Completed [Pig's Foot Tavern] A Night In the Tavern (Mirian)

[Deltan Colari]

63rd of Fall, 514 A.V.; 19th Bell Deltan stepped into the Pig's Foot Tavern, worn boots causing the wooden floor to creak slightly under him. The young man was hardly an imposing figure, especially under the cloak he wore--he appeared lanky, the firm frame of a man used to travel and training hidden beneath the cloth. The boyish face did not help matters, nor did the rather pitiful stubble he had developed. In fact, he thought it made him look younger, if anything. He was into his manhood years, but obviously not by much. That had been the source of much frustration for the young man when his fellow guards assumed he knew nothing simply because he was younger. That was not important now, however; Deltan had more important things to worry about than condescending comrades. The young man had not had a meal since he had arrived this morning and parted company with the caravan, and every attempt to speak to the citizens of this city had gone awry in one way or another. Some fled from him after they caught a look at the short sword at his waist, while others grew hostile. None had attacked him thus far, thankfully. He had no visible signs of wealth, though that was more because he had no wealth to speak of than for any discretion on his part. Now, however, Deltan could appreciate the luck he'd had in not making himself look too wealthy. A lucky accident, though if anyone had a right to expect a little luck, it was him. Deltan ran a hand through his bright-red hair, making it look even more chaotic than it had already. He approached the man who looked like a barkeeper, saying, "Do you have rooms here?" The dour man's returning glare took Deltan aback. If looks could kill, the young man suspected he would be cinders by now. Taking that for a negative response, he added, "Just ale." To dissuade the bartender from throwing him out by the seat of his pants, he held up a bit more than usually expected for drinks...At least in Syliras. Apparently it was enough, because the bartender snatched the mizas from his hand and quickly replaced them with a mug of ale. Deltan hesitantly sniffed it once the bartender was elsewhere. It smelled about like any other ale he had ever seen. Oddly, he had never gotten drunk before. Had sips here and there, of course, but he had never had the opportunity to get truly drunk. As it was, Deltan had no intentions of starting that habit now. The young man looked about, noticing that the tavern was growing a bit more quiet now that night was upon them. That was strange; most taverns Deltan had been to only grew more busy at night until they finally emptied in the wee hours of the morning. Why? Filing it down for future consideration, he set about looking for a good place to take his ease before continuing on his search for housing. Something told Deltan that he would sorely regret trying to sleep in the streets.

[Mirian Jade]

Night was a curious time in Sunberth. In some ways, it was when the city came most alive; alleyways became dens of Dira, shadows flickered teasingly at the corner of the eye and every man and woman was out for a reason. For Mirian, it was a time of labor, or perhaps a time of pleasure, or perhaps a mixture of the two. She had forsaken the simple pants for a long black skirt, patched here and there with strips of maroon cloth meant to catch the eye. Her long sleeved shirt had been traded for a loose and flowing red blouse with a plunging neckline and a collar that only just managed to keep on her shoulders. There was a nip in the air, and so tonight she’d decided to bring along her shawl as well––a plain brown garment woven of fine wool, a bit worn here and there but well able to ward off the dropping temperature. Winter was coming. She could feel it in her bones. The snake business had settled somewhat––well, settled as much as anything could in Sunberth––enough to make her want to feel comfortable going back to the sea, even if just for a small while, but there were other whispers now. Whispers of the Svefra that had slipped into the docks. Whispers of pirates. As it was, she had found herself in the Pig’s Foot Tavern as the sun inched towards the western horizon, as it was far enough away from the sea for her to feel somewhat safe but close enough that she could at least pretend to hear the waves. She’d arrived on the tail end of the pre-evening crowd, when day and night mingled in a chaotic blend of no demographic in particular. She didn’t order anything, instead drawing her shawl closer about her and taking a seat in the corner where she would be able to best see the tavern at large. The daytime crowd began to trickle away, one by one, and every now and then one of the nightlighters would slide in, pick their way around the crowd and find a corner of their own. Mirian herself had never really stayed in the tavern more than an hour or so after the sun descended, but she knew well enough that they were not to be bothered––it was never wise to gamble with nighttime Sunberthians. More and more people made their exit, and as they did Mirian was allowed to comb over who had chosen to remain––the oddest of whom seemed to be a young man sitting stiffly at the bar. He was lean and somewhat rugged-looking, with hair that looked like a brand of fire in the candlelight, but that wasn’t what caught her eye––it was the way he held himself. Wary. Posturing. Cautious. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. He was a stranger to the Pig’s Foot Tavern. Mirian smiled to herself, then straightened her face and stood. She allowed her shawl to fall off her shoulders until it was held only around her elbows and back, while one side of her collar almost did the same. She rode her skirt down a few inches for good measure, exposing a strip of skin across her stomach, and pulled on a smile. She approached him with purposeful steps, fully intending to make her presence known. When she slid onto the stool next to him, draping herself over the bar far deeper into his personal space than was proper, there could be no doubt of who exactly her attention was focused on. “What’re you drinking?” she asked, although her eyes never once wavered from his face to the tankard in his hand. The drink was not at all what she was interested in.

