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A tavern was never a good place to drink your ale in peace, at least… 
15th-Oct-2006 09:01 pm
A tavern was never a good place to drink your ale in peace, at least not in this part of Kartha. He should have chosen the cosy-looking inn that he had passed by earlier instead. The drink might have been more expensive there but he wouldn't have had to deal with this sort of troubles at least.
His thoughts were roughly interrupted by a fist flying into the direction of his nose and he could barely dodge it. Beside him he heard an amused giggle. Damn it, why did that kind of woman always seek him out? Did he really look like he had to pay for certain favours? But thoughts off the wench and on the "gentleman" opposite of him or the next blow would hit for sure. Seemed like the bloke didn't take the prospect of his nightly amusement getting interested in another potential customer easy.


Anybody who wants to take over?

Characters free for use. (All of them)

16th-Oct-2006 03:57 pm (UTC)
(OK, I've no idea if I'm doing this right, but you are free to delete it anytime!)
He dodged the fist once more and jumped aside, bringing enough space between them to gain time to prepare himself for the next attack. Frantically, he looked for something blunt and heavy to serve as a weapon -using a sword or knife could too easily get him into trouble. Well, he was in trouble of course, but killing someone would be /serious/ trouble. His opponent -face discoloured by rage- already stomped towards him again.
The fist thing that he got his hands on was -not a big surprise, in a tavern- a bar stool. He flung it into the man's direction. Other patrons cheered and whistled. For them apparently, there was nothing like a good fight to close the day.
Well, he saw that differently, especially because the guy in front of him hadn't even been slowed down by the heavy piece of furniture. It had simply bounced off him like a stable door's remains off a raging bull.
With an undignified little noise, he backed away and waited for the fist to hit him this time... But wait! He might not be able to best that towering hunk of meat, but he was good at talking people out of things -in case they listened.
Mister This-is-my-whore-and-she-will-sure-drop-the-price-if-I-show-off-enough didn't seem eager for arguments, but he'd try. Clearing his throat, he jumped atop the nearest table, sending beer mugs and dices flying.
(Deciding on a name for "him" would be a good idea, don't you think? It gets a bit confusing.)
16th-Oct-2006 05:34 pm (UTC)
What was this all about?

A hooded figure turned its head towards the fighting couple, arching a shapely brow to the play that was speedily enfolding in front of it. That man was going to get it and get it good - unless someone would be willing to step in.

A pair of yellowish-green eyes surveyed the Inn's inhabitants slowly, and soon it became apparent that no-one would intervene - too much fun to watch, perhaps? A soft chuckle escaped the figure's lips and it continued its observation of the situation. As the man jumped on the table, scattering the dishes and succeeding in making another customer unhappy - the stranger got up slowly, stepping back and almost melting into the shadows.

This might get even uglier than it already was.

