Loosen that tongue of yours (Julian)

[Naama]

Timestamp: 25th Spring, 511AV
Location: Hole-in-the-wall bar

Not many would have the eyes and ears meant for finding establishments well hidden among the sprawling tiers laid out across the five peaks of the grand city of Lhavit. Bars, they were, filled to the brim with the shadowy sort who often would find solace in a glass of ale and a good, engaging story. And one particular woman shared their interests. Her pearl-white tattoos screamed Myrian, but her eyes belied her blood; Chaktawe. Garbed in what someone could only call tight-fitting in all manners of speaking, her hair fell in waves about her shoulders, kept out of her face by a crimson bandana. She was not alone, but by no measure was she with her lackey, who was undoubtedly up to all sorts of mischief in another section of the city.

Her gloved hands curled around a mug of rum, she brought it to her lips with a smile. Countless gold bangles clinked against each other, but her gaze was unwavering.

“So there we were, out of the harshest storm Zulrav could spew at us, our asses up in the air holding on to whatever piece of that damned ship we could. And must I say it was a piece of rotten work. Thought it wouldn’t last another season by the way it looked, but that’s hardly the point. The helmsman managed to pull us out of the reef near the outer shores of Falyndar, but that was the least of our worries.”

Naama took another deep gulp and slammed it down on the table, her listeners sat with their eyes locked to her with rapt attention.

“Tentacles,” and the halfbreed held up her hands to emphasis the size, “this big, right on the horizon, waving in the air like some slimy Ekytolian belly dancers (and really, they are quite the nasty cutthroats).”

“Wha’ wussit, miss?” An elderly Lhavitian man spoke up with wide eyes.

“Well, sweet thing, it was a Nuzem.”

There was a collective silence. Naama rolled her eyes.

“Really now, none of you have heard of them?”

“I’ve ‘eard of ‘em.” It was a man from the back, burlier than most of the men Naama noticed on her entrance to the city. He looked like an angry sort. “They’re suppose’ to be legend. They kill ev’ryone they come across, an’ yer sayin’ ya saw one?”

“Ah, but see, we didn’t come across it, we spotted it, right on the horizon. And honestly, if they killed every sailor that saw one where do you suppose the stories come from, ey? Sprouting daisies?” She winked. Was she stating the truth or lying? Hardly any of them could have noticed. The angry man was left silent, and Naama was content to her continued binge drinking.

[Julian]

