaining the same throughout. Desperately, she yearned for the skin to pull together, to knit itself, the red to disappear and a faint pink line left behind. She visualised it, she wanted it desperately but the mona was slow to respond, reluctant perhaps. She was asking it, the words not quite right and it seemed to waver, wondering if it should obey before it began to give in to her pleas.

Slowly, the gap narrowed, Moony becoming a bit more lively as the healing process sped up, the pain and the itching making him whimper, shifting a little before her. She laid hands on his shoulders, firm to keep him there but also solid and comforting; he wasn't alone here. The spell continued, strength leeching from her limbs as she put everything she had into this. Bile seemed to rise in her throat, her stomach roiling sickeningly, a painful throb in her own head that seemed to mirror her own, and even then, she pressed on.

When the two sides of skin finally kissed, a thin bloody line all that remained to form a scab, her exhaustion was so great that she couldn't maintain it anymore. She finished the latest round of the spell, having to clamp her lips together firmly to stop herself from automatically reciting it again. The world blurred a little at the edges, the girl trying to stand and finding that her vision doubled, her legs wobbling, the urge to vomit bubbling up more strongly now than it had before. Aziza ended up back on her knees beside him, almost prepared to lay down her head on top of his and drift off.

With shaking limbs, the witch crawled to the staircase, hearing Jenson's call but not able to cry out in response. Her mouth moved but her voice would not respond, the effort too great, her words a whisper that would not carry. She tried to stand once more, wobbling precariously at the top of the stairs, the doubled vision together with the downward gradient making her unbalanced. She tilted forward, tumbling towards the steps with what seemed to be infinite slowness.

Things sped up and became disjointed, her body rolling rapidly down the narrow stairway only to be left dizzy and pained as gravity deposited her at the base, her bashed form having real physical ones rather than phantom ones from her magic's runoff. The girl whimpered, the desire to vomit rearing its head with new intensity. The bitter, acidic taste gave her warning, finding her voice as it burned.

"Gonna be sick," she warned, a throaty quality to her voice as her stomach heaved, the Mug getting a hand to her mouth, willing herself not to do it even as she retched. A sound deep and unpleasant emanated from her but she held it, hoping to hold it down. Ultimately, she wouldn't be able to fight it but if Jenson was quick, she could vomit into some receptacle rather than giving him another floor to clean.
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Jenson
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Wed Aug 08, 2018 8:00 am

bear and boot | mid-afternoon
6 LOSHIS 2715
He was beginning to regret the idea of having entertainers in the pub. It was becoming more hassle than it was worth. Thus far this woman had not only injured one of his patrons - all be it a man who had asked for it - but he was loosing patrons. He may have not been the most intellectual of men, but even he knew that it spelled a loss of business and financial security. So, when he saw her wobbling at the top of the stairs he felt the further headache begin to sprout across his crown.

The crash, unsurprisingly, came shortly after. He watched her topple, a wince as every thud and crunch hit him. He had taken that tumble a few times himself over the years; it often sounded worse than it actually was. Still, it did not stop him from raising his chin in curiosity. The kitten struggled in his arms and upon releasing her, Beatrice jerked away from him. A flail of paws as the tiny creature dived beneath the nearest bench. An alarmed hiss, fur bushed out once more as she hid behind one of the legs. Peering, nervous glances between the two humanoids.

The Barkeep pulled himself to his feet. Taking the bucket, he emptied it from the door, letting the dirty water escape into the street gutters and mingle with the rain. With that he returned, raising an eyebrow as the Witch struggled to gain some coherency. Closing the gap he heard the groan of noise and sighed.

Typical.

”Guessing with you being now here that he’s all sorted up there?” He planted the bucket next to her face, damp and stinking of the residue of stale ale and dirt. Stepping around, he took his position the other side of the bar. He cleaned the surfaces available, largely mopping up the various rings of alcohol and dust that marred its surface. He let the sound of retching disappear behind his mind. It was always the same dry noise, an almost choking before a slick rush of liquid. His nostril hairs curled, body turning so he was facing the tapped barrels behind him.

