Closed [Pigs Foot] Wet your whistle? (Quint)

[Ealisaid]

Winter 5, 513

Ugh! Ealisaid slapped the mug down in the deep stone sink, to be washed up later. Not that the Pig’s Foot took exquisite care to ensure the hygienic quality of its glassware. But that was just....really disgusting. The mug was not even glass – those were a bit dear, as often as they got broken around the tavern. It was homely earthenware, simple fired clay, and if the barmaid had used a bit more force she might well have cracked its bottom on the hard slab of granite. That would have been no great loss, though. Save her from washing out the….whateveritwas….gummed to the bottom. And not the exterior bottom – the black slimy gob was on the inside of the drinking vessel. The gods knew how it got there. The patron who had practically yelled in her face – sending a spray of spittle through the air as he did so – seemed to think she’d done it on purpose. Honestly? she’d wanted to spit back. I wouldn’t have done that to you when I first served you your ale – but now you’ve spat in my face I’d be a lot more likely to do ii to the next round! The nerve of these drunken louts!

Oh well, they were her living, their thirst was her bread and butter, literally. If there weren’t so many drunks stumbling in each night, she’d not have a job. So she supposed she should be thankful for the lot of ‘em. With a resigned sigh, she left the offensive mug and snatched up a clean one. Well…cleanish. Filling it expertly from a jug, she poured out a mug of the amber fluid with just the right amount of head. Carrying it to the far end of the bar counter, she set it before the man with the eye patch and the bad teeth, giving him a sweet, fake smile.

“There you go, love. That one’s on the house.”

The man grimaced and frowned, but then his face broke into a leer. “How ‘bout you on my lap? That’d make me feel loads better!” He roared in a raucous bray of laughter, sounding like the ass he was, thinking himself quite clever.

Ealisaid smirked and slipped past him expertly – it was quite the skill she had – evading the hands – and laps – of the patrons.

“Oh, love, can’t do that – it would make all the other girls sooo jealous,” she purred over her shoulder. The idiot grinned, still hopeful, and smirked, and Eali gave him what passed for a knowing look – one that she had absolutely no intention of following through on. But it would guarantee that he’d give her a good tip. She knew how to play up to the customers and leave them thinking that she found them just oh so overpoweringly attractive.

Already moving beyond his grasp, she slipped around a few more at the bar and spotted another who seemed to have no drink in front of him. Now that simply would not do – Merv had drummed that into her head well enough.

Scooting over, she plastered another smile on her lips, and gave a blithe greeting.

”Well now handsome, you look thirsty! I’ve been inattentive, and kept you waiting.” She gave him a wicked look. ”Now tell me how I can make that up to you? What’ll it be?”

[Quint Caravel]

Quint glanced to his left and to his right, not quite sure who the woman was talking to. He looked at a teal-colored man with muscles, a strapping lad with a granite arm, and a red-haired old man who might have been a retired Syliran Knight. There were many handsome men in the bar but he didn't consider himself one of them. He considered himself on the equal of the man with the eye patch and bad teeth.

As it was a known fact that women were far more superficial than men-- he had seen for himself how many more of them he attracted when he simply wore an expensive shirt and strode around with a commanding swagger-- he eyed the barmaid dubiously, reasoning that if she actually found him attractive she'd have found an excuse to serve him earlier.

Sunberth was a city where he often found himself waiting around. At first he had not minded-- he was by nature an affable an easy going man-- but it was beginning to change him. He had spent his life as a carefree sailor only concerned with drinking, dining, dating women and enjoying himself, but a constant stream of slights, petty insults, random bits of petty paranoia and looks of fear and dread were shaping him into something different from who he had once been. Even here, some nice old guy named Merv who had been happily talking to a few others clammed up when Quint had walked by, muttering something about foreigners always coming in and trying to change things.

Well, Quint couldn't disguise his lack of a Sunberth heritage. Though he was beginning to understand why some people took up acting, disguise and other skills of that nature.

He was also beginning to understand why certain men went after power and money: because it helped get things done. And there would be no more waiting. He could just snap his fingers and then doxies and wenches would come to his bidding.