As the noise and the lights of the Plaza faded behind him, Julian sauntered further into the quieter, shadowy streets of central Lhavit. Holding one hand in the other, he massaged and soothed his sore palms and fingers, aching after long hours of playing his instrument at the Shooting Star. The pads of his fingertips were nearly worn raw from their manipulation of the taut cello strings. A necessary tribulation, honestly. It had been years since he had played this much - he'd lost all the old calluses that had steeled his hands against the abuse of his cello. Getting them back was bittersweet nostalgia. Still, he'd tired of the Shooting Star's refined crowds. The noise and the lights and the constant shuffling of the plaza's crowds didn't bother him so much as the stifling gentility of it all. Despite all the brightly colored outfits, the highly varied touring races, and an alarmingly wide spectrum between observable walks of life, it all just felt so... painted. So presented, so postured and fake. It would be a stretch to call it formal, but everyone was friendly to each other just for the sake of being friendly - from the plastered smile on the waiter's polite faces to the hollow compliments and laughter of each of the patrons. Julian knew he was only whining, complaining about things that really didn't need to be complained about. That's why he had ever so courteously excused himself and tucked his cello away in his room, then promptly left the building. It would have done more harm than good if he'd spent the rest of his night in his room, pointlessly resenting how abominably nice everyone was to each other. He was very exhausted at watching people wear facades as they spoke through their pearly teeth. He wanted real people. True, brutal, unkind honesty. It'd been some weeks - fortnights, really - since Julian had sent word to any of his friends in Syliras. Since then, his only companions had been brief acquaintances and professional businesspersons. Was it wrong to ask for a little genuineness and sincerity in someone's character? Not that he figured he'd find any of that in the dark alleys of Lhavit. He'd only left the Plaza behind so he could take a quiet walk to clear his head. Or get away for a while. He actually wasn't quite sure, but the darker streets felt cooler, and the street lights weren't so harsh. Whatever the nature of their allure, Julian hadn't really cared to question it. Still rubbing the pain out of his hands, he suddenly became aware of a muted, distant commotion somewhere nearby. Pausing to listen for a moment, he thought it sounded like... laughter? It was definitely voices - a good number of them. Had he circled back toward the bustling Plaza somehow? Were he paying more attention (and the gods knew he could stand to better learn Lhavit's layout), he might have been able to tell exactly where we was, but he didn't have a clue. Shrugging away the mystery, Julian wandered toward noise with blind, moth-like curiosity. What was the harm in exploring? Sure, he could be mugged, perhaps end up in a burlap sack and tossed off the edge of the peak. He had a feeling though that if anyone meant him harm, it would have happened already. Still, there was an equally good chance that the sounds were coming from a free-for-all brothel. Arriving at a deceptively inconspicuous building, golden light pouring freely from the clouded windows, Julian only hesitated a moment before pressing open the door. "Tentacles!" spouted a tattooed woman on the other side of the room. He paused in sheer surprise. All right, then. Masking the bewildered smile best he could, he closed the door behind him. The rich smell of hops was thick in the room, carried in the heavy, humid air. Somehow this was not altogether unpleasant. It was familiar. The room was packed with an entirely different crowd than he'd known from the Shooting Star - some of them Lhavitian but many of them not - not quite as fair in face or soft in features. They were crowded at the bar like cattle around a feeding trough, or sitting at the scattered, disordered tables. Each one looked half-drunk or worse: the tables and the people both - judging by the amount of liquor spilled into each of them. Who'd have thought - a bar! And hidden way out here. Julian was still too shocked to know exactly what to make of it, but he knew he didn't want to leave. Not yet. So it wasn't a brothel, and it felt even more likely he was going to be mugged, but at least this was new. Any well-placed fears were devoured by a childish curiosity as Julian took it on himself to step over discarded glass mug and take a seat at one of the empty tables. He'd at least see what this charming little hideaway was about. Besides, someone was telling a story. "And honestly, if they killed every sailor that saw one where do you suppose the stories come from, ey? Sprouting daisies?" Leaning back in his chair, Julian smirked. He didn't look up at her, but instead resumed rubbing his sore hands. "Could be you're full of it," he added to the clamor playfully. "But if you really saw one, surely there's more to the story. Don't tell me you leapt into the water to wrestle with it?"

[Naama]

Naama smirked at the abrupt comment from what appeared to be a more refined chap in the corner of the establishment. Her lips curled in amusement, a finger toying with the handle of her mug, “Now you seem like a far too sophisticated gentleman to be seen ‘round these parts, sweetheart.” Her onyx eyes roamed over him, scrutinizing. There was a lack of real response to his presence, but there was that hint of intrigue in her words, regardless of his aloof demeanor.

Several eyes fell on him, the crowd of regulars watching the exchange. Naama only shrugged and continued speaking,“Of course we didn’t try to wrestle it. You’d have to be right mad to attempt such. I know I may seem a bit squiffy but I don’t mean to run a rig on you admirable and honest fellows.“ There was a moment of quiet stares, Naama continued, “Now to answer your inquiries, sir, honest to Zulrav’s thundering pecs we saw one, now what came after is this….” She leaned back on the counter for a dramatic effect.

“Well, the helmsman, being the right idiot he is was so distracted and amazed by the sight of the nuzem that he ran us aground on a reef. Sank that ship he did. In the middle of nowhere with naught but scraps of driftwood to haul ourselves on and swim to shore, and of course, those pesky hungry sharks.” She raised her mug to her lips and took a long swig, “Couldn’t count how many there were, it looked like a breeding ground, really. They chomped on many of the crew, sending them down to Laviku’s crushing depths. Out of eighteen men only five of us made it out, and by no sheer luck of our own. A giant orca ran those fish off, of course we didn’t expect it to be a kelvic, either.”

“Now yer jus’ fakin’,” hollered a balding man from one of the tables, “A kelvic in the middle o’ nowhere? Thass’ the dumbest thing I’v ‘eard.”

Another man piped in, his teeth rotten and his lips covered in liquor, “Yeh, kelvics are stupid an’ are only good for slavery. Ye lyin’ to us, girly?”