"When you're done throwing your guts up and you can walk straight, leave," He was inspecting the barrels, knocking the surface with his knuckles. He continued to wipe, reaching to the back with a grunt before withdrawing a clump of dust. He pulled a face before flicking it away, "I've got things to do before I open up again." He slid his arm back down, this time rubbing the cloth along the undersides of the barrels, ”I’ll probably hear Moony in a bit. I’ll send him on his way properly. That much I can do easily.” He snorted, ”Maybe he’s learnt to not put hands on ladies for a while.”

He pulled a face again, feeling a sticky patch oozing out from beneath one of the barrels. He grasped either side of it, dragging the barrel of Nobles Regret out. It spluttered, the amber coloured ale dribbling down the wood, at as he up righted it, ”Well, that’s a leaker and a dead barrel. Great.”
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Aziza
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Sat Aug 11, 2018 6:04 pm

Loshis 6, 2718
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A bucket appeared before her, something she was incredibly thankful for. Throwing up was an awful experience but it was nothing compared to trying to keep vomit in. The acidic taste lingered at the back of her throat, her airways burning and congested. It was a relief to get sick, throwing up into a bucket that carried the scent of dirt, mould and something organic that might once have been ale or similar. She wasn't looking at the contents though; she was busy adding to it. It wasn't like she'd wanted to keep today's meals.

The bartender seemed very blasé about the whole thing, largely uncaring about the fact that the witch was vomiting in his vicinity. She imagined that he had to deal with this sort of thing a lot, although chances were that people were usually drunk when they reached that stage; if this had had anything to do with alcohol then she would have been embarrassed because she'd only had a few sips. Someone who'd gotten sloshed and chosen to throw up over the floor, those people she could understand him being disgruntled with but her? Yes, she'd caused trouble today - admittedly quite a bit - but would a bit of sympathy have killed him?

Jenson had assumed that she must be done, not that she was in a position to answer yet, but his next words were a tad harsh to her mind. When she was able to lift her head, shaking and feeling a little wobbly, her gaze sought the wick. Huge, watering and full of confusion, her eyes fixed on him, trying to comprehend how anyone could be so devoid of compassion for another person. She wiped her mouth with the back of hand with a grimace, getting unsteadily to her feet.

Would you like a drink of water, Aziza? Would you like something to chase away the taste of acid and the contents of your stomach? Want something to soothe the burn?

Oh, that's right, he hadn't asked any of those things. She would have offered such things if she'd seen someone throw up in front of her. Hadn't she dealt with this sort of thing herself? Her approach had been rather different of course, rubbing backs and holding hair out of people's faces.

"Oes, he's... he ent quite right but he's mostly together. Can ne say the same for me. I ent no healer and our vroo ent meant for big things like that. Not really," she explained, moving forward to lean against the bar, eyes flickering shut from exhaustion. She was so tired, so very tired.

"I ent benny at it anyway. Not enough for that and it shows, dint it?" she murmured, accent thicker than normal, words a little slurred. She laid her head down on the bar top, the urge to simply sink into oblivion quite strong.

"Epaemo... for all this. I was just scared, fair scared and it was stupid. I dint mean to cause all this trouble, ye chen?" she added sleepily. "I'll go, if tha's what ye want but... some water.... please. For the burn," the spoke added, raising her head and gesturing weakly to her throat. By Hulali, she could sleep for days, just let the currents of life rock her to sleep, let her drift off. There would be no more use of the mona today; the young woman had no more energy to spend, not that she anticipated having any need for it. And a good thing too! If she tried, she'd likely end up lying face down and unconscious.
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Jenson
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Thu Aug 16, 2018 4:09 am

bear and boot | mid-afternoon
6 LOSHIS 2715
He was not really paying too much attention to the Witch; Besides, why would he want to listen to the sounds of someone vomiting? No, he was far too busy studying the leaking barrel and wondering if there was a way to salvage it. A foolish notion. He did not know the state of the liquid or how long the barrel had been cracked for, but he imagined that it had begun to grow stale. And no one in their right mind would buy stale drink. So while the retching continued behind him, he rubbed at his stubble.

