Open Pick Your Poison

[Jens]

“ I’m telling you, Delilah, it’s a horrible idea. “ He protested, keeping brisk pace alongside the devahni woman. The smile she flashed was positively luminous in the bright sunlight, steam escaping betwixt dark grey lips as she puffed out an exaggerated breath.
“ My— what happened to mere ‘ill-adviced’. “
“ Well— The more I have time to think about it, the worse it gets. “

Heeding none of his grave tone and downcast expression, she merely held her horned head higher as they turned a corner, sprouting long shadows off their heels.
“ Well. If you’re so concerned, why don’t you come along? There probably won’t be much scavenging, where we are going, but adventure— “
“ You know I can’t. I’m to report on the new ship not a week from now. “
“ And you really think they’ll come after you if you fail to show? Don’t be silly— “
“ If only it were but myself— And besides, I’ve a very short time left. Would you risk it, in my position? “

Skipping two steps at a time, she ascended a short staircase towards a broad, painted door. Next to it hung a sign, swinging softly in the light breeze that perpetually traveled through the district as if just to play the myriad windchimes fixed about eaves and porch beams. The black cat. Her clawed hand closed around the door handle, arm battling against the draft as she pulled.

“ I don’t know, Jens— Life is so damn short. “ The warm air from within blew back the dark wisps of hair about her face, forcing her black eyes to a squint. He gave a huff of habitual amusement, reaching to hold onto the edge of the door as she moved in.
“ You’re telling me— “
“ Yes, constantly. Funny how— Wow. “ She trailed off and slowed down abruptly, hand on the shoulder of one who’d, by a modest estimate, not been looking where she’d been going.

“ On your way out, gorgeous? What a shame indeed. “ She clicked her tongue and winked, tail curling as her smile took on a smidge of mischief, razor sharp and crinkling at the edges. Jens swerved past her without missing a beat, clapping her on the arm on his way to the bar.

“ I’ll have whatever is cheap. “ He started, pleasantly enough amidst hassling to pull down the wraps about his neck, eyeing the barkeep as he sidled onto a seat. “ As for my friend— " He jerked his head past his shoulder. " I’ve been told you’ve a signature drink of some sort. “

Practically why we came here, wasn’t it? Considering how his company had been detained to linger about the door this soon, he wasn’t entirely sure anymore. And he merely had to take a glance about to decide that he wouldn’t mind coming here again either, if it came to it. If it wasn’t about affording it—

“ Is that right? “

Or did the she-devil drag me over here all on some pretense.

 

[Matvi Iramene]

It was hard to keep the surprise from her face. Brows arched, and eyes wider for the simple answer she received. The smile, sharp toothed and genuine as it was, helped. Infectious too. That happy curl of plum colored lips. Made Tilda smile all her own. Face rosy, and warmth bloomed down the run of her neck.

Come on now Tild, just a date is all. She tried to tell herself as Xenovia bade her goodbyes. Tilda's lips wriggled a nervous smile, and she jerked a happy nod farewell as she muttered farewell. Let a moment pass on by and looked to the door, saw those honey colored peepers stealing a glance her way. Tilda but smiled and nod. See you tonight.

Then wham. Some other betty gone and bumped into her. All smiles and confidence. Tilda felt her brow scrunch and her lip screw. Knight that she was, her foot stepped to edge of her stool and a string of curses came boiling out of her soup.

Til Mariel did a little something with her chin and caught Tilda's eye. A little shake of the head, and that sure smile of her, familiar and sure as ever, cooled the Dawnling's head. She sank back into her seat and sipped at her drink.

A big man came on in smooth as a fish. Was a fish more like. Tilda forced herself to mind her own business, and kept her eyes down. Tried to frown, but found her mood eased with the thought of the evening that awaited her.

"Welcome, sailor," Mariel said with a smile. "Sure do," she replied to the big man with the bright cap. "Far as cheap," she said easy as she grabbed up a dark glass bottle. "We've a lovely liqueur from the Valen that's been in need of a good drinking," she winked at the man.

Matvi made his way back, tray loaded with empty cups. He set them down, and began to tidy. "It's mean stuff," the medicant said easy. "Herbal to the point of medicine, but it has a great finish," he added, and took out the works to ready a new Crown. Ended sorting the glass and mixing vessel with a short little cup for Mariel. "Fancy yourself something with a bit of character, and you'll be just fine,"

"Would you like a taste?" Mariel asked, hands about the bottle, one at its butt, the other easy round its neck as she poured just enough to drink into the small cup.