Naama grinned, “Gentlemen, what is an orca?“

One man scratched his head with long, filthy fingernails, “A…. fish?“

“Ah, but it is in fact, a mammal. A whale. And where do whales live?“

“The.. Ocean?“

“Precisely. Now a kelvic who’s inner animal is a whale would naturally be drawn to water. And where were we during the shipwreck? Water. Therefore, a kelvic orca would most certainly be found where water is present, which is where we were at the time of our horrible shipwreck disaster, being a ship and all. Some would call it luck. Told us he was looking for a konti girl he’d lost, and offered to give us a lift. Believe what you want, my dear men, but it’s only a story told for your entertainment. Truth has nothing to do with it.”

She moved over to Julian’s table and settled herself in a chair across from him, mug in hand and one leg crossed over the other, “But enough about me, what brings such a fine man into such a dirty, rundown shamble of a bar such as this? Curiosity, perhaps?”

[Julian]

"Perhaps," Julian replied smoothly as he leaned back in his chair to get a better look at the woman. He lifted an eyebrow to mask his surprise - he hadn't expected the woman to come strolling immediately to his table, and he'd been caught off guard. She was a lot to take in, this copper skinned woman with white Myrian tattoos. The heavy collar of jewelry around her neck gave her a definite tribal flavor, perhaps with just a touch of personal extravagance. Most striking, her eyes were jet black - which he hadn't noticed from across the room - and hinted at an almost monstrous or even a predatory appeal. She was some sort of hybrid, clearly, but Julian wasn't quite present-minded enough to ponder what her parentage could be. Her entire presence simply screamed "exotic." What had she called him? "Sophisticated?" "Fine?" Ha. He'd be flattered, but he was certain she didn't mean it as a compliment. "There was a time not so long ago when you'd find me in holes like this nearly every night, until dawn." He decided to play by her rules and amuse her fancy. It was difficult to read her black eyes, but the challenge was inviting. Julian's best guess was that the woman enjoyed games - or hated them, it really didn't matter. The important part was that she'd respond to them. "Or at least until I was thrown out. If I appear fine or sophisticated, madam, it's only because I've learned how to put on a convincing facade." He smiled sheepishly, knowing he sounded more conceited than he'd like to. "Even if it's inappropriate for the setting." He crossed his arms and shrugged helplessly. Something felt odd. He really wasn't acting himself. It was this bar, he figured. It ignited such a strong nostalgia. "It has been several years though since I've even picked up a drink, let alone stepped into a bar. I really must look very out of place. At the risk of sounding rude, sitting before you..." Again he quirked a brow. "I feel like a hare staring into the eyes of a wolf." Julian tossed a hand in the air dismissively. "I do hate talking about myself. I'm Julian, and in all likelihood, I'm boring you. However, I don't think I've ever met a woman who looks quite so exotic as you."

[Naama]

While Julian was observing her, Naama couldn’t help but observe him. He looked like any other Lhavitian man she’d met. Soft-faced, gentle features, barely a muscle to his body, lack of most body hair… at least compared to the apes that frequented these places. She smirked, noting his contemplative look most likely directed toward her appearance.

“I’m going to guess by your fluency in the common tongue that you’re not exactly from around these parts.” Her own Myrian-tinged accent accompanied her words, then she chuckled, “And you can cut the pleasantries, sweet thing, we’re not exactly in the appropriate place for such things.” As if for emphasis, she took another swig, “Yoshi, I need another pint here,” she called, raising her jug in the air. The man at the bar nodded in earnest and hurried to retrieve her request. Once he set the pint on the table, Naama resumed speaking, but not after listening intently to what the stranger had to say.

“Well, it’s a good thing I like to talk about myself, then,” She concluded with a smile, “I bet you’re just dying to know my origins. My eyes, my skin, my markings, they’re all so very tantalizing for the common man. They just can’t keep their hands off.” The halfbreed took another sip of her drink, “I'm called Naama, and my history has long since died the moment I stepped foot on a ship. All you need to know, sweetheart, is that I am as exotic as I look. Born of a Myrian mother and a Chaktawe father, at least that’s what they told me. The rest is unimportant in this conversation, unless you’re curious to know my profession, then I would suggest you ask any man here what they do with themselves outside these walls and in return, I will let you know if I’ve done an equal or worse share in that respect."

