Prepare for the #LodanRespawn2024 Existing characters may choose to be displace from/have memories of different timelines, thereby allowing returning members the option to retcon their whole character. These changes are the result of the "Unnatural Fog" plot device that is running between now and the Respawn. The plot is simple: no matter where your character is, that place is shrouded in a thick fog that suspends time, but not thoughts or memories, so even if they're repeating the same day over and over again, they continue to remember, so each time feels like a new day. For those retconning OCs; this is where new versions of themselves have the opportunity to replace the old versions. Official lore and tree updates will be announced asap
Post by Caitlin Cockfoster on Oct 12, 2013 6:09:52 GMT
OPEN TO JAKOBI, TOURIN, FAOLAN + 3 RANDOM Caitlin was already at the bar, dressed in one of her more stately frocks that her father would actually approve of, and listening to the hokey music on the piano for daylight patrons. They didn't play this cliche nonsense at night when the bar got more crowded and the drinkers got more serious about their thirst. None the less she figured it was better than silence, which would only make you more aware of how few others were wetting their pallet with adult beverage before dinner. There was a bell over the door that chimed each time someone walked in, sometimes working its way nicely into the music, sometimes going against it entirely. She looked up each time to see whose timing went with the music and who's didn't.
She sat her glass down next to the decanter and leaned back. This was nice... like falling into a vat of marshmallow fluff. Calm, muffled, the rest of the world blocked out by the closed door to his cabin, and here they were safe inside. Safe from reality, safe from their own complicated lives. Safe from duty. Safe from context. Just. Safe. --Caitlin
Jak found himself with nothing to do. He'd wandered about town aimlessly for most of the morning, when he made his way to the tavern door. He looked up at the sign, lollypop in mouth, and shrugged. He desided to go inside. Why not? Something interesting might happen, and besides, they had that bowl of free mints at the bar. As he strolled through the door, the little bell chimed, loudly, and clashed violently with the piano being energetically played in the background. Jak tottered up to the bar. "Milk, please." he grinned at the bar tender, who rolled his eyes. He'd seen Jak before, and was pretty used to this.
Post by Tourin "termite" Might on Oct 12, 2013 7:36:35 GMT
Tourin burst into the bar rosy cheeked from his head start on the spirits. He was trailed by an entourage of his top mechanics and a few admires. "...And then he said..that's no rusty box of gears! That's my wife!" he roared with laughter along with a few chuckles from the rest of the group. "Honestly though, its' the crazy ones for me that keep this dull city alive." He said a semi reverend tone. Looking around at a few unfamiliar faces he sat down at the bar, removed his gloves, and ordered another gin.
Post by Caitlin Cockfoster on Oct 12, 2013 7:47:00 GMT
Against the grain, she noted as a man walked through the door and sided up to the bar for none other than a glass of milk. She tossed a "hello," his way before the door chimed again. With the grain, she thought and it was followed by rankerous laughter. the squat man with the goggles on his head finished his joke and likewise saddled up to the bar for a glass of gin. He removed his gloves while looking around at the comely attendance.
Caitlin thought perhaps she recognized him but then again perhaps not. He and his crowd were definitely the merchants alley variety, but no matter the sort they all ended up at the pub some way or other. Just look at herself, not quite a lady, but not visibly a pirate either (unless you could divine as much just by the contents of her glass). The likes of which smelled deliciously of Rum.
She sat her glass down next to the decanter and leaned back. This was nice... like falling into a vat of marshmallow fluff. Calm, muffled, the rest of the world blocked out by the closed door to his cabin, and here they were safe inside. Safe from reality, safe from their own complicated lives. Safe from duty. Safe from context. Just. Safe. --Caitlin
Jak took a swig of his milk. Hearing someone greeting him, he lowered his glace and grinned, a white liquid mustache on his upper lip. "Allo~" he called back in greeting, when some rowdy customers entered the pud behind him. Jak turned to watch them.
Post by Tourin "termite" Might on Oct 12, 2013 8:11:19 GMT
" I say, milk is for the growing lad, but spirits are for the weathered man, and you my friend appear to have been through a few storms" He said soft-spoken but hearty. "Bar wench!" He winked at one of the bar tenders as she rolled her eyes "Give this man your top shelf scotch, and put it on some stones." "Now then..." He looked in Caitlyn's direction "What do we have here?" He spoke with supplemented courage.
His entrance most definitely did not fit with the music, nor his presence with the other patrons of the bar, yet here he was, screaming military in his green and gold uniform. He paused there, in the edifice of the doorway, his eyes panning the room as they adjusted from the harsh sunlight outside. There was a palpable tension in the air as the patrons noticed his presence. The only thing that could have made it more cliche would be if the music came to a sudden halt, but that didn't happen. Instead, Skye removed his cap and moved forward until he reached the bar where he set his cap on the faded wood that had been worn down over the years from spilled drinks and other assorted activities. It would have surprised him much to see a man jabbing a knife between his fingers and gouging the oaken surface.
"Where's Manderly," he said to the bartender, even as the man was serving another customer. His voice hinted at youth, but was soared by the things he had seen and done. War and death had a way of aging a man, or a woman, beyond their years.