A complex bouquet of herbs bloomed quick as butterflies. A strong scent of black liquorice, mixed with hints of pine and chocolate.

"Careful," Matvi said idly as he poured various measurements into the mixer. Crooked a smile on his lip. "It has a bite,"

@Xenovia @Jens

 

[Xenovia]

'A sentiment we both share.' The hand on her bare shoulder radiated warmth, and Xenovia found herself smiling back, her good mood shining through the cut of her teeth. 'Apologies,' she said. 'Nearly sent you flying arse over tit. Not the best way to start one's afternoon, granted.'

Reaching up, the Deva gently but firmly removed the hand from her shoulder.

'Here for a drink and some victuals, I s'pose?' Xenovia let her dazzling intellect show. What else were taverns good for 'sides eating and drinking and making merry? And all that that entails, she mused, casting a glance backwards to the others, now joined by the big fish fellow with the neat bandana tied about his brain block.

Her attention returned to the devahni stood in the doorway. She was pretty, in the traditional sense of the word. Nigh as tall as Xenovia. The bodyguard nodded, grinned.

'Have you a sweet tooth, I heartily recommend you try a Queen's Crown.' She made to step aside, the 'Cat opening up behind her. 'Now, I really must be on my way...'

@Jens @Matvi Iramene

 

[Jens]

Delilah’s smile didn’t falter even as the stranger extracted herself from her touch, the hand landing on hip that took a tilt in a habitual shift of weight.

“ I s’pose. “ She repeated in a bright tone, brows climbing a little in that unattached manner signifying that despite her plans, she was very much open for suggestions. And that is very much what she got too, to an extent. Gods she loved this city and her people, the heart of the sentiment in her mirrored grin.

“ I appreciate an all manner of sweet things. “ Of which I’m sure you know plenty. Watching the other devahni go, she winked to conclude the remark. “ May the rest of your day be ripe with them, where ever you go. “

For effect, she stuck out her leg and gave a little gentlemanly bow, before turning on heel to the closing of the door. Properly refreshed by such a fine encounter, she made to join her original, broad company. He didn’t look upon her as she arrived, preoccupied with squinting at the professed bottle.

“ Sure, I’ll have that. “ He responded belatedly, undeterred by the warnings.
“ What’s that now? “ Delilah chimed in, propping an elbow on his shoulder.
“ Mean stuff, apparently. Your taste, no? “
“ Oh, you don’t know the half of it, my dear. But no, I— “
“ I do. “ He hummed to himself, watching the liquour being poured. Delilah heard none of it, drawing breath and babbling on.
“ I have been recommended a drink. “ She announced, so satisfied in her tone she may as well have won a cash prize of some sort. “ Queen’s Crown, hmh? “

Her look bounced to the barkeep, intent and urging in her smile.
“ Sound’s fancy. “ Jens remarked lazily, reaching for his glass. He didn’t even have to bring it up to smell it, some hazy memory of his daughter’s cough syrup unearthing itself as the scent of liquorice hit him. The smile about the man behind the bar assured him of what he figured was true already.

A bite.

“ It’s against a sailor’s professional ethos to be careful. “ He countered in a shark’s smirk, tapping the bottom of the glass on the table twice before picking it up.
“ Let alone his petty pride. It better bite you good, old man — I want my money’s worth. “ Delilah snickered, digging in the purse affixed about her waist for coin. “ How much is that? “

The first sip didn’t taste much of anything, until suddenly it did. The warmth and potency of flavour together singed the combined chamber of his mouth and throat, the entire length of his nose crinkling. The frills about his neck flared softly, his eye blinking as he inspected what remained in his glass. Tongue working, he cleared his throat and pushed out a breath through his nostrils.

“ You weren’t kidding. “ He said, voice strained like he was fighting a cough, nodding acknowledgement at the young man as he downed the rest of the drink. Delilah craned her neck back in a witch’s cackle, clapping her hand on the counter next to his empty glass.

“ Another! “

 

[Matvi Iramene]

A proud nod came from the Medicant. "I rarely do," he confessed with confidence.

Mariel couldn't help but giggle some at the enthusiasm, and began a full pour of the dark colored drink. Thick as syrup, and glossy as obsidian it was.

"Valen fernet," she said with a pleasant smile, as she set the dark drink before the sailor.

"Black Cat's Piss more like!" some rowdy regular called out from one of the tables.