(( Just a reminder! As it's said in the rules - Don't use someone else's character as your own, please. ^_^ ))
16th-Oct-2006 08:04 pm (UTC)
OK, I understand now. I'll NEVER do it again! Sorry! Thanks for letting me keep him... If I'm making more mistakes, please tell me!
Yes, up on the table he felt better. He felt in control. He looked down upon them all... -Until the other guy jumped onto the table as well.
He felt himself backing away again. He didn't like that. No, not at all. /Talk. Talk FAST./ He was sputtering words (in what he supposed to be soothing tones) before he realized it. "Hey, Mister, just listen, I'm not interested in your girlfriend there!" The fist -which he had started getting used to- was hovering in the air before him now, but at least not coming closer any longer. " /Go on. Talk. Anything!/ He did. "She's not my type anyway. Believe me, I'd rather pay a sheep for a night!"
The fist was still. Seconds stretched. He heard the echo of his own words. /Ooops./ The man just looked at him. Then he drew back, VERY slowly. Perhaps he was wondering whether this was something contageous.
"Ahm, I didn't mean..." he tried. "It's not like I'm sort of pervert or something..."
He didn't see the fist coming this time. The world spun for a second, then he hit the floor with a PAINFUL crash.
16th-Oct-2006 08:18 pm (UTC)
Tamira watched the whole fight through her drunken haze. Hey, that guy punched good; the other one fell like a cut log.
She swayed to her feet, cheering with the rest of the room. A fight was a fight and this was a good one.
She skulked closer along with the people around her, peering down on the fellow. Poor thing, she thought. That really had looked painful and she suspected that along whatever hang-over he'd have tomorrow morning, there'd be a headache from the lower depths of Hell to pay as well.
She poked him with her boot. "Hey, mister?"
16th-Oct-2006 08:24 pm (UTC)
He gave a little yelp and clutched his purse. Then he clutched his head, because that felt really awful.
The world was spinning and about twenty girls had lined up around him. Why were they all wearing the same clothes?
"Whzza?" he wondered, then fell back flat again.
16th-Oct-2006 08:34 pm (UTC)
Tamira poked him again. "Oy, mister?"
She peered down at him. His purse was firmly in his fist, she noticed, only a bit disappointed. What to do then?
The rest of the people had shuffled back and the log-puncher was nowhere to be seen, probably off somewhere with his prize. She half-expected to see the tavern-owner come running, but he was suspiciously absent.
"Oh, whatever," she muttered. Maybe she'd get something out of it after all. In worst case at least her curiousity would be satisfied. She reached down and tried to haul him to his feet, but he was heavier than he looked - or maybe she had had one too many cups by now. Either way she swore and grunted and poked him again before she got a grip under his arms.
Tamira seldom did anything for the good of it, least of all helping half-drunken sods up from the floor - especially not when she was drunk herself - and she hoped that he had no illusions that she did it from the bottom of her good heart.
"Phew, you sure are heavy, mister," she wheezed as she hauled him to his feet.
16th-Oct-2006 08:42 pm (UTC)
"Thanks," he said drily. Just one girl then. She hauled him to his feet. The world was still spinning. People were turning back to their own stuff now. The guy and the girl had left and only a few eyes -some of them weirdly coloured- still glimmered his way in the dark.
"I live on Carpenter Road," he addressed the girl, whose face was still blurring. Well, he hoped she was pretty. He didn't want the neighbours to see him bringing home an ugly girl after all. "Could you take me there?" His mouth hurt while speaking. He hoped all the teeth were still there, but he decided he'd rather not try it out now.
16th-Oct-2006 08:59 pm (UTC)
"Carpenter Road it is then, but if you try anything funny, I'll toss you back to that guy." She eyed him. He wasn't too bad-looking himself, not that she was that kind of girl. No, not in a million years. Not unless they paid well for it at least.
She pushed him out the door and steered off towards Carpenter Road. It wasn't that far from her own home, not that she'd let him know that. She'd help him home and that was it, unless he'd let go of that purse at least.
She grinned as she swayed beside him. Her night hadn't started out good, but there seemed to be enough money in that purse to feed her for a few days, and maybe some for the poor... Oh, wait, never mind.
"Hey, mister," she started. "You were lucky back there." And he'd been even more lucky that the tavern owner hadn't gotten him kicked out one purse lighter. Hell, she was lucky when it came to that. The sod was too unsteady on his feet to notice if she'd just ease the purse over, just a little bit...
16th-Oct-2006 09:12 pm (UTC)
Ok, last one tonight, I have to get up early tomorrow. ":-(
He grinned. "Funny? I'm too drunk for funny, honey!" As an afterthought he added: "But not too drunk to ask you to take you hands off my money!" He needed it to pay the guy who would deliver his wares the next day. Most of it was already paid, but without the last rate, the man would sell them elsewhere. However pretty that girl was, she could not be pretty enough to justify the loss of two dozen Ishtanean slaves. -He was of course not going to tell her that; women were strange about these things sometimes.
He leaned on her heavily and let himself be half-carried out of the tavern. He could have walked by himself, he supposed, but it was nice to have her snuggled so close, feeling her arm under his and her side pressed against him. Surprisingly strong, that girl.
17th-Oct-2006 09:26 pm (UTC)
**Reposted since I was logged in with the wrong account -.-**

"Don't worry, mister, I won't." Bloody man with his bloody money! She grinned. Well, she wouldn't, not right now anyway.
She heard footsteps behind them and stopped. If it were the Guards... She had drunk far too much to be able to run very effectively although she wouldn't have many scruples about leaving Mister - as she had dubbed him for lack of a better name - for them.

**Sorry, short post today. Have to get up tomorrow. -.-**
17th-Oct-2006 09:45 pm (UTC)
I'm off to bed as well! *yawns* Maybe I'll come up with a fixed name for "Mister" till tomorrow! I wanted something ordinary-sounding -how about Martin? *g*
So not his money. He felt himself relax a bit. Not too much -easy trusting people was one of his definite weaknesses, which he knew and tried to avoid.
When the woman looked back over her shoulder, he noticed them as well: footsteps! He hoped it wouldn't be a thief. He was on good terms with the city Guards and payed them the monthly "extra" money -as all the craftmen and merchants did- but he didsliked the thought that one of them might insist on walking him home. If they found out he wasn't exactly selling birds -though some of his wares had wings all right- as the shop sign was saying, they would charge him a lot more to turn a blind eye on his business.
16th-Oct-2006 08:50 pm (UTC)
Loron had been well aware of the fight that had been going on in his tavern yet again. Bloody Cherin! That woman had a tendency to provoke quarrels. He had had to double his stock on inventory ever since he hired her and he would have kicked her out a long time ago if she didn't bring in that much money. Some guys seemed to like the thrill.
Using his bar stools as an improvised weapon wasn't anything new but at the time when one of the brawlers had jumped up a table he had almost stepped in. Good that the fight had ended soon after.

He had other stuff to worry about. Like that hooded figure that had been sitting quietly for some time and then had withdrawn into the shadows. He squinted his eyes to get a better look but couldn't recognize whether whoever had been hiding under that cloak was still there. Something about that figure bothered him much more than the ordinary tavern brawl.
17th-Oct-2006 04:18 pm (UTC)
Yes, the figure was still there - almost one with the shadows, but visible if you made the effort of really staring.

The cloak the figure wore was clearly made of some special fabric, as it seemed to live with the lighting, as if consciously trying to keep the person wearing it hidden. The deep hood concealed its wearer's face, but it was easy to see that the person wasn't very tall, or otherwise out of proportion. The eyes that had closely followed the rough-and-tumble slowly turned away, when the couple decided to leave the area. It wouldn't be a good idea to linger longer, the person in question thought as the realization of being noticed suddenly dawned to it.

Thus, the modest-size figure with the mysteriously colored cloak moved softly towards the front door, all the while keeping its back against the wall. It was funny really - nobody else except Loron had noticed it, but maybe the Inn's owner had to be a little more perceptive to things?
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