[The Kelp Bar] Curious Circumstance

by **Siral Avadur** on April 14th, 2013, 5:36 pm

It took a supreme force of will for Siral to keep a polite and gentle smile as Ayatah groaned and moaned about her punishment. Eventually, she gave in, but not after a few quite-unladylike obscenities, and yet more annoyed glances. Watching her fold into her seat, the discomfort was still quite obvious on her face. But there she was, seeming more like a lady of the courts than a savage woman. That is, minding the clothes. And the expression. And the dialogue.

Siral realized acting was not quite as enjoyable for some.

The young bard resisted making any lewd remarks as his drinking companion described her question, but couldn't help smirking at her response to his riddle. Everything worked just like he had hoped, and now the game was evolving into something quite more complex. But as Ayatah talked about 'searching her body,' instead of the seductive thoughts that (admittedly) would be quite normal at this time, he was more interested in the game. Especially now that tattoo's were involved, as Siral had quite a fascination with this art of ink, even if he himself had only one small one. Always one to speak his mind, the young bard told his companion as much, as he gracefully accepted her challenge.

"So be it. I've always loved tattoo's, especially when I get to search for them. Expression and Exploration, two of my favorites, all wrapped up in a lovely package." Siral flashed his playful smirk for a brief moment, before settling back into his questioning. He always liked knowing the rules of any game he was playing in life, so that he could tell how far to bend them, and this was no exception. He continued after a quick sip of his ale, the wooden tankard almost empty yet again. "Now then, unless you care to draw the attention of quite a few unsavory types, I suggest we change the setting of this story once more." It would not be the first time Serra saw Siral lead a woman up to his room, but then again Serra always had a keen eye, in Siral's opinion. A young woman running her own prospering inn was to be respected, and it takes quite some skill to do so, in some vein or another.

It took a bit more force than usual, but Siral got to his feet with a bit of grace intact, and with his tankard in hand. He extended a hand down to Ayatah, helping her out of that obviously-uncomfortable position he had imposed on her, with a small smirk on his face. He finished the rest of drink, before grabbing what was left of the gallon as well, and motioned back towards the light of the city.

"Consider it a free night at the World's End."

OOCFeel free to act out us walking to the World's End Grotto and such. Siral has a room of his own there, so you can just go up to when he turns the key to save an intermission post. ^^"

by **Ayatah** on April 15th, 2013, 8:00 pm

She nodded and rose to join him on her feet. Perhaps the idea of sharing the room of an inn with a male should have concerned her, but even intoxicated, Ayatah knew her own mind. This bard made her laugh, and put her at ease like no one had since she had left her home. But her heart and loyalty belonged to belonged to another, and even though the game was risqué she knew nothing would come of it.

”I hope my own body art is expressive enough for you.” Every single inked image certainly represented something to Ayatah, be it a successfully challenge or the pulsating gnosis mark of her Goddess-Queen that made her a ‘proper’ Myrian (as she likened to think, anyways).

Since when were her legs so long? Ayatah stared down at them as if they suddenly had grown ten inches, and when she took her first few steps she stumbled and then stopped to glare down at them again. ”I must have drunk more than I thought.” She murmured, before shooting the bard yet another playful glare, ”been getting me drunk, have you?”

The night had darkened, and the wind colder from it. Ayatah shivered the whole way to the grotto, her cinnamon skin pricked with goosebumps. Once again, she thought of the clammy heat of Taloba and the same dreamy smile pulled at her lips. She was not ready to return home, yet, but she was beginning to miss it -- which in itself was an improvement. ”I’ve never stayed at an inn before,” she realised as they entered the grotto, ”when I came to Zeltiva I stayed with the Drykas, and then since Zeltiva I have had my university lodgings. I’ve never slept in a bed that someone will come and neaten up for me that day.” The idea clearly entertained Ayatah, and she practically skipped inside the inn and up the stairs.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Siral Avadur** on April 15th, 2013, 9:22 pm

While one could definitely call Siral drunk by this point, his body had long gotten use to the strange ale that Zeltiva made it's own, and so the intoxication was something of a familiarity, and one that the bard had quickly adjusted too. However, Ayatah seemed to have a bit of trouble, and so Siral went to steady her, linking his arm with hers, and in a way also helping to steady himself. Win-Win situation, in the most drunken of ways. Her playful jests and smirks returned with innocent smiles on his part, and a sarcastically-offended tone. "Me? Never. Alcohol is a demon's drink, after all. I'd be wary about strange men with odd words giving you foul drinks, mi lady." A flash of his uniquely whimsical smirk, and on they went, slowly making their way in the chilled winter night to the place Siral called 'home.'