[Deltan Colari]

[font=Georgia] Deltan settled down onto a stool at the bar after deciding that he did not like the look of most of those at the tables. Better to drink alone and rest his feet than deal with that sort. Most did not look like they would be amenable to extra company. Mere moments after he took his first sip of the ale, grimacing at the unfamiliar taste of this city’s breweries, he heard the footsteps of someone approaching him. The young man turned his gaze toward the woman approaching him, and had to struggle not to gape. She was perhaps a year older than he at the most, with a softness of face that melded well with the bronzed complexion that Deltan had only ever seen on foreign women. She wore no lavish clothing, but what she had she wore very well. There was a natural beauty about her that no amount of jewelry and face-paints could emulate. With a slight start, Deltan realized that he was staring. Taking a large swallow of ale to wet his suddenly-dry throat, Deltan said, “What?” before he could help himself. Then, belatedly realizing what the young woman had asked, added quickly, “Ale. Just ale.” Unlike Mirian, Deltan had a hard time forcing himself to just look her in the eyes. She really was pretty, and Deltan had not had many women paying him this much attention. Or any, for that matter. He felt heat in his cheeks, and hoped he was not blushing. That would be even worse than just making a fool out of himself. Summoning his focus, his eyes took on an intensity that would seem unusual as he projected a faint suggestion into Mirian’s mind. It was not a thought; it was less than that. He’s not so bad… The suggestion was vague and weak, more because Deltan could do no better than because he was acting with finesse. He was a bit distracted at the moment, after all. He just wanted the woman not to think less of him for acting like a bumbling idiot. That intensity faded after a moment, and Deltan offered the young woman a smile that he hoped was pleasant to look at. “It’s pretty good… Can I buy you a drink?” He offered, pleased that he did not sound as nervous as he felt. The young man brought the heels of his boots up onto the wooden crossbar of the stool, elbows resting on the counter. He was careful not to lean away from Mirian lest she think he did not enjoy her company. Before getting fully settled, Deltan reached back with one hand, shifting his cloak so it did not cover him as well in the warm tavern. In the process, he exposed both his short sword—a cheap thing by any standard, earned as part of his payment as a caravan guard—as well as his coin purse. He had not noticed that few others wore coin purses so openly in the city. It bothered Deltan that he didn’t have enough mastery over himself to keep his nerves under control. It was just a pretty girl! Why was he so worried about what she thought of him? Odds were that he’d never talk to her again…Especially after acting the buffoon like he was. “Oh,” Deltan added after a moment, finally realizing he ought to introduce himself. “I’m Deltan.” Not “smooth” by a long shot, but he supposed it would have to do. The young man resisted the urge to rub his temples; using hypnotism without his full focus on the task always gave him a headache.