Naama couldn’t resist a light-hearted wink and pursed her lips, “No one here would give a rats’ ass if you were a nobleman from Ahnatep wasting away your troubles, that is what’s so great about these places. But without a drink in your hand and a grog blossom sprouting on that pretty face of yours people will begin to assume you’re up to something.”

[Julian]

Julian opened into a wide smile and laughed at himself. This Naama knew her way around a conversation, and how to keep a man's attention. So she was a sailor then - Julian was familiar with the breed. In another life, most nights had been spent in Syliran bars and taverns - not any in particular, but whatever looked the least seedy at the time. Sometimes he'd visit the nightlife of the Docks district, which was always wretched with sailors. The most important thing he learned about seawomen was that while they were fun to flirt at an share drinks with, it was usually not a good idea to sleep with them. "Maybe I am," he teased, adding a playful smirk. His eyes wandered toward the amber liquid seated innocently in a banded wooden mug. A tantalizing drop had trickled down the side, glistening in the soft glow of the dim yellow lantern light. A while ago he'd swore off drinking, in an attempt to both repair his marriage, and to stop himself from getting roughed up on a nearly weekly basis. And he'd been doing nicely at it. And maybe it was the environment - the low bar lights, that familiar sour scent of sweat and alcohol, or that daring glimmer in Naama's black guys - but he couldn't help but ask himself now... what was the point of abstaining, now? "I probably wouldn't have asked, because I don't make a habit of interrogating every mixed-blooded oddity I come across. In some places that's rude. I can tell you've been asked quite a lot, though. Makes me wonder how many times a day you give that presentation." Either to toy with her, or his own conscience (he wasn't sure), Julian opted not to order a drink - at least not yet. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, canting his head to the side and eyeing her over again. He hadn't decided whether she might be worth taking a risk. "But you're right, I'm not from Lhavit: I'm Syliran. From what I've heard, my grandmother was a Lhavitian who fell for my grandfather, a traveling merchant from Syliras. I've also had it hinted at me that my grandfather is the one who fell for her and had her kidnapped. The story was always a bit glossed over whenever I heard it. Whatever the case, I just happen to be naturally pretty." He added a wink to playfully return her own. "It's helped me fit in with the locals, at least, for better or worse." Julian looked down at his feet. It was then he noticed he could see Naama's legs under the table. Nothing less than intrigued, he leaned over perhaps a little candidly, to get a better look. "I was born into money, a merchant's private little empire. So my early life was filled with pleasantries and polite, wolfish smiles. After my parents died, I spent the remainder of my childhood in an orphanage. My point is that I have a tendency to mix my rich and poor origins together; one half of me enjoys class and etiquette, has an impeccable taste in fashion, and enjoys fine wines. The other doesn't care, having a gross lack of self respect, and has no trouble drinking bottomshelf watered down ale. So, I assure you Naama, I'm not finished embarrassing myself for one night, but I'm not exactly out of place." He finished his comment with another catty smile. "I'm Julian." He shot a glance toward the bar. There were several bottles stored behind it, but from here he couldn't read them. The colors of the liquids inside, however, were a good indicator for him. There was a darker beer that immediately caught his eye, but he perished that thought as quickly as it came up. "I don't know a word of the local language, as it happens. I've only been in Lhavit for a few days."

[Naama]

“Oh, you’re such a tease,“Naama laughed, “You must get quite a few girls trying to crack your teacup, hmm?” The halfbreed didn’t mind listening. Talking about oneself could always become such a chore when around men whose intelligence was on par with a wooden spoon. And what’s more, this man didn’t need any alcohol to willingly give up such private information about his family and his life, what a catch!

“I must look quite trustworthy to have you telling me such stories,” She inquired with a quirk of a brow, “I don’t know if I should be flattered. The sure thing is, I’m damn well jealous. These Lhavit girls are gorgeous, don’t you think? Those adorable eyes with that irresistible twinkle, silky soft hair blowing in the wind, petite bodies. Makes me want to bend them over a table.” There was a mocking disappointment to her tone.