"Remember when Lenry bought us a round?"

"Mighty moons, that was awful,"

"Yeah, well, we all drank it at least,"

"Save Thom, the sad sack," They quieted down with their nostalgias.

Matvi chuffed a laugh, and mixed up the specialty cocktail. The sweet orange liqueur thimbled in with a dose of crisp cold Lapvonan spirit. Next the tart cranberry, and finally the squeeze of lime. He capped the shaker and began his quick and measured work. Eyes off somewhere as his hands felt the slosh of the drink, and his ears tuned in on the shake and shake that turned to bubbled fizz.

All the while he wore his smile.

With a smack, the drink came pop and open. The sound of its bubbles hissed and fizzled there in. A wide brim coup was pulled from the bar with a flourish, and not a moment later the drink was being poured from strained mouth. Pink and vibrant, the Crown smelled of summer and spring. Warm with its promise of citrus and flower blossoms.

The last drop fell in, and Matvi garnished the drink with a twist of lime across the top just before he pushed the crown toward the rowdy deva. "One Crown's Hold Crown," he said coolly.

 

[Jens]

" Whatever happened to Thom? “ Delilah called to the group past her shoulder, curious if uninvested with how her gaze berely left the barkeep, eyeing the practiced movements. With his new unbidden round poured, Jens held onto the glass with the nonchalant immobility of a man who’d of a sudden found himself seized by knifepoint on some alley. Moored to the counter, hostage to his drink.

He’d never refused one. While he deliberated whether he seriously ought to have started now, he fell to observing alongside his friend as the young man mixed her order. She had that general satisfied air about her despite the lull, facade electric with delight once the so anticipated Crown finally came her way.

“ Wow. “ She started, claws clicking as she brought the glass up beneath her nose. “ Look at this colour. “
“ Your favourite, coincidentally? “ He asked, a conspiratorial look bouncing at the mixologist who’d made it. Was her way, after all, hyperbole. Specifically when she was trying to gain something with it.
“ No. “ Delilah elbowed him sharply, taking the jab with an imperious sniff. “ But it’s rather brilliant all the same. My thanks. “ She nod at the man in a smile.

“ Who’d come up with that? Crown. “ Jens asked him as the devahni alongside fell uncannily quiet, sipping at her drink. “ Not yourself, I trust? “

Only half in jest.

 

[Matvi Iramene]

"Pah, Thom? Thom's at home tendin to his wee one, that sod,"

The men rattled off in laughs. "Lettin the babe suckle at his teet, no doubt,"

"Seein to his lady and her needs no doubt,"

"A regular pa, that one,"

"Responsible, and well to do,"

"Alright," Mariel cut. "That's enough of that from you lot," her tone sure, but none to bothered.

Matvi made quick work of his tools. Scooping up mixing cups, and measurement jigs to give them a quick rinse with clean water. A wipe down about the outside, and they were good as new.

"Your trust is well placed," he replied. "It was made by one Antonin Vayha,"

"My late grandfather," Mariel chimed in with a warm pride, and scooped up a serving tray, placed some bottles there upon it, and made for the crowd of customers in need of topping off.

Matvi's smile turned sharp. "The legend has it," he said.

"The history of it all, in fact," Mariel called out.

"The history of it all," Matvi corrected, hands busy with the little to-dos that kept the bar functional. "Has it that he was but a tender at this very establishment, decades ago, when it went by, The Scholar's Club," Matvi's smile grew just a tad. "Was asked for a drink by a customer, whatever might lift the spirits, had himself a think, poured one thing into the other, a twist here, a shake there, a waterfall later and so, the Crown was served," he winked at the sailor. Turned and stashed bottles unto the shelves.

 

[Jens]

“ Lucky Ol’ Thom. “ He murmured a touch too bitterly, drowning the sentiment into a swig of his drink to mask what’d so soured his face. Delilah, still standing next to him despite her acquired drink and a vacant stool not a step away, bumped her shoulder against his. He waved her off, assuring.

There were other things to think about, right in front the both of them. If sparingly described. He mustered a lopsided smile at the winking man. Trade secrets, no doubt.