[Mirian Jade]

He stared at her as she approached, offering an unhelpful “What?” in response to her question. After a moment, though, he managed to gather his thoughts, and he informed her of his drink of choice. Ale. The passing thought of he’s not so bad flickered across her consciousness, a thought with which she easily agreed. He was almost… cute, in his own way, in how he reacted to her. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say she he was flustered. He smiled at her, and she rested her chin on her hand to level a playful look at him. “It’s pretty good,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?” Not so bad at all. The bartender, who had ears like a fox when it came to the potential for coin, took a step towards them to indicate that he was listening. Mirian shifted a tad towards the older man, as her words were meant for him, but her eyes remained trained on the younger one’s face. “I’ll have what he’s having,” she purred. He shifted in his seat, moving his cloak and exposing what lay at his belt––something that Mirian found immensely irritating since she wasn’t in any position to actually look at what he had there without making it blatantly obvious. She needed to wait. If he did have something, she didn’t want to ruin her chances by making a move too early. “Oh,” he said, as if suddenly remembering something. “I’m Deltan.” That would be enough. “Deltan,” Mirian repeated, letting the name curl over her tongue. She leaned back, not in avoidance, but in perspective––with an extra foot of space between them, she dragged her eyes down his neck, over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach––there. A shortsword and… a coinpurse? He had to be a foreigner. She didn’t linger on his belt, gleaning what she needed in less than a second of examination, but she did linger rather obviously on his crotch before letting her gaze crawl back up to his face. The bartender returned, order in hand and set the ale in front of Mirian. She bit her lip and let her gaze flicker to it for a moment, hooking a finger through the handle and drawing it closer. Another moment, though, and her eyes were back on her companion. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, Deltan,” she said, draping her elbow back onto the counter and settling her chin on her hand. She didn’t offer her name in return for his, but took care to appear as if it simply hadn’t occurred to her; if he outright asked for her name then that would be a different matter, but until then she would let it lay as it was. If he truly was a foreigner, and one new enough to Sunberth to actually carry his coinpurse around in plain sight, it would pay to take her time.

[Deltan Colari]

Deltan gave the bartender a nod of assent at the woman's order, reaching into his coinpurse and withdrawing a few copper mizas. He held them out to the bartender, and the man quickly exchanged them for a mug of ale. Despite dealing efficiently with the bartender, Deltan's gaze rarely left the lady sitting beside him. He enjoyed listening to her talk; she had a very pretty voice. And she seemed immensely interested in him. That in itself was a novelty that Deltan found hard to ignore. Finally, Mirian's gaze left Deltan's face and skimmed over his form. He once felt nervous, hoping he did not disappoint. Perhaps she liked men with more years on them than he had? As soon as that thought occurred to Deltan, he beat it down, eyebrows drawing together faintly as he reproved himself for his foolishness. When the woman held her gaze in his lap, it took Deltan a moment to realize what it was she was looking at. This time, there was no doubt about it; he knew he was blushing furiously. Deltan felt red enough to match his hair, blue eyes seeming somewhere between pleased and startled. Something occurred to him, then; was she a prostitute? That would explain the interest, for certain. Clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly, he pulled his cloak close again, covering his sword, lap, and coin purse. Much as he thought he liked the woman, he really did have to find a place to stay for the night. And if he was right about his hunch, she'd want to...work in his room. The idea vaguely repulsed him, though he certainly felt every particle of attraction toward Mirian that he had before. She was, in his estimation, one of the most beautiful women he had ever met. "I don't think I've seen you before, Deltan," she said in that lovely voice of hers, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. It seemed like every movement she made was meant to entice. Now that the thought was in his head, he could do nothing to drive it out. Prostitute? "...No," he said after he took a moment to gather himself mentally, "I'm new in town. I arrived this morning." Deltan's words held a clear note of disappointment, as well as a certain wistfulness. The longer he thought on it, the more plausible it seemed. He should have known. "Just stopped in here to rest my feet." Deltan took another swallow of his ale, realizing with surprise that it was already half gone. No more drinking; he needed a clear head. The young man pushed the cup away, letting the bartender get to it whenever he had time. Should he leave now? It might be a good idea.