“Well, this is shit.”

His yellow eyes then slid over to Aziza then, but they were less looking and more intently focused with thought. Of course, he noticed the look on her face – even he was not blind to the expression that betrayed her thoughts. A lot of people gave him that look when he put his foot down and lay down the law of his pub. How cruel he was indeed for keeping unpredictable people at arm’s length? How many times had he been struck for helping out? How many times had his help been clearly not wanted?

Jenson rubbed at his jaw.

“Good,” he listened to the complaints of the other while he went about his business. A crack of knuckles, he twisted the tap in the top of the barrel. The wood groaned as the tap was withdrawn, before a pop filled it. He could hear the innards swish within, while the groans joined it in chorus. He placed the brass on the bar top, while the other fumbled for one of the rubber bungs. With a press he sealed it shut – and cut the scent of the turning alcohol.

“You’re probably better than me,” He took out the water pitcher and poured the contents into one of the clean tankards, “Swirl and spit into the bucket before drinking.” The Barkeep wiped his hands, fingers counting the barrels beneath and how soon he would have to get a restock. It was a bother to say the least. He tapped the side of his skull then, “This one hasn’t got a knack for a lot of the smart stuff. None of this use this or do that. Weren’t shown it. Don’t get it. Mean, it’s in me, the potential, but well…” he shrugged, “But, I’m a different world to you. Ain’t going to pretend we’re the same, because we’re not.” He moved around the barrel, “Now, ‘scuse me for a second. Got a drink to throw. And stay where you are. Don't need help.”

"Being scared is natural. To lash out and punch, or curl up and cry is too. But this magic stuff? You got to focus on that. You got to be able to think straight. I dunno. Can't get the head wrapped around it,"
He bent his knees and straightened his back. Fingers finding purchase beneath the barrel he lifted it. He was used to this form of work, strength gained from pulling barrels and hauling out drunks. He shifted it to the door, shoulder pushing against it to open. Into the street, he gave a blink, noticing it had stopped raining, before directing the contents of the barrel to the gutter. Uncorked, the stale liquid spluttered out, the colour turning dark and cloudy as it ran through the moisture and down into the system. He sighed, his foot propping open the door, “Well, it stopped raining at least.”

He inhaled deeply, taking in the damp smell that came with the rain. Beatrice by this point had decided to bound next to him, playing with his shoe laces while he ensured the contents was emptied out. He cooed down to the kitten, “You keep playing there and I’m going to end up stepping on you.”
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Aziza
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Sat Aug 25, 2018 11:12 am

Loshis 6, 2715
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"Ye can say tha' again," the young woman remarked hoarsely as she came to rest at the bar. He wasn't talking about her situation but rather his own; his words still applied equally to them both. She leaned tiredly on the bar top, grimacing at the taste in her mouth, the burn at the back of her throat. She was drained of energy and parts of her ached more than she would have thought possible but she managed to prop herself up and watch him while he worked. She didn't rightly know what he was doing, or didn't understand the reasons for it at least.

She blinked at him stupidly, mouth opening and shutting soundlessly at his remark as she struggled to work out what to say to it. She didn't understand where it had come from but she followed his instructions, swilling and spitting before she swallowed down the clean liquid. It felt good on her burned throat, cooling and soothing on its way down as it carried away the bitter taste of vomit.

He sounded as if he was defending himself, defending his lack of ability to... what? Chat with the mona? Was that what he was saying? The witch was confused to say the least, but she hoped that understanding would come if she just let him talk. She didn't really have the energy to interrogate him right now and besides, the answers might just come to her if she simply waited. Instead, she sat nursing her water, watching as he prepared to throw away some of his stock.