But that day would be far in the future. Today he was just plain old Quint Caravel, nobody. A man with no knowledge of magic or combat, and marked with the gnosis of no god. He didn't even had a little Kelvic cat-girl to be friends with like he had in his strange dreams where half of Mizahar kept showing up. Kelvic cat-girl, a spider girl, a witch, a knight, a thief, a pregnant Drykas woman, a barefoot woman with a tropical outfit of beads and feathers, a female Svefra pirate and her balding lover. . . Quint's dreams were plagued with people and images he could not explain. They were a constant stream of reminders of the various paths his life could and still might take. And far beyond the power of any god that he knew of (Quint did not know of Nysel), the dreams were embedding one constant image in his mind: that he was already rich and powerful enough to host a party large enough to invite a world.

The constant contrast between his waking and dreaming life was also shaping him, as even when he walked around without two mizas to his name he walked around like a rich man who had just left his wallet at home instead of a poor man who didn't have them at all. It wasn't the sort of pompous striding of a poor man acting like a rich popinjay either; it was more of a quiet, sincere confidence that he could go anywhere he wanted as there was no door in Sunberth that enough Mizas couldn't open.

It was causing hims the ponder a philosophical question: was he a nobody dreaming that he was a somebody? Or was he really that rich and powerful man who currently found it amusing to play the fool? Once the answer was obvious, but the longer the strange dream went on and kept recurring, the more he went back and forth.

He glanced up at the waitress. He'd been about to say 'An Ale would be fine' when he looked into her eyes. His sister and ex-wife had both done stints in port taverns, but neither had eyes as lovely as the ones he was currently looking at. And there was something else in them, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. The best he could come up with was 'hunger,' but that did not make much sense to him as he assumed she got all the free food and drink she wanted, and she could have any drunk bum here for the taking.

Quint looked her up and down. Of course he was a man and he contemplated her physique, but this was not a lecherous look. He attempted to disguise it as such, but it was more the sort of look she might see Merv give a prospective new waitress.

"That's a lovely outfit," he finally said. "And my only regret in waiting was in not being able to see such pretty eyes before this moment. I had no idea the Alvina of Beauty worked in Sunberth, but now that I know, a loyal customer I shall be."

He gestured at himself with a roll of his fingers. "I'm Mr. Quint Caravel, a humble merchant who has recently arrived in your fair city. I would be honored and grateful if you could find it in your heart to gather me a flute glass of fine wine. A nice Claridon white, 98 or 99, I'm not picky." He nonchalantly slapped a full gold Miza onto the bar, indifferent as to whether the waitress grabbed it or not.

He had no idea if they made wines in Claridon, but that was now the waitress's problem, not his. He crossed his arms and glanced over at the man with the eye patch and bad teeth, as Quint was now just another customer waiting for his order to be filled.

[Ealisaid]

It was rather endearing, and refreshing – the way he looked around, as if he really thought she was not addressing him, but some other. It was probably put on, but still, it made a change from the more typical grinning leer and egotistical acceptance of such a greeting. Not that the man in front of her was bad looking. He was simply…average – the type of face you might see a hundred times in a day and never note it, really. But Eali had long ago learned not to judge any book by its cover – no matter how lovely, or worn, or plain, or fancy. When she worked, she treated all men as if they were something special, because that’s what they liked, and it tended to put a few more coppers in her purse at the end of the evening. She had no qualms about using flattery, if it would get her a nice tip. That was life. Well, that was her life – she didn’t have the luxury of being honest.

Even though she could not read the customer’s mind, she would not have quarreled with his assessment of her sex, and their ways, though she might have substituted the word manipulative for superficial. People had to live with the hand fate dealt them, and they had to figure out how best to use the tools, if any, nature had given them. Women lacked the physical strength that typically gave men the upper hand. They had to work with what they had – be that brains or beauty, or their father’s money or a fertile womb. So, yes, aligning oneself with a man who had money, power, or prestige to get some of both of those, was one survival strategy. And many women wanted more than just to survive – much more. For Ealisaid, she had been gifted with enough brains to figure out that depending on anyone was always dangerous. You could try to bind a man to you with sex or love or guilt, but at the end of the day, he could always just walk out the door. So, though she was not above enjoying the company of a man who could buy her a good meal, she didn’t make it a regular habit. Her quest was to somehow be independent, not reliant upon a man, or anyone, to make sure she saw a new year coming round. But if other women wanted to throw themselves at a man with money, well, she couldn’t blame them, though she might fault them for being a bit naïve.