“ How quaint. “ Delilah smiled pleasantly, turning on heel to eye Mariel as she went about the space on her tasks.
“ The Scholar’s Club, huh— “ Euphemistic? Jens hummed, amusement rekindled. “ Just glancing at the clientele at present, I’d say the spirit of such a name lingers on perfectly fine. What with Thom and his friends and us educated sailors. “
A sip of the Crown almost caught in Delilah’s throat, face scrunching up as she hissed out a laugh.
“ You haven’t read a book in your life, old man. “
“ No, but I make a damn good metaphysician after a few drinks. And besides— Where would all of them intellectual bastards be if you and me weren’t out there carting their important books and scrolls across the Seas. “
She snickered and they clicked their glasses together, drinking in tune.

“ The name above the door is different now. “ He continued, eyeing the man behind the bar. “ Whatever happened to the Club? Change of Owners? “
“ Scholars run out of things to talk about, Jens. " Delilah spoke over him, her own attention bouncing back at Mariel. "Has this become a whole family venture since, or were you just smitten by the same profession as your esteemed grandfather? “
" Suppose you have to be a little smitten, no? " Jens added, glancing at both the barkeeps in a wolfish smile. " Be it by the Sea or mixology and flavours — Chemistry? "

 

[Matvi Iramene]

"Suppose you do," Matvi said. His voice smooth as a fine drink, the ever-present crook curled up the corner of his lip. "Why else would we toil as we do, if not bound by some mandate," he near laughed. His hands at work with a little knife, cutting small fruit into smaller pieces. The bright morsels, limes, cherries, lemons, oranges, all set in their proper space, gleamed like jewels, all the more with each careful cut, turn, cut.

"To earn enough coin to eat, of course," Mariel added, playful and yet matter of fact as she came back to the bar, emptied her tray in the wash basin. She slipped a paper note toward Matvi, who finished a few clean cuts before he picked it up. "And yes, a change of Owners," Mariel said, a bright satisfaction there on the lilt of her voice. She moved back to the basin and worked on cleaning the cups.

Matvi's hands found a bottle, a silver colored jig soon after, a finely cut crystal mixing glass there but a beat behind. "Mariel inherited the place," Matvi said with a warm chuff. Bottle already pouring from his raised hand.

"I bought it," she jabbed back, hands full of suds.

"At a bargain price," Matvi went on teasing.

Mariel nod. "My bit of luck, aye,"

 

[Jens]

“ He gets it. “ Jens remarked to Delilah sidelong, indicating the young man with his drink. Smiling a little wider in turn, fangs bared, Delilah hummed past the rim of her glass.
“ Am sure he does. “

The floor gave a groan as she finally pulled herself a stool, parking her arse down on it. From the bartenders and their lively banter, her eyes fell upon the pale haired woman about the bar, a touch curiously. She smiled pleasantly, winking at the knight, head tossing confidently.

“ Well, belated congratulations and condolences be in order then, Mariel. “ Jens continued in a nod and a small toasting motion. “ Precious it is, having beloved things for yourself, if also demanding. Fraught with — anxieties? Parenting a small business. “
“ In this economy? “ Delilah shook her head, snickering.
“ Exactly. But at least you’ve some help, no? “ He quirked a brow, glancing at the other bartender in turn. “ Plenty charming, at the very least. “

 

[Matvi Iramene]

Amusement sounded from Matvi's throat, and he dipped his head toward the sailor. "I try," he added, as he bowed. His pour of liquor winding high, then dry as he gave the bottle a flourish of the wrist. He rose, and corked the spirit. Poured the measure into the chamber of a shaker. Grabbed up a bright yellow lemon half, sliced its rind thin, took up the fleshy bit and gave it a squeeze.

The citrus spritzed out and the oil vapors mist betwixt the firm press of his fingers. The cloudy juice dribbled and dripped long down into the mouth of the shaking cup. Next, an egg materialzed into one hand, whilst the other tossed the spent lemon aside. A knock saw the egg break clean, a careful tilt of hand kept its bright orange yolk from spilling. He joined the shells together and poured the white of the egg into the shaker next.

"Some help, yes," Mariel confessed, back around with the cleaned cups. Old thick glassware that she laid about the counter as Matvi yet smiled and began to shake. "Though most nights, its not Syr Iramene behind the counter,"

The tender's smile turned to grin, as the mix fizzle stopped. He popped the shaker, and poured out a frothy goleden drink unto a wide brimmed coup. "Just on the night's I'm lucky enough to be in the Hold," he said with the last dribble of drink settled into the cup. His eyes flicked up to spy Jen's cup. "How's that one treating you?" he asked, and went back to garnishing the coup.

Tilda caught the Deva's look. Brow quirked with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "What brings a pair of seadogs so far up the river, anyhow?" she asked.