It was quite a busy night at the Grotto. As the two entered, Siral spotted Serra not too far away greeting a group of revelers, and made polite eye-contact with his patron. She withheld her remarks, vocal or otherwise, about his companion, and simply offered the bard a polite smile, as she always did. Ayatah by this point was giddy with some sort of glee, intoxicated or otherwise, and so Siral was content to simply follow behind. Almost jogging by the bar, Siral placed the single tankard he had remembered to bring atop the wooden counter, ignoring the man's scowl about the second one as they whisked past. And with the business concluded downstairs, step by step went by until they reached the rooms, at which point instead of squandering her excitement, Siral simply nudged her in the right direction, until they reached a decently-spacious corner room. The storyteller rummaged in his cloak pocket for a moment before withdrawing a small bronze key, and with a swift twist in the lock, up went the tumbler and open went the door.

Siral liked to think himself a neat person, and while his appearance at times may be disheveled or hectic, his quarters were nothing of the sort. Besides a small corner filled with a half-dozen small crates, the floor was as clean as a man could make it. His desk was dutifully organized, and even the sprawl of papers seemed peculiarly patterned. On the opposite side was a bed, with soft linens and a couple quite-feathered pillows. All-in-all, it was a good gig.

"Make yourself at home, rose." Siral let the door close behind him and hit the latch, more out of habit than anything else, and semi-gracefully shed his heavier clothes. They made a soft landing on his bed as he stood in a plain cotton shirt and leather pants, his flute in hand. With the utmost care, he set it back in the drawer of his desk, with a soft sigh under his breath. There was always a nagging fear that in his intoxication, no matter how slight, he may slip up in his watch of his most precious possession, but now that was another burden lifted. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he smiled to his companion and spoke once more with his jovial tone.

"So then. Let's see these art pieces of yours."

by **Ayatah** on April 16th, 2013, 4:05 pm

As she stepped inside his room, Ayatah nodded and whistled in approval. ”Nice. And neat -- though I don’t know why I’m surprised.” She certainly didn’t know the young fellow well enough to press judgement on him as neat or messy. But he was a man nonetheless, and they tended to be messier creatures. ”Makes my dump of a room look like little more than that; a dump.”

She circled the room for a moment, taking in those fine-looking pillows, and also looking at the flute, which he cherished so much -- but she knew better than to go ahead and touch it. After all, some men had weapons, and some had musical instruments, but both were valuable to their respective owners.

”Ah!” She cried, turning around to face him with a grin. ”My tattoos….” With that, she shrugged off the light shirt she was wearing to reveal not undergarments, but Myrian leather armour. There was something comforting about wearing them underneath her layers of civilised clothes; you can take the savage out of the jungle, but not out of her armour. Her skin was smooth and cinnamon coloured, more like an Eypharian than her maternal people, but her appearance always been the aspect of her dual-heritage Ayatah had… appreciated the most.

Pointing to her navel, Ayatah began counting her tattoos. ”One; this tattoo was my first, and is an image of the double-bladed dagger I was given when I was born. It’s a clan tradition.” She brushed over the explanation, not out of secrecy, but simply not wanting to bore her company. She turned to side, lifted her right arm up and pointed to the long, thin arrow that started at her hips and ended level with her breast. The head of the arrow was hidden by her leather bralet, but it was obvious was it was, ”This was from I made my first kill with an arrow as a girl. And these…” Now her fingers trailed to her right ribcage and collarbone, where two small pictures mimicked the bones underneath, ”these two go with the one on my thumb. My clan is called the Scattered Bones, so these seemed a suitable idea. I got them when I succeeded my first solo hunt.” She spun around, her back to him and shrugged her hair to one side. This tattoo was clearly different to the others; to start with, it pulsated dully with every beat of her heart. It was also of… nothing in particular, but a complex pattern of swirls and lines. ”My gnosis mark.” The three words were enough to explain it, she felt.

”And finally…” Turning to face him again, she pulled down the front of her brown leather shorts, presenting him with her left hip bone and her final tattoo. ”One gladius.” She gave no other explanation, nor did she reference the small ‘R’ that was ingrained into her flesh on the hilt of the weapon.