"Not here Commander," The bartender said, turning around to face Skye. He gave the man his full attention, and kept a tone of respect to his voice. He knew what pissing off the head of the EIRAL could mean for business here. The military had a lot of ground to cover in Lodan. Some establishments were left to see to their own business, whether that be good or bad, but that could always change. "I had two of my boys walk him home, real discreet."
Skye nodded, apparently appeased. He wasn't fond of his men getting piss drunk in the middle of the day. Normally he would have put one of his men in the stockades just for doing such a thing, but Manderly was the son of some high born muckity muck. Half the drat job was politics, and punishing the kid publicly would have only gained him a new enemy that would go out of his way to oppose his command publicly. Life had been so much simpler in the trenches....
"Thanks," he said to the bartender. "I owe you one."
The bartender just simply nodded, placed a glass on the bartop and pulled an older looking bottle of scotch from some cabinet underneath the bar. He poured the amber colored liquid into the glass and placed the bottle back underneath. "No trouble Commander, and this is on the house." he said before he walked away to take care of another customer who was frantically waving a few bills in the air, as if that would get him served faster.
Post by Caitlin Cockfoster on Oct 12, 2013 22:15:02 GMT
With the milk mustache and the unabashed grin, Caitlin could have sworn this young man was not old enough to buy himself a proper drink at the bar. Perhaps that's precisely why he didn't, despite looking as though the weight of the world rest heavy on his shoulders, a responsibility meant for grown men, not young lads. If he wanted a drink someone was going to have to...
And then someone did, the merchant to be exact. He purchased the milk drinking man a glass of scotch. Inwardly she grimaced. Tasteless stuff, that. She preferred her darker liquors and wondered fleetingly what the lad would make of it. Then the merchant turned her way and gave her a brave inquiry. Ignoring him at first, she leaned in close to whisper to the other "If the scotch is too dry, let me know, and I'll send for something a little sweeter." Then she leaned back and put on a dazzling smile for the hearty gentleman. The bells chimed again over the door in dissonance with the music but she didn't turn to look this time. Instead she afforded her gaze to the merchant as she spoke in reply.
"What indeed? Shall we make a game of it? You did seem rather fond of riddles during your grand entrance if I dare say so... and dare I do," she swiveled her chair and leaned back against the bar with a confident air. "What is the sum of all your birthdays, divided by half, and dressed for a ball?" She waited to see what sort of answer he would conjure from that before offering the punchline. It felt as though the two fellows at the bar with her weren't the only ones lending ears and eyes to her spike of humor. A voice on the other side of her brought her eyes around to discover the real beacon of attention seeking eyes; a man in uniform thanking the barkeep and offering a debt of gratitude. The bartender poured him a drink and addressed him as commander. Cait's eyebrows rose briefly in surprise before she let out a low whistle and discreetly rotated a few degrees in her chair to eye the merchant expectantly. In her head, she hoped the commander was no friend of her fathers. Things always got more complicated for her when they were.
She sat her glass down next to the decanter and leaned back. This was nice... like falling into a vat of marshmallow fluff. Calm, muffled, the rest of the world blocked out by the closed door to his cabin, and here they were safe inside. Safe from reality, safe from their own complicated lives. Safe from duty. Safe from context. Just. Safe. --Caitlin
Jak wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and stared down at the drink. He forced out a hearty laugh and a "Thanks, yeh.", and gingerly picked up the glass, took a sip, and abruptly started coughing. After a few moments the coughing fit died down to wheezing, and Jak looked over at Caitlin, eyes watering. "..N-no, I'm good." his mouth quivered into an awkward lopsided smile. After huffing and looking down for a few seconds, his eyes wandered over to the man in uniform. Jak's shoulder's stiffened and he quickly looked away. Didn't want any unneeded attention from the EIRAL's, now. Or to end up in the center of a bar fight.
Post by Tourin "termite" Might on Oct 13, 2013 12:48:01 GMT
"Oh I do love riddles...well let's see...judging by the tone of your voice I can safely say you are taking a jab at my age, though a terse jab it may be." "But the sum half of my birthdays? You could have just asked 'what is half your age', dear, so there's that" he laughed. "So to answer your riddle...I would say that you are declining my subtle inquiry stating that your age is...half the sum of all my birthdays." "Now then..." His eyes narrowed as he looked carefully at the girl. "You emphasized your dress, which clearly underlines its importance to you." "Yet you look very uncomfortable, and your movement unnatural, which makes it obvious that this is not your normal attire" an ugly smile surface from his sagging face " And your walk, it's not lady-like, or girlish, nor does it hold some pseudo-prestige inherited like the spoiled Lodan aristocrats." He said with a slight slur as he slowly revealed a drunker side "No, your life is hard, and your work is manual...and possibly devious." "Those hands aren't soft enough for the mellow-dramas of Lodan courtship, they have seen violence." And at those words he reached clumsily for his glass and missed, bumping it to the floor, and shattering at the base. His group looked at him uncomfortably, with disapproval clouded in fear. "I will be needing your types soon." "Fill out an application for Mingos any day, and spread the word." "For the rest of you good people! A round on me, and two for the military man, part of the machine that is our biggest client and benefactor!" A quiet reaction from the bar in which no one was impressed. "And the rest of you" He said lightly as he placed back on his gloves. "Don't be late for work tomorrow".