She caught that look, and it didn’t bother her a bit. She was used to it, though this particular gent didn’t seem to be exactly ogling her. His gaze was more…speculative, as his sea blue eyes roamed from her face to her curves and then back up. Her garb was conservative, for Sunberth – scuffed ankle boots, a plain linen skirt of deep blue, a worn blouse of bleached linen quite frayed at the cuffs, so she kept them rolled up to her elbows. The neckline only plummeted to the very top of her bust – she didn’t want the men who frequented the tavern to think that she was on sale. She wasn’t. A plain apron – clean but harboring the faint outlines of stains that had stubbornly only faded with washing – covered most of her front, offset by a green silk scarf which she wore wrapped tightly about her dark hair. Hardly a lock pepped out, for it was wild indeed and she fought daily to keep it under wraps, unless she was dancing. Incongruously, perhaps, she did allow herself the small luxury of her jewelry, even while working – silver earrings and a bracelet of the same precious metal. It wasn’t to show off. Honestly, could she have left them in her scabrous room in the Sunset Quarters and expected them to still be there when she returned – unless she had them hidden in the night soil bucket? So they stayed on her at all times, and she hoped her dagger would be enough persuasion against any who might covet them. His words, when he was done with his quick survey of her attributes, brought a ready grin to her full lips.

"That's a lovely outfit. And my only regret in waiting was in not being able to see such pretty eyes before this moment. I had no idea the Alvina of Beauty worked in Sunberth, but now that I know, a loyal customer I shall be."

Ah, so he could flatter too. Well, good, that might make the little exchange that much more amusing.

”A sliver tongue as well as good looking – you’ll make me blush, love,” she said merrily. ”And I’m no Alvina, but you’re close. My name id Ealisaid,” she quipped, purposefully misconstruing the compliment.

He returned the favor of an introduction, and Eali’s eyes widened as he plonked down that gold coin with such a casual air. The mention of flute glasses and fine wine brought her lips up in a slight smirk, and she shook her head slightly, bemused, saying, ”Claridon ’98? I think somewhere in the back room Merv might have a bottle of Nykan wine tucked away. And we have a regular table wine from Zeltiva. I’ll see what I can find, all right?” She stuck out her forefinger and shoved the gold miza back towards the man. ”Keep this for now, until we get it sorted. Unless you want the whole bottle.” She was about to leave him, when she leaned over impulsively and said in a lower tone, ”Don’t flash those around like that. You really don’t want to advertise that you have it, and that you possibly have more.” Generally, Ealisaid didn’t go out of her way to try to look out for anyone else’s welfare. It was enough to try to keep her own skin intact. But, she appreciated the nice compliment he’d given her – without trying a grab for her breast or bum – and she thought she’d repay the kindness.

With that she took herself off, once more skirting about the end of the bar counter and maneuvering past the clutches of Eye Patch. There were more than sufficient bottles of the common Zeltivan wine that she could have grabbed one and taken it out to him. But she would make the effort to see if there was actually anything better back in the room Merv used as an office of sorts. She had some vague idea that Claridon was a place somewhere on the Suvan Sea. Beyond that she hadn’t a clue really what it was or what sort of wine they produced. But a few minutes rummaging in a cupboard produced a bottle that was black in color and corked and dusty, and which bore a label that she could not read, being illiterate. She thought it might do, though. It looked like wine, anyway…

With her find in hand, she made her way back out into the common room and to the table of Mr. Quint Caravel, setting the bottle down with care, so as not to overly disturb any settled contents that might be nestling at the bottom.

”I think this is wine,” she said, admitting her own ignorance quite candidly. ”Shall I fetch a decanter?”

