[PM to Join]The Dirty Bird

Old Rose Harbor is Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld.
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Xonia
Posts: 44
Joined: Thu Nov 08, 2018 10:06 am
Topics: 8
Race: Galdor
: Xonia the Nomad
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Post Templates: Post Templates
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Kimmie
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Mon Sep 09, 2019 11:55 am

Roalis 37, 2719
The Dirty Bird Bar


She sat in the lightest corner she could find in the bar she was visiting, a glass of water off to one side and her sketch book spread out across the table while she focused on drawing the face of the man who knocked her up. It wasn’t hard for her to remember faces she grew to love and then hate. She wanted to scribble darkness into his eyes, but that would have defeated the purpose of the drawing.

It was not a sketch made out of creativity, but a composite from her memory. His blond hair, his piercing blue eyes, his chiseled chin and the line of his jaw… she had trouble with it all because it hurt to draw him for this purpose, but the son of a bitch got what he deserved. He’d called himself Mateo and his meaningless words about loving her were all just garbage, and she remembered the cold feeling within her as she killed a living thing that she considered an animal but wasn’t. She closed the book and stood up, putting it away in her bag, being yelled at to get back to work because people were coming in.

The bar she was at was a new one in an old building, and she had just gotten work there to sell premade shots in test tubes to people who wanted to get drunk. There was a band setting up on stage at the moment, and there were her coworkers getting ready for the crowd. She put her stuff away and grabbed a rag so she could clean up any of the tables and help move them out of the way for standing and dancing, a mosh pit if you will, and then she went to the back of the house to get a tray of 50 tubes of swill.

The girl set to work for the long night that they were to have. She had used whatever money she had left from stealing from the old fart, and she had bought new clothing for working, as well as a damn donkey instead of a horse for transportation. She had already gotten the stuff she’d stashed in the forest and hunkered back down where she had a safe and dry spot to do so. As much as she missed being alone in the forest, she needed to slow down for the sake of her baking bun.

She wore a pair of black slacks that showed off one of her assets, and a white blouse that she tied over the top of a shift, wore her hair in a long braid off to one side, and knee high boots. Her make up was simple since she’d had to ask to be shown how to put it on, but the most striking thing was the khol she lined her eyes with, causing her blue eyes to pop and therefore get people to actually look at her face when she was trying to sell swill.

The only problem that came was when someone asked what was in a drink, and after she stuttered a good minute or so, the customer waved her off with impatience. The boss was sympathetic to her because he knew she had a memory problem, so he actually came to her rescue and said, “That is called Sailor’s Delight and is a combination of Vodka, grenadine, orange juice, and a touch of vanilla. You should try it, our very talented Xonia came up with the drink,” which was true but that was because she got the recipe wrong and put the grenadine and vanilla in the Screwdrivers without thinking. But it was a pretty drink that was like a red sky at night over the ocean.

He did pull her aside after and said, “I want you to tell me later how to help you remember shit. I can’t always rescue you from unhappy people who you are sellin’ drinks to.” And she sighed with a nod and understanding.

The sound of music nearly made her lose the twenty or so remaining tubes from her tray when the opening band began to play. She closed her eyes and wondered if she had made a mistake in becoming a shot girl.
word count: 722

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Xavier Zhirune
Posts: 75
Joined: Tue Jan 29, 2019 4:00 pm
Topics: 9
Location: On Tour
Race: Wick
: Not all that glitters be ging. Some 'f it's me.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Muse
Contact:

Tue Sep 17, 2019 4:08 pm

The Dirty Bird
in the EARLY EVENING of the 37th of ROALIS, 2719

Image
The Kingdom of Anaxas had grown stale, boring, old, oppressive, and Xavier felt so trapped within its judgmental boundaries, so weighed down that they would surely be bound to the ground forever. They'd made friends, sure. They'd found themselves some worthy musicians to make music together with, oes. They'd slowly allowed themselves to make connections with a handful of strangers they probably should have cut and run from months ago.

But here they were.

Still in the godsbedamned Harbor.

Still busking in the streets. Still drifting from pub to tavern to night club to private party. Still gathering coins and sweating in this humid, salty Roalis heat.

Connections kept them afloat, kept them fed, kept the rest of their ragtag collection of bodies they'd called companions afloat, too, but tonight was a little different. A small group of tekaa they'd met at Surwood had lost their lead player in a gambling barfight gone wrong and while everyone would have loved a moment to mourn properly, ging still had to be made and the show, as it was proverbially said, had to go on.