He waved the bartender away as the man came over to pour him another two rounds. A glass of scotch in the afternoon was one thing, but drinking half the bottle was another. Besides, he recognized Tourin and didn't want the man's eyes to pop out of his skull when he realized how much a glass of what he was drinking cost. "Thank you," he said, raising his voice and his glass towards the master mechanic, "but I'm still on duty, and one must always lead by example." That was true enough. If his men got word that their commander was out carousing and getting drunk, he'd have a hard time keeping a good many of his men out of the bars and brothels.
There was also the fact that Faolin trusted no one. Some of the city might be fooled by this peace treaty, but there were enemies out there who would love to bring down the head of the EIRAL. No sense making it easy for them.
His eyes wandered over the others in the bar, coming to rest on Caitlin for a moment before moving back to his glass. He took a small sip of the liquid, enjoying the smooth yet bold flavor. She looked familiar but he couldn't place the face. Her riddle had been interesting as well. Had it been meant as an insult on the mechanics age, or was it just a riddle she knew had no answer. In either case it had induced a slight smile.
Post by Caitlin Cockfoster on Oct 13, 2013 20:13:30 GMT
"Close but not quite," Caitlin replied when he was finished with his deduction of her riddle. She was sure she knew who he was now, as if the fanclub had not been enough of a clue. Although her eyes were full of mirth at the prospect of a game of wit before, now they were hard with steel from the twist his return jabs took. "from what I hear you're positively ancient, and as such it would be quite ungentlemanly to assume I could even be half of that so you see sir, the answer to my riddle is simply: my mother." She let that sink in with a pause for dramatic effect. She could have left it there, oh yes, but considering the way he'd undressed her down to the barest truth of what she was underneath her title, she wouldn't be satisfied with just the original jibe.
"It was very astute of you to notice my discomfort master mechanic, and since you are playing the part of the fashion expert in these matters, you then should know this dress - while quite stately - is not at all befitting of a ball. No, sir, what I told you before is more the truth; that my mother is at this very moment the one playing the part of hostess, dressing herself for a ball." She curled her hands around her glass, not willing to take this conversation one step further, because doing so would mean refuting his claims that her fingers were calloused and her posture unfit for a lady among other things his attentive gaze had found, and she didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to denying those things. After knocking his own glass to the ground, the man did his best to recoup by purchasing a round for the commander to her other side. The military man politely refused and the merchant put on his gloves. Perhaps he intended to leave... if that much was true, perhaps she could relax, after her ill-fated attempt at humor backfired and got her nerves in a bunch. She wanted to blame him for being unkind, but honestly she had started the battle of insults by playing off of his age. Why did she not simply give him her name?
She sat her glass down next to the decanter and leaned back. This was nice... like falling into a vat of marshmallow fluff. Calm, muffled, the rest of the world blocked out by the closed door to his cabin, and here they were safe inside. Safe from reality, safe from their own complicated lives. Safe from duty. Safe from context. Just. Safe. --Caitlin
Post by Tourin "termite" Might on Dec 7, 2013 23:00:55 GMT
By the time he snapped on both his left and right hand gloves the little snob gave her tart reply. He humphed at that and lookedright past his present company at the bar without making eye contact. "Good day to you," he said to no one in particular and letting himself out the door walking as upright as he could manage.
Post by Caitlin Cockfoster on Dec 13, 2013 1:57:27 GMT
"Good day indeed," She muttered a little under her breath and turned in her seat to face the men to her other side rather than watch the mechanic leave. Ah the youth who favored his dairy, and the military man setting an example for his brothers. She beamed them both a smile. What a trio they made- given their dissimilar stances on liquors. In the face of these two she blushed slightly.
"I apologize for my rudeness," she opened the floor by saying.
She sat her glass down next to the decanter and leaned back. This was nice... like falling into a vat of marshmallow fluff. Calm, muffled, the rest of the world blocked out by the closed door to his cabin, and here they were safe inside. Safe from reality, safe from their own complicated lives. Safe from duty. Safe from context. Just. Safe. --Caitlin
"From where I was sitting it seemed you were not the one being rude," he offered a smile, which looked as unnatural on his face as much as if he'd just sprouted horns and a tail. He turned away again, realizing how forced his expression had been and took another slight sip of his drink. At that moment he would have much rather downed the entire thing and walked off back to the ornate building the locals liked to refer to as 'the barracks'. It was a misleading notion, but misleading could be good sometimes. No one but those who wore the uniform were ever allowed beyond the reception area and the scant few offices that made up a fraction of the building.
He pulled his thoughts back to the present, remembering that he was still perplexed as to who this woman was. She seemed familiar, yet completely different. Perhaps he had once met her when she was younger. "Have we met before," he said, once again angling himself on the chair to face Caitlin.
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