[Quint Caravel]

While Ealisaid was busy rummaging around in the back, Quint pocketed the coin but pondered on her words. For all his talk of sailing, he had spent much of his life with his grandfather in Syliras, and so his frame of reference was as being the toughest, rowdiest person around, the only con-artist in a city of knights and squires. To find himself in an actual city full of people who would kill you for a pair of boots or slice your throat to grab your coin purse... it was a very different frame of reference, and he realized he would have to invest some time in at least one weapon, perhaps a dagger. And a bit of exercise would not hurt. He preferred to see himself as an eventually wealthy merchant who could just hire minions and underlings to do all this for him, but he would never live long enough to be that important man if he didn't take good care of himself first. The gods helped those who helped themselves. And in a town like this, it would pay dividends down the line to have his underlings respect him physically and not just for his almost dashing good looks.

His course decided, Quint pulled out his ledger and made a note to work on a course of self improvement. He'd been finding out that writing things down somehow made them more real to him, made him want to achieve them. He didn't know why this was, and assumed there was some Alvina of Paper involved.

Quint then starting writing poetry in his ledger. Alone-- as far as he knew-- alone in Sunberth, he worshipped Xyna, and an accounting of all Mizas spent was important to him. He noted the price of wine and other purchases he had made this day. In this ledger he also wrote down that Ealisaid had been nice to him. He kept track of everything; it was not just a ledger of money earned and money spent, but for all of it, including favors gained and favors owed. And now, alone one page, a poem.

Busy writing, he gave the bottle a glance, but ignored it as his eyes were on Ealisaid.

"Oh you'ree back! Ealisaid. What a pretty name. It reminds me of a song I just made up in the style of those that they used to sing on the South Suvans Seas when I was a lad."

He cleared his throat and loosened his jaw, and started singing his poem to her:
"Oh, don't be afraid for Ealisaid,
don't you fret at all.
She's got eyes like honey
and a nose for money
and she's going to get it all.
Ealisaid, oh Ealisaid,
she's got Sunberth under her thumb.
Ealisaid, oh Ealisaid,
up the ladder she will come."

He was not a trained singer or bard, and was self-aware enough to know this, so he stretched out the words in a sing-song voice and hummed between bars just enough so that it was a song. It was the sort of thing that would sound better the more you drank, especially if several minstrels were around or ideally a nice chorus. Quint was glad that Sunberth was not known for its cultural heritage as it apparently didn't have one. He pondered if he would be any good as a bard if he worked at it.

oocHow can a sailor like this not be a singer? Time for me do to 99 musical tavern flashbacks.

[Ealisaid]

A man busy scribbling in a ledger wasn’t a completely novel sight to the barmaid. The Pig’s Foot was a popular haunt for all and sundry who walked, crawled or slithered through the cesspool that was Sunberth. Any number of merchants – that is, crooks who made some pretense of being legitimate businessmen – could be seen stopping by morning, noon and night, and some had their little written accounts of their thievery. Not that Eali paid any attention to what they were actually recording, or reading, or musing over or debating with an associate. She could neither read nor write. And though she had a rudimentary grasp of addition and subtraction – enough to know how much was owed and how much change was due – she had no accounting skills, that went without saying. So the fact that Quint had his nose down and was concentrating on whatever it was he was writing didn’t impress her or intrigue her too much. She waited patiently for his opinion on whether the bottle she’d found actually contained something he might want to imbibe. And within a moment, his bright blue eyes lifted and he smiled and she smiled in return.

But the smile fell away – to be replaced by lips coming to form an “O” of surprise, and her eyes widened, as Quint began to sing – about…her! And the words were not lewd. It wasn’t a bawdy joke at her expense. He didn’t sing of her lips or her hips or her bust or her derriere – or any of the body parts men took such delight in. Well, he did mention her eyes, but in a nice ways. And the rest – well – she hardly knew what to make of it. Quint seemed to have some belief – in her. In her ambition, or maybe her aspirations would be more accurate. She was flattered, in a way she rarely felt. She could hardly take credit for the way she looked. But she did like to think, privately, that she would one day get to where she was going because she was smart, and worked hard, and didn’t waste her time and money on frivolous pursuits. Not too many, anyway. She quite liked it, and her surprised look turned to one of bemusement, and then she laughed outright, as Quint’s ditty drew to a close.

”By the gods! You sing too! And, I…I just don’t know what to say! You made that up? All by yourself – and just in the few moments that I was gone?” Clearly she was impressed, even if she should not have been. Regardless of how simple the hummed melody was, no-one had ever composed a song for her like that. Perhaps when you came right down to it, she was much more similar to other girls than she might have wished to believe. Quint’s unique form of flattery had touched her.