Xavier had been more than willing to ring in the favor, slipping away from certain Bastians and their particular chins, from their newfound somewhat acceptable jent and their portfolios of issues. The willowy Gioran dressed with just the right amount of ambiguous, androgynous flair for the Rose and its ilk: long, colorless hair in a beautiful mockery of a traditionally feminine Anaxi updo, the glitter of silver visible among the albino's thick white locks like stars hidden in snow. Their flowing, deep maroon lightweight cotton blouse with sleeves and collar embroidered by a careful hand worn unbuttoned enough to be neither mysterious nor quite obvious, showing far more translucent skin than would have been acceptable had they been back in Vienda or Brunnhold, the loose cut of it hanging off their lithe frame and moving with the same grace they did. Layers of necklaces and bangles sparkled against their sternum, dipping lower still, matching the shine on their fingers.

It was the skirt that gave their body a shape for once, at once hugging the right places to maintain the illusion while flowing elsewhere, sashed at the waist with bright colors laced with glass baubles and cut up one side in the most scandalous of upward reaches, creeping far higher than anyone without Xavier's bravado would have most likely worn.

Ah, but the shoes.

Gods, the fucking shoes.

They were lovely and gave the already towering Gioran an extra few inches of totally unnecessary height here in Anaxas. Glorious and exciting.

The luminous creature was far too pretty for such a lowly stage as the Dirty Bird's, but they weren't one to leave those they called friends hanging. Perhaps they might have overdressed, perhaps they outshown the other wicks who grinned and winked, who giggled and fawned over the familiar Xav, welcoming the albino onto the stage with them while they bowed for their introduction, each of the tekaa offering their own form of theatric flair and flourish, much to the amusement of the rowdy, inebriated folks gathered beneath them.

Xavier's violet gaze wandered over the crowd, curious to see the faces within it, hopeful to perhaps find someone willing to let go of a mant manna extra ging this evening to make the trip across the port city worthwhile. Their gaze lingered over a few interesting faces, lingered on those they could see enjoying the music they were making, lingered on a blond who had let her eyes closed, who seemed actually moved instead of just pleasantly surprised. It was a compliment, a reminder that not everything they did had lost meaning, thank Imaan.

The Harbor was a strange place full of wealthy folks of all races instead of just rich gollies, and the distribution of those glorious finances tended to unfortunately lie in the greedy paws of those connected to Silas Hawke and his Brotherly ilk.

With Elias on their mind, they certainly didn't find it too difficult to pilfer from those bastards' pockets whenever they had a chance, regardless of the risks.

There was no plan to their music set this evening—it was purely a sort of caoja session of Xavier's oud, a mandolin, a drummer, and a flute. That was it. Just a few talented and eager musicians exploring the ebb and flow of their lives through sound, up on stage with a hat on it hoping for tips in a sea of bodies looking to get guttered and trashed. Their songs covered a range of emotions and carried the audience through an adventure of melodies: from slow and sad through rambunctious and loud, the small band of them skillfully reading their audience and anticipating where to lead them next.

It was a wild ride, and it was the kind of thrill that, truth be told, Xavier lived for more than larceny and almost more than the life of airshippery they'd left behind too long ago.

Almost.

They wanted it all, really. Why couldn't they have the clouds, the stars, the music, and the adoring crowds all at once? Why was that too much to ask? Why were they still stuck here with only half-ersed pieces of each of those things?

By the time their set on stage had finished and the entire little pub was clapping, clinking their little containers of strange alcohol, or pounding on tables, Xavier was, indeed, thirsty. There were thank yous, mujo mas, little coy waves and blown kisses. There was the generous acceptance of gifts and touches, the albino wick never one to refuse any of that as they made their way down from the stage and slung their oud over one narrow shoulder, pouring themselves against the bar once they navigated the crowded place, leaning on their elbows and fluttering colorless eyebrows in the direction of whoever was behind the counter only to find no one waiting on them at all, bejeweled fingers tracing over divots in the wood while a bit of sweat trickled between their shoulder blades beneath the flowing fabric of their shirt.

Two of their wick companions settled beside them, laughing and making sure to brush a shoulder with their own, shoving coins on the table from their tip hat,

"A round 'f somethin' good for everyone!" Shouted Nelan with a wink, the blue-haired Falling Stone a cheeky creature with a voice as full of depth as their drums.

"Oes. We're all a thirsty bunch. Mujo ma." Grinned Xavier in return, practically purring in delight once they recognized the same blonde from before nearby, waggling their lacquered fingers at her for attention and breathless after so much performance but full of a restless energy they had no direction for but the bottom of a mug at this point.

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word count: 1239
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