[Mirian Jade]

The poor man was blushing, and Mirian’d be damned if it didn’t look adorable on him. It was almost enough for her to feel a tiny twinge of guilt over what it was she intended to do. Almost. Her eyes lit up when he confirmed that he wasn’t a native, and this time it wasn’t an act. “I knew it! Where are you from?” she asked breathlessly before she could stop herself. “Are you passing through? How long have you been travelling? Do you––” She pulled herself short, smile disappearing as she realized that she’d been rambling. Shyke. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry, love. Deltan, was it?” She laughed nervously, and the nervousness, at least, was genuine. “I don’t often speak to people from outside. It’s uh… I suppose you could say it’s a fascination of mine. I’ve always wondered about what’s outside this city.” She couldn’t deny that she was uncomfortable with exposing such a personal truth to him––it was a secret of hers, and she never shared secrets casually––but it had sprung from her mouth before she could rein herself in, and now she had to cover. He had retreated again, pushing his tankard away and letting his cloak cover him back up. Dammit, he was pulling away! “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” she said. “What do you say you and I just pretend that didn’t happen, and we can start over?” She bit her lip and chuckled anxiously. “So, Deltan, welcome to Sunberth. I hope my… titillation hasn’t dissuaded you?”

[Deltan Colari]

Just as Deltan was about to excuse himself and return to hunting for a place to pass the night--preferably before she got a good look at his blush--his companion blurted out that string of questions. Her manner had changed during that, a bit of that self-possession slipping from her as he apparently piqued her interest. Prostitute or not, apparently she really was interested. At least, interested in where he had been. Deltan couldn't help smiling as Mirian's own smile vanished. He chuckled with her, his own nervousness put somewhat at ease by that little break in the tension. No matter how collected she appeared, she was not quite as unapproachable now, for some reason. Deltan found himself leaning in again even before Mirian's apology, his smile softening as he shook his head. "I don't mind," he replied, his blush growing slowly more faint as he selectively ignored the request to forget her little slip. "I'm from Syliras, west of here. I've been on the road since late summer." At this, a faint grimace lined his features. He did dislike sea travel, though it meant he could relax. After all, they would have had ample warning of pirates, had there been any danger. That grimace was quickly replaced once more with a smile. He still seemed somewhat shy, though now he felt more confident. After all, they'd both made their own little mistakes in the conversation. As she reminded herself of his name, Deltan abruptly became aware of something. "Yes, it's Deltan. What was your name, Miss?" He felt that was the best title to give her; besides, he was from Syliras. It was a bastion of civilization... And he thought that he should represent his home city by proving he was not as brutish as most of the men he had seen in Sunberth. Then, probing, he asked carefully, "Dissuade me from what?" It was the best he could do, under the circumstances. What else could he say? Hey, are you a whore? No, if she was a decent woman then he would deserve the backhand that he got for asking such a stupid question. Then again, even if she was, she would be well within her rights to be offended. One did not ask such things in public, from Deltan's understanding.

[Mirian Jade]

He didn’t respond to her second question, although he seemed more than happy to address the first. She found herself being drawn in against her will, trying to imagine how far away Syliras must be for him to spend so long on the road. Was it dangerous? She’d heard it always was. Had he come across monsters or bandits? Was Syliras really made behind a wall that was so high it could touch the clouds? A thousand questions raced behind her mind, and she was only barely able to keep ahold of her facade enough to process his own query. And he even called her “miss.” How sweet. “Mirian,” she said. “My name is Mirian. And if you aren’t dissuaded…” she let her finger trace a line in the wood of the bar, wandering casually over to Deltan’s hand and hovering just shy of his skin. “How about you and I head down to the docks…” two fingers landed on his knuckles and began to slowly walk themselves up his forearm, “... find ourselves a room…” they came to curl playfully into the cloth around his bicep, and she leaned close enough to whisper, “... and you can tell me all about your journey.” The Drunken Fish certainly wasn’t the most stellar of sleeping establishments, but it was either that or the Aquillar Hot Springs––and Mirian had no desire whatsoever to walk all the way to the south hills after dark, especially not with bandits about. The Fish was rowdy and chaotic, to be sure, but that could be an advantage if used the right way. And the fact that most of the patrons were transient and wouldn’t recognize her was a definite perk. Add that to the fact that it was essentially neutral territory, even after dark, and it wasn’t really all that bad of an option. “What do you say, stranger?” Mirian murmured. “You tell me all about your travels, and I’ll give you a proper welcome to Sunberth.”