”Are you a singer, then? As well as a merchant? Be careful or Merv will be impressing you to sing an accompaniment while I dance.” She laughed again, tickled at the idea.

[Quint Caravel]

He pondered that a moment, wondering if there was any profit to be had in Sunberth by being a bard, or even simply a performer. Then he reasoned that a jester could go anywhere; everyone liked to laugh and be entertained. It might actually not be profitable, but it might open doors currently closed to an outsider in Sunberth.

He didn't consider himself a shrewd man, but he had to be open to all possibilities. Quint made a quick note in his ledger to work on improving his acting and storytelling and other such talents. As he actually did already have some talent there. And he added singing to the list.

Then he slammed the ledger shut and focused on the wondrous girl in front of him.

Quint smiled at Ealisaid. "I'm glad you liked it. It wasn't something I could have done a season or two back."

He paused for a moment, unsure if he could trust Ealisaid, and also not sure how she would take his next comment. Would she think him insane? Well, he was no believer in Yahal, but he was no coward. He plunged ahead, as he had already decided that he liked Ealisaid enough that he wanted her to like him back. And so he chanced revealing a bit of himself, his real self. "Lately, though, I've been having odd dreams. Perhaps it the new locale, or the change of season, but they are unlike anything I have ever experienced before."

He glanced upwards for a moment, unsure how to elaborate. "In one dream, I see... everyone. Every race, ever class, all at some party that I'm hosting. And seeing all these people and the choices that they have made, their regrets and their triumphs, I find myself pondering new depths to myself, and to the world around me, and that's been quite terrifying, but it's also been a wellspring of creativity."

Then he smiled at Ealisaid. "And it has made me more awake. I don't just see people now, I ... well, you heard the song. It's like fortune telling, I guess. I see what you can be. Or have been."

He observed the various people coming in and out of the bar, those talking to each other, and those talking quietly. He kept scanning around, then suddenly stopped and pointed at a random man slumped sadly at the end of the bar..

"Life can be cruel when it's already been cold/
Fortune doesn't always come to the bold/
It's been a hard life and now there's no wife/
your drink is warm and food's getting cold/... "

Quint coughed. "Okay, no one wants to hear depressing ditties, so I'll stop that there. And it's made me thirsty. I'll take that Nyka red after all. And some water." His thirst was now more physical-- from the singing-- than it was a desire for spirits. And he was beginning to get hungry. He also asked for a bit of stew, or whatever they had.

He shrugged. "But enough of me. I'm a very plain man in a very plain outfit. I'd rather focus on you, Ealisaid. I'm glad you liked that song. And I do find you attractive, inside and out. I want to know more about you. And I think I would enjoy that dance, here or elsewhere."

[Ealisaid]

He didn’t give a ready answer to her question, and she could almost see the mental cogs whirring in his head as he thought. From this, she took it that – no – he did not consider himself a singer. Her question had been lighthearted. But Quint seemed to be giving it some serious consideration. In any event, he scribbled a few more words in his notebook, seemingly spurred by the direction of their little conversation. Then his eyes came up to hers again, with a cryptic comment, followed by even more puzzling statements. Ealisaid listened, one eyebrow arching upwards as Quint told her about his dreams. For the most part, she was a practical person, not given to flights of fancy. She was certainly no dreamer, in the sense of daydreams or pipedreams – Ealisaid tried always to keep her feet on very solid ground, and her head unmuffled by the cloud cover of fantasy. And she did harbor some bit of the local prejudice against magic, and its practitioners. What Quint recounted – it did smack somewhat of such things – fantasy and mysticism. Ealisaid had known a fortune teller or two in her time, and for the most part had found them to be nothing more than common con artists with a gift for seducing the gullible by telling them what they wanted to hear. Was that Quint’s game? Was he trying to suck a stupid barmaid into some grifter’s game – wheedling his way into her purse? Or was he sincere in what he was telling her, and therefore maybe touched in the head? Or perhaps just given to odd dreams that he put more stock in than was warranted?

Or…was there any grain of truth in it?