With a smug grin, she slipped her civilised clothing back on. ”So, bard... Make your choice.”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Siral Avadur** on April 16th, 2013, 5:32 pm

Siral watched studiously as his new friend played fashion model, and took in each detail of the intriguing tattoos that she bore. He had very little clue as to the context for these, in contrast of his usual situation, but that only made the game more interesting, in his eyes. Siral never let such a problem hinder his fun after all, and given his profession filling in the blanks was not terribly difficult.

The first one was of a blade, similar to the one Ayatah wore on her at that very moment. Siral felt that was more of a traditional symbolism than a personal one, but that did not mean it was not special. Still, Siral felt there would be more subtlety to this ploy. This one; too obvious to be the correct answer.

Turning to her side, Ayatah showed the second, along with quite a flattering profile of her curves. Siral paid the latter no mind at the moment, the intoxication in his body only invigorating his curious tendencies. This one was yet another "trial" mark, and unless there was some passionate story behind her hunt, Siral doubted this one was the correct answer either.

Next up were the two that matched the third on Ayatah's thumb, signifying her clan and her home. Definitely a possibility, given what little Siral knew of the Myrian family bonds, and he kept the Shattered Bones in mind as a potential candidate. Still, Siral waited for something fascinating; something that he rarely saw.

And the next one did not disappoint.

Siral had only seen one Mark before, and he remembered it as clear as day. This one was still as cryptic, but apparently different, and he spent a few moments simply marveling at the arcane force before him. However, he did not feel it went with the tattoos and the game itself, and so he let it out of the pool, if only for a technicality.

The last one was the one Siral was waiting for. A short sword, emblazoned with a single letter, void of any explanation. The bard did not doubt his companion's skill at combat, but if she were already competent with such a close and personal weapon such as the Myrian dagger, wielding a gladius as well seemed a bit of a mismatch. He suspected the weapon was not hers at all rather, and the letter engraved with it completed a sort of memorial. A memory of someone lost perhaps, going along with what he knew of her hardships back home. His drunk mind was getting a headache from the analysis, and so he decided to simply go with it. Given his penchant for dramatics, his voice once again came out with prose instead of a simple answer.

"The rose favors none above all, her thorns repelling those her beauty attracts, but wrapped inside the bramble and the leaves lies the deepest memory of all, encased within A Sword." Siral once again flashed his playful smirk momentarily, before laying down on his bed with a content smile. His hands rested behind his head as let his body unwind for a moment, and spoke once more.

"That is my answer, my mountain rose."

by **Ayatah** on April 17th, 2013, 7:55 pm

Those dark eyes narrowed and Ayatah huffed and sat down, her arms folded and her lips pouting. ”It’s not enough that you’re right, but must you say it as song?” She flashed a smirk, though could not shift that rather irked feeling i the pit of her stomach.

I should have spun off some lie, she though glumly. His rose was not much of a liar though, and had she made up some story about the gladius tattoo, it would have been even more obvious that it was a little more significant than the others. ”But right you are, my musical friend; it is that tattoo which your rose favours.” As if to emphasise the point, she placed her fingertips on her hipbone, even though the tattoo was now concealed once again.

She would reward him with the story behind that particular piece of body art, seeing as she had denied it him earlier. ”It is an image dedicated to a man, in simple terms.” her voice was softer now, as if the mere memory of the gentleman was enough to brighten her mood -- should her mood have been low, that is. ”His name is Razkar, and you could say that the heart of your rose belongs to a….” What word suited the Myrian male? She smiled tenderly as she decided, ”…a reaver.” It was the perfect word for many reasons.

Ayatah paused. Should she say more? Was her new friend even interested in her love life? She decided to play on the side of modesty, and simply kept the rest of the story to herself. Instead, her eyes met Siral’s and she chose another question to ask him, even though the alcohol was now long gone.

”Have you ever been in love before?”

Such a girly question! Somewhere in Taloba, Paira of the Scattered Bones rolled her eyes, her maternal instinct making her aware that her daughter was swooning over lover and her man. How very un-Myrian.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

by **Perplexity** on September 10th, 2014, 3:31 pm

.

Siral :

Ayatah :

Comments :

Closed [The Kelp Bar] Curious Circumstance