“A Syliran, ey? As surprising as it may sound, I’ve never been to Syliras. Too…. Well, to put it simply, everyone there seems to have a ten foot pole stuck up their asses. Although your grandfather sounds like he needed some help with his courting. Kidnapping is the last on the list of How to Woo a Girl, trust me.” Naama leaned back in her chair and brought her legs up to rest on the table, the mug in her hand.

“I don’t care what you do, Julian. Deny your birthright to drink or get loaded to the gunwalls, it has nothing to do with me. I enjoy good conversation; informative and intriguing. It helps me think while I’m out at sea, especially when there’s men constantly hounding you for having the only tits on board.” She paused for a moment, a copper finger circling the rim of her mug, “Ever been on a ship before? It’s the only place I feel most at home.”

[Julian]

Julian chose not to comment on the matter of his... cracked teacup. It wasn't a topic of conversation that would lead anywhere productive. Not that he wasn't interested in her, he just wasn't interested in speaking of his own love life. There were other ways to crack an egg (or whatever the sailor-equivalent metaphor for that would be) if his agenda happened to eventually lean that way. He still hadn't decided. Judging just by the look of her, and the way she carried herself, she probably had a man every other night at least. That wasn't necessarily a good thing. "A bit of reciprocation, only." Julian smiled dismissively, then paused. "Oh, that word doesn't suit this bar, does it? Well, you shared some of yourself, so I thought I might too. A lot's happened for me in the past few months. It's good to tell a bit about myself to someone who couldn't really care less. All the better if you don't remember in the morning." He added a playful smile, but his eyes wandered toward the glittering amber salvation in that mug in front of her. Very suddenly, his mouth felt dry and his tongue was wanting. He could almost remember the warm flavor of it. "Suppose that does make me a liar, doesn't it." He did just mention a distaste for talking about himself. "I don't know you well enough to make apologies, but I'm sure you and I both know that modesty is always a facade unless you have something to hide. You mind?" Reaching over the table as he finished his sentence, he hooked a finger in the protruding handle of her mug (which had been pointed toward him in such a way that one could only describe it as proffering itself) and slid it across to his side of the table. His eyes boldly lingered on hers for a moment before tossing his head back and taking a healthy swig. It felt like his tongue was going to melt out of sheer pleasure - it really wasn't good at all, by a drinker's standards, but Julian hadn't fit that definition for a long time. He choked suddenly as Naama made a casual remark about Lhavitian women. More amused than surprised, he politely set the drink back down on the middle of the table, laughing as soon as he had the faculties to swallow the liquid blocking his airways. "Oh, that was nice. Ah, I haven't paid them a great deal of attention, the women." That didn't sound right. "That is, I have little taste for dainty women. They bore me very easily. I like a girl who knows how to hold her own. I prefer they have a little fight in them. A holdover from my grandfather, perhaps." That taste had done it. Sod it - you can't sit in a bar like this and not drink like a prissy upstart. Lifting his hand to wave over the bartender, he was disappointed to find that the power of an arm wave had no effect. This was a proper bar, not a fancy restaurant. Lifting an eyebrow in annoyance, Julian stood up. "Excuse me." Gone for only a few moments, he came bag with a mug of his own, heavy with a dark amber ale. It almost looked black, and probably not for any of the good reasons. "Just once," Julian replied to question about ships. "It's how I got here from Syliras. Sold myself as a crew hand for a trading vessel - they got a lot of their work that way from drifters and the like. Can't say I cared for it. After the first week, all I can smell is salt and unbathed men. The only woman onboard was the captain's wife, and no one wants tits that are damn near dragging on the floorboards when she walks." He took a slow drink from his ale. "It wasn't quite the adventure I'd heard stories about as a boy. Don't they say having women on board is bad luck, or is that fantasy too?"

[Naama]

“Now that’s my kind of thinking.” Naama grinned, “We’re all liars, sweetheart. Down to the last, sniveling landlubber’s child with those obnoxiously large googly eyes. They’re the ones you have to watch out for, in fact.” She chuckled as he eyed her drink, “Not at all, but this shit’s got nothing on Riverfall’s ale. Liquor that can take an Akalak down? Only the best.”