Her eyes had narrowed a bit. The very last thing she wanted was to act the fool. ”Your dreams have given you a…gift?” she asked, skeptically. She thought about this and had to admit, his song about her had been right on the money. He’d either been damn lucky in his guesses or he had some ability to pick up on cues that maybe others missed. But could she really believe this talent came from…dreams?

”Can you do this with anyone?” she asked, her voice losing one iota of doubt, to be replaced by simple curiosity.

Quint looked about the tavern and finally poked a finger at a middle aged patron, a man whose shoulders slumped and whose nose hung almost into his mug of drink. Seemingly off the top of his head, he composed and sang a little tune, the lyrics painting a sad picture indeed of the one he’d singled out. Ealisaid’s fine, dark brows came together, as she looked at the man at the bar counter. She didn’t know him – well, not really. She’d served him a number of times but he was a quiet, morose one. She had heard, though, about his wife up and running off with another. So Quint wasn’t completely off the mark. But maybe he’d heard the same tale himself.

Her gaze came back to Quint, as he left off his ditty, and finally came back to the reason that had brought her to him. "Okay, no one wants to hear depressing ditties, so I'll stop that there. And it's made me thirsty. I'll take that Nyka red after all. And some water."

She shot him a wry look, as he appended a request for something to eat as well. ”It’s probably a good thing you can’t see into the future. Otherwise you might not be so willing to spend your coin on the food that’s prepared here.” She softened her rather ominous words with a smile. ”I’m teasing. Don’t worry. Tonight it’s leg of mutton. I smelled it myself when they put it on the spit. It hadn’t turned.”

Quint seemed to take her little jest in stride. He shrugged, as once more he spoke, asking her about herself. Ealisaid had reached for the bottle and applied the cork screw that she had in her apron pocket, gratified to see that the cork wasn’t so old that it crumbled down into the contents. She paused, and shrugged, a mirror to his own gesture.

”Not much to tell, is there?” she replied. ”I work. I save. One day I hope to have my own place.” She shrugged again. ”Maybe that’s as much a dream as the ones that you have.”

Ealisaid wasn’t unused to being asked this question, or some version of it – Tell me about yourself lass! It was a common enough entre into the next step in the dance of trying to get beneath her skirts – although most men who put the question to her couldn’t have cared less if she actually gave them an answer or simply succumbed to their “charms” with mute rapture. No doubt the latter would suit most such “admirers” just fine. But as she surveyed Quint with a wordly and oft-times cynical eye, she had some niggling feeling that perhaps he wasn’t quite so bad as most of them. Perhaps.

She gave him a frank look, saying, ”I haven’t lead a very interesting life. Sounds like you’ve been some place other than here – Sunberth. I haven’t. I was born and bred here. My mother made her living on her back. I never knew who my father was – neither did she.” Ealisaid’s tone wasn’t bitter or condemning, just matter-of-fact. After all, as she knew, her tale wasn’t a unique one, especially in this city.

”I decided long ago I’d rather die than follow that path.” she added, with a hint of determination blending into her steady voice. Then her lips came up in a grin. ”But believe me, I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

She smiled broadly, patting his forearm. ”Let me fetch you a glass, love - and your food, and water.” Eyes darting to the table where Merv sat talking to one of the other patrons, she said, ”I don’t get paid for talking, unfortunately. I do get paid for dancing, though, and if you’ve a mind to sit a spell, I’ll be doing just that very thing in about a bell or so.”

”Then you can tell me if you enjoyed it,” she threw back over her shoulder with a slightly more wicked grin, as she wove through the tables on her way back to the kitchen. As she turned to make sure she didn’t run into anyone in the process, her very white teeth came down to bite musingly on her plump lower lip. Quint was a bit of an odd duck, but she liked him. He seemed….different. But maybe time, as it often did, would reveal him to be not so very removed from the rest of the louts who came in here. Maybe he was just good at cultivating another angle of approach.

It didn’t take long for her to fetch the requested food and hydration, along with drinking vessels for both wine and water. Her mind was not quite as focused as it usually was when she made her way back out into the common room, so as she rounded the bar counter, she missed the telltale signs of a prospective assault. A hairy paw shot out, nails all cracked and filthy and the back scabbed from years of weather and hard work. Grasping at her waist, her old friend Eyepatch gave a yank and almost had the contents of her hands all over the floor. Pulling her close, breath that reeked of days old onion and garlic and the gods knew what else assailed her nose, as he growled, “Here! Where ya been girl? I’m near died of thirst! You’ll lose your tip if you don’t mind the customers now, won’t you?”