"We ent the same, ne, but that ent a bad thing, is it? Ye're a city boy and Anaxi, while I'm a spoke and a Mug too. Ye can ne expect us to be the same and variety... it's the spice of life, ent it?" she questioned, brows pulling together while she stared at him. "Do ye think I'm better'n ye or somethin'? Dint ye see me smash that man 'gainst the door? Dint do it on purpose but I still did it," she pointed out, shaking her head with a sigh. She laid her head down, letting exhaustion sweep over her more fully.

"I fixed it but it dint take it back," she mumbled, hearing him shuffle off to chuck the contents of the barrel. She heard him talking to the cat, her eyes drifting shut as she listened to the cadence of his voice. It was enough to send her off, exhausted as she was but she jerked up, forcing herself awake.

"Why'd ye chuck that out? Somethin' wrong with it?" she asked, pushing herself up from the bar. She waved a hand airily. "Actually... s'all right. I should go an' sleep this off. Too much vroo, not enough skill. I ent made for this sort of thing, ye chen?"

Shakily, the young woman navigated her way around the few obstacles between herself and the door, falling against the door frame and remaining there as she tried to gather the strength for the walk back to her kint.

"If there's any damages, lemme know and I'll settle things with ye afore me and me daoa leave Old Rose. We will ne leave til we have supplies an' that but I can make sure ye get any money ye might need. If ye wanna come with me, I can show ye where ye can find me," she added, finally tugging the door open. If he chose to come with her then she'd wait and if not, she'd simply slip out, stopping every dozen yards or so to lean against something to gather her strength for the homeward journey.
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Jenson
Posts: 25
Joined: Tue Jul 10, 2018 6:39 am
Topics: 7
Race: Wick
Location: Old Rose Harbour
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Crosspatch
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Wed Aug 29, 2018 6:30 am

bear and boot | mid-afternoon
6 LOSHIS 2715
The contents continued to glug out, the golden colour turning almost putrid. There behind it all the stale scent sunk its way in and now poured out into the gutter. He gave it a tilt up, shaking it as it drained away. Beatrice still proved to be in the mood for play. It proved to be a distracting balm to the points and questions thrown his way, allowing him to let most of them slide away to nothing. He eased himself to a stand, the barrel on a full tilt now, “I do like me some spice. In small doses.” His mind went sideways then, thinking of the taste of fish and salt, having it grilled with some pepper. He sniffed, “Keeps the appetite going.”

He watched Beatrice pull a face, angrily swatting at the flowing liquid before bouncing back inside. Tail high she waited for him by one of the tables, “Cracked barrel. Means it was leaking and air was getting in. Can turn a brew nasty quickly. It happens.” He shrugged, the last of it escaping before he righted it, “Ye. I get. You're you and I'm me.”

Jenson stepped out of her path as she made her way to the door. Shuffling the barrel to one side, his vision followed after her, watching the swaying motions that he had seen in many of his patrons. He seemed relatively unphased, expression turning blank as the Witch leaned up against the door frame. He was unsure if it was an invitation or not, given the previous tense exchange between them. Was she fishing for sympathy now?

“Ne, I’m good. Nothing damaged here. Least not that I can’t fix,” his fingers idly scratched at his chin, lips twisting. There was some stains, things that would need to be scrubbed out, nothing major on first glance though, “Think I’ll pass on the offer this time. Going to clean up and enjoy the… quiet?” Right now however he was unsure if he could deal with any more of Aziza. Part of him twitched, itching for her to just get through the door and leave already. A few hours of no patrons would allow him to clear his head and prepare himself for the evening rush. Better yet, it would allow him to deal with Moony when the drunk sobered up.

He groaned internally then. That human was going to be a pain.

The other part was more curious to see if she would even be able to get down the street. He swallowed that thought, being curious got him into enough trouble in his youth - he was not about to start dabbling again. A small, awkward smile. He twitched, “Safe travels Witch. Keep out the alleys and stick to the lamps.”
Crosspatch

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