[Deltan Colari]

Mirian? That was a pretty name. The young man was about to tell his companion that, but she seemed intent on other things. Deltan did not know exactly how to react as Mirian flirted with him, his eyes following her fingers for a few moments before he swallowed and turned his gaze back to her brown eyes. His own blue eyes grew ever wider as Mirian made her intentions quite plain. The young man seemed slightly panicked, unfamiliar with the situation. Trying to buy some time, he offered a nervous smile, every effort going into hiding those nerves. It wasn't that the idea of being "welcomed to Sunberth" by this lovely young woman was an unpleasant concept. Gods above knew it appealed to him! Even the light touch of her fingers against the cloth of his shirt made his pulse quicken, already thudding in his chest. Rather, he had never...indulged himself before. As such, he had more than reason enough to try to postpone such an offer...No matter how much it pained him. Not moving more than strictly necessary, he raised his free hand and lightly placed it over the one Mirian had at his arm. Deltan tried to gently bring her own hand down to the counter, resting his hand over it so lightly that he was barely touching hers. It was irrational and Deltan knew it, but he was worried he might hurt her hand if he pressed too hard. He just had to pray his hand did not tremble with the effort of such a light touch. Most of his skills relied on being heavy-handed, so this felt alien to him. "I..." he hesitated a moment to find the right words, then continued, "I would be glad to talk with you, Mirian." It came out firmer than he could have hoped, and he relaxed a little. "If you tell me about your home, I'll tell you about mine." The young man briefly considered using his magic on her again, trying to pull her thoughts away from any of the more carnal activities they could engage in. Just as quickly, he dismissed the idea; he wanted to keep that particular door open. She really was quite beautiful, after all. Besides, his head already had a faint pulsing to it; if Deltan overused his magic, he would be spending the next week feeling like his head had been used as a training dummy. Deltan watched Mirian carefully to see whether she took the hint and, if so, how she would react. Few things were quite so worrisome as a truly angry woman, he had heard it said. Some added the clause, "The more beautiful, the more dangerous." Deltan tried to imagine Mirian angry, and found it to be difficult to see this playful, flirty person in a rage. She seemed like the kind of woman who did not rant and yell aloud. Whether that was good or bad, Deltan did not know.

[Mirian Jade]

He swallowed audibly and gave her a smile that teetered on the edge of fear. Mirian didn’t raise her eyebrow, but that took an immense amount of effort. An effort that she abandoned completely when he stiffly took her hand in his and gently but firmly brought it back to the counter; her brows shot up in curiosity, although that curiosity was tinted by amusement; was the man married? A glance to the left side of his neck said not. Her interest rose like a wave, and she turned her eyes back to his as he continued, putting a degree of emphasis on the word talk. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps he liked men. That set her into a bit of a panic; how was she supposed to seduce him if he didn’t play for her team? Calm, she told herself. Breathe. She could play this off. She could make it work. She just had to be creative. She just needed to gather her thoughts, and then gather information. Smiling just as broadly as before, Mirian chose to play his game and turned her palm up, lacing her fingers through his and standing. “Come with me,” she said, tugging on his hand to indicate that she wanted him to follow. “I think I know just the place.” Should he opt to follow her, she would lead him out of the Pig’s Foot Tavern and into the rapidly descending night.