It was quite difficult for her to try to escape his still strong arms as they seemed to wrap about her like loathsome serpents. She also struggled to keep the plate of food and the two mugs aloft and their contents intact. But as those fleshy, pale lips closed in, and the varmint slurred, “Or mebbe you want your tip right now, eh?,” she gave up the battle and turned what she had into “innocent weaponry.” Letting the mutton and chips and water all spill, falling on the scroundel’s head, she leapt back as he released his grip in surprise.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, love!” she exclaimed in feigned dismay, as the drunk sputtered and cursed and looked daggers at the impudent barmaid, while those about them roared in laughter.

[Quint Caravel]

Quint had been rather hungry, and growing thirstier by the minute, and so the only thing that kept him contentedly seated was the knowledge that food and drink were soon to arrive. Now he watched with abject disappointment as the plate destined for him went all over the place. There was no other word to describe his feeling: disappointed hit it right on the head.

And there was no one to blame but the lusty man. And in Sunberth, Quint got to be his own judge and jury. And so he went to collect some evidence.

First he opened his ledger again, went to the end, to the page with a doodle of a tombstone on top, and he put in a description of the man with the eye-patch. But that wouldn't do by itself. He realized that he needed the man's name, and a bit of knowledge of him. Because while Quint was average in many ways, he took one thing very seriously: his dream of having his own way. And any person, place or thing that even balked him for a moment could not remain in place if his dream had any chance of coming true.

While everyone else was laughing, Quint sidled up to the man, his face an affable mask of joy and apology. "Huh, listen to them laughing at that clumsy barmaid. Anyway, sorry! Sorry! This mess is all my fault. You were completely in the right, you know. A decent, lusty fellow like yourself just wanting a spot of fun with a wench, and why shouldn't they all be grateful for the attention? You've earned your wounds and scars and lived to tell the tale; I don't see the other guy here, alive and drinking, now do I?"

He stared at the man for a moment in total seriousness. "I admire any man who reaches out and grabs what he wants. That's what life is about, grabbing your dream."

Quint then shrugged. "Anyway, I ordered this meal, so I must make this right between us. A debt must be paid. What's your name, good sir? I'll toast your name and order you whatever drinks and dancing you desire." He pulled out some silver Mizas to show that he was not joking.

[Ealisaid]

Ealisaid had not failed to note Quint’s approach to the fulcrum of this minor entertainment of the moment. But she was keeping a wary eye on Eyepatch, who was scraping food off his wet head and shoulders with a look of murderous intent in his one eye. She was readying herself for several courses of action – her hand poised to slip down to her boot and fetch forth the small dagger she kept stowed there, if Eyepatch decided to get really nasty about this. Of course, she preferred simply to return to the kitchen, to bring more food and water for the man who she saw had risen and was coming over – no doubt to see what was happening to his dinner. She thought to make this her good excuse to exit the scene, and had just opened her mouth to explain that she would do just that, when Quint beat her to it. She heard what he said, and though she hadn’t been expecting any particular help or comfort for her own plight, his words had her eyes narrowing dangerously, as now it was her turn to stare with a malevolent glare – at him!

So that was how it was, she mused, seething. She could be angry at Quint, for playing her for a fool with his stupid song. But she was even more angry at herself. She knew men weren’t trustworthy! She should have been even that much more suspicious of one who sang her praises – literally sang them – even if they were in an unusual vein. She was surprised that Quint’s taking the part of Eyepatch – offering him solace, telling him he was within his rights to have grabbed the “wench” – even wanting to buy him a replacement dinner, by the gods – stung her as it did. She would have thought she was well beyond being suckered into thinking any one patron to be more….sincere… or maybe less vile than the rest. Well, she had learned a little lesson here, to refresh her memory, hadn’t she?