Now she watched as he brought the concoction to his lips, and took a swig that wasn’t meant for that kind of brew. The fact that he found it not at all as vile as she supposed he would was a pleasant surprised, that smug smile widening further. Oh the women! He must go both ways. She laughed to herself, shoving a stray strand of jet black hair behind her ear. “Hun, a girl who can hold her own could probably knock you over by simply blowing. You look frail, boy! You need to pack some more meat in those arms or you’ll get men like them staring at you with those lecherous eyes.” She gestured with her thumb at a group of men sitting in the corner, who grumbled as she pointed them out.

“Tsk tsk, a womanly face with a man’s flare. You’re lucky you haven’t been groped yet.” Taking her mug back she downed the last of her ale, and waited as Julian went to retrieve his own. She wondered what a man like that could possibly be like while under the influence, but she doubted the bar would remain as relatively tranquil as it was now.

“And what is it that you do care for, Master Julian? If it’s not the women, nor the ale-- and mind you that’s an affront to the code of a sailor-- what is it you hold above all else?” Naama leaned forward, gazing into Julian’s eyes with an intensity that might have left a weak-willed sob with his pants soiled. “And besides, that silly legend about a pair of tits being bad luck, hogwash. If it weren’t for us, the men would forget we existed and probably bend themselves over a rail.” She laughed.

[Julian]

It tasted like... coffee. Sort of. Perhaps if that coffee had been rolled in dirt and someone had dropped a sheaf of wheat in it and allowed it to dissolve. Maybe added an old stray dog too. Julian stared at his dark ale, looking mildly confused. Like Naama's drink, it wasn't good by any standards he had ever drawn. Still, it wasn't terrible. It was, at the very least, interesting, if not barely palatable. The bottom line is that it could get him drunk, and that was good enough for him. Julian followed Naama's gesture toward the men in the far corner, and might have gone a little pale at her suggestion. His gray eyes lingered for a few worried seconds before he broke his eyeline with his mug. After swallowing another mouthful of what passed for ale, he cleared his throat pointedly and raised his eyebrows with a brief shake of his head. "I assure you, dear, I'm stronger than I look. There's more to power than brute strength. Besides, if a woman was close enough to me to knock me over, usually she wouldn't have the leverage." Raising a playful eyebrow, he ended his sentence with another drink. He set down his mug. "Womanly? Well, you just came right out and said it, didn't you?" The man laughed in spite of himself. Sure, he was aware of how he looked. When he'd stopped getting his hair cut and began letting it grow long, comments to that effect couldn't come fast enough. Occasionally he'd tried growing facial hair to dispel the image, but that always turned out looking odd - as if he were an old Lhavitian sage or a country hick from the fields. He wasn't partial to either image. "You're not the first to say so, trust me. I admit, in most lights I do look a bit girly. My father always did too, so I suppose it's never bothered me. He was a dark, terrifying man." Julian paused to drink. "Suppose I could dispel the image by walking around shirtless, but that might end up leaving people confused. Or disappointed." He patted his chest with the flat of palm. The ale was already half gone. Julian stared into his mug with mixed disappointment. Two years sober, gone like that. What did it matter? There was no one close enough to him to care anymore. It was his own doing, he was well aware, and in some muffled corner of his mind, a withered thing that used to be his conscience was probably trying to scream. This wasn't the person he'd wanted to be, here drinking in some dingy bar and trading wits with a strange, exotic woman. However, he'd been the person he tried to be, and realized it was not all that glamorous. There was no point in trying anymore, was there? Brushing away the loose portions of his hair, Julian leaned against the back of his chair as he sat on Naama's question. It was light conversation, he told himself as he pressed the backs of two fingers against his lips in thought. No need to ponder it too deeply. Still, he couldn't help himself. "Above all else? Hm..." He thumbed the ring on his finger. "Well, I'm no longer married. I don't have children. A few years ago, I actually gave up drinking, but now I've given up on that, so sobriety isn't it. Immediately I want to say music - I'm a musician, if that sort of thing interests you, but it's more a... niche passion. Too complicated to get into." Julian made his half-full mug become three-quarters empty. "I suppose I'd have to say sanity. Bit dramatic, I guess, but if I keep drinking, you might find out why." He smiled uncertainly. What a clumsy answer. "What about you? Just men and ale? Conquering women doesn't look beyond you, either."