Her green eyes snapped like Greek fire as she leveled a look at Quint that would have laid him dead – if, as they say, looks could kill. Eyepatch’s scowling visage had swung around as well, to a contemplation of the man who had spoken to him, his expression shifting to one of slightly mollified hurt pride, especially at the offer of free drink and food. He was already too drunk to smell a rat, and indeed Quint might have been born for the stage as good as his performance was in acting the part of chummy ‘brothers under the skin’ bonhomie. “Tha’s right,” he slurred. “Damn witch, only wanted a little kiss, now, didn’I? No need to go a’sloppin all tha’ shyke all o’er me head!”

His one eye traveled up and down, surveying his would be champion, though what he made of the other man was anyone’s guess. He gave a snort, and a belch, and then introduced himself. “I be Luff, and Luff be me. Quarter master of the Blackbird.” His bleary eye darted to the barmaid again, and he practically roared out, “And this witch here had best mind that, and mind her manners, and mind who she be a’dousin’ with food. Merv won’t stand for that now. I know he wouldna’.” He then tacked on an exceptionally foul imprecation directed at the young woman, that had various parts of her covered anatomy going to particularly cruel and tortuous places reserved in someone’s warped conception of the afterlife.

Eali, who would have liked nothing better than to bury her dagger in the bastard’s throat, and then perhaps pull it out and let Quint here have a taste of its sharp tang as well, caught sight of Merv across the way. The owner – her employer – was looking over at the site of the minor kerfuffle – and Eailsaid forced herself to a calm demeanor that she did not in any way feel. With a voice that fairly dripped icicles, she ground out, her flashing eyes darting from one man to the other, ”Shall I fetch two dinners, then…sirs?”

[Quint Caravel]

Quint was pleased that his rudimentary effort of persuasion had been a success. He was currently a rather crappy con-artist but like most men who had lived with a Svefra he had picked up a few bits and pointers. It was enough so that he had achieved his goal. He opened his ledger and wrote down Luff's name and his position with the BlackBird. "I have heard many and fine things about the Blackbird and some tales that are too horrible to be true." He had never heard of Luff or his ship before, but around the age of four he had learned that most people love talking about themselves. He had no idea why Merv would care about a ship one way or the other, and asked Luff what he meant by that.

He told Luff some stories about sailing the Suvan Seas with his sister's Pod, some of which actually happened. Grisly tales of misadventure, such as the man who got caught in the rigging and swept out to sea or the man who got harpooned by a sister ship. All the tales had the denominator of a sailor dying, though if there was a general point to that common thread, Quint did not explain it.

Except for the clothing, this was not a man recognizable as the one who had entered the Pigs Foot earlier. This was an old salt of a sailor, a boy kidnapped by a rogue band of Svefra from his home in Stormhold Castle and forced to earn a living sailing around in the domain of Laviku.

His story-telling was not very good, but he stuck to sex and violence enough so that Luff and any other men listening would be entertained "... so there she was, chained naked to a post. The Captain, the Quartermaster and myself were attempting to rescue her and that's when the pirates of New Claridon attacked; it was a terribly pitched battle that went back and forth except that the Mate of the pirates, a Kelvic otter named Pegtail, he decided at the last minute to betray his friends and join with us. We got the girl and saved the day, but at a terrible cost. The Captain was gone...."

All the place names Quint referenced were of the sort like "Upper Nyka" or "Miza City," and all adventures seemed to take place on a continent rather due west of Lhavit.

Quint finished his tale and then listened to Ealisaid as she approached them. He observed her carefully and noticed that she was rather upset. He could tell this from the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice; that was how his sister looked and sounded when she was mad at him.

If Quint was a hero, he might have attempted to straighten things out. But he was not a Syliras Knight; he was a Sunberth minion, a thug bent on his revenge on Luff. Sometimes you had to sacrifice a queen to knock another piece off the board. "Just fetch one for this nice fellow, my treat. Sadly, I need to go and run some errands. Thank you for you time! Good luck and good bye everyone!"

He headed out the door and went on his way. He spent the next few bells and chimes attempting to spread various rumors about Luff being an agent of Governor Dyre, someone it would be best if Sunberth eliminated before more government people tried to come in and take over. And then he vanished into the night, not to be seen himself for some days to come.

OOC: Thanks for the PM today! Feel free to PM me when you're back from the holidays, we can start another thread in January if you like.