 

[Jens]

Syr Iramene. Now there was a name. And a question.

He glanced down at his glass like he’d just been reminded of whatever he’d forgotten existed altogether, brow arched as he shrugged.

“ Fairly, I imagine. As befits a scoundrel as myself. “ He responded, almost smug as he hazarded another swig, despite this definitely not being a drink for sipping. Fucking awful — just desserts. He grimaced and blew out a breath, turning on his seat to cast a look at the new voice that spoke. A little sour, was she, this— gambesoned individual.

Delilah appeared unfazed by the tone, sniffing and sitting a little straighter. Himself did no such thing, hunched against an elbow with the general look of a wary guard dog about him.

“ What is it that brings salmon upstream? “ Delilah mused out loud, resting her drink on the counter.
“ Entertainment. “ Jens affirmed, smile pleasant if aloof. “ I don’t plan to perish, going at it, though. Despite appearances. “
“ Can stomach a little danger though, hmh? “
“ I can barely stomach this drink tonight, truth be told. “ It was merely a mutter into his glass as he polished it off, swallowing hard. Delilah wasn’t listening, her eyes properly planted on the pale knight.

“ You know a thing or two about that, danger? “ Her chin inclined as she appraised the scar-faced woman, assumptions in her look. “ A knight should almost fancy it, no? “
“ Is that what the Syr, stands for? “ Jens cut in, something suddenly dawning. His eye sought Syr Iramene anew, properly intrigued.
“ Some pair of occupations. That what you get upto when you’re not ‘lucky enough to be in the Hold’?

 

[Matvi Iramene]

"Fair is a bit better than most," Matvi played along. "Scoundrel, or noble, it burns all the same," he skewered a cherry half, just so, with a wooden pick, and laid it into the golden drink.

Mariel laughed some at the Sailor's quip. "Have you ever seen the salmon this far upstream?" she asked through smile.

Tilda quirked a brow at the question. "A thing or two," she replied. "Wouldn't say I right fancy it," she shook her head. Huffed and looked away. A fresh drink was placed before her. Golden and frothy. "Thanks, Matvi,"

A second was set onto the counter in front of big man. "To keep you from perishing," Matvi said with a hint of teeth behind the curl of his lips. The question that found him causing him to pause a moment. "Suppose it is," he said, the easy look of confidence returned. "Though I can't help but wonder," he asked, and lingered a moment as he eyed the rugged sailor. "If a metaphysician, such as yourself, might elucidate, what he thinks a knight gets up to?"

A drop of cold condensation dripped down the side of the fresh drink. Citrus forward and sweet, with hints of caramel and wood wafting about. Sipped upon, the drink would feel creamy and full bodied.

 

[Jens]

“ Not often, but when it does happen— “ Delilah trailed off, her look bouncing from Mariel to Jens and then back again. “ Beware? “ She shrugged for effect, tone coy though greatly in conflict with her sharp smile that never relented. Self-assured to a fault, dashed with a bit of haughtiness as the knight about the bar huffed her response.

Whatever do you fancy, huh?

“ Then I suppose we have nothing more to talk about. “ She added, despite her instinct to keep pressing and teasing. It could’ve been fun, maybe even dangerous. “ Wouldn’t want to talk you into some unbidden trouble, my good knight. “ With that, she rose her glass and nodded, as if truly lamenting.

Alongside, Jens was staring at his new drink, not so much in confusion as fascination.

“ Appreciated. “ He spoke belatedly, head bobbing, otherwise perfectly still as the man kept his look. The counter had him assume the thoughtful disposition belongst to them erudite sages of old as they mulled over something Great, complete with a low hum to perfect it all. In truth, he wasn’t thinking much at all.

The aroma of the drink he could’ve lost himself into, was craving to. The little buzzing, left by pleasant conversation. A look and a smile bordering on wolfish. He could like looking at that for longer.

“ Depends on a knight, just as it does a sailor. I’ve seen plenty who are ripe bastards, getting upto their bastard deeds. “ He started, head cocking. “ You’re different though— “
“ Is he? “ Delilah asked, a disbelieving if amused weight in her tone.
“ Look, the man proper gave me a nice drink. “ He huffed, pointing it out to her.
“ You don’t know if he’ll yet charge you blind for it. “ She argued, bouncing a conspiratorial look at Syr Iramene. Half-daring, half- intrigue.
“ Suppose he does. Then we’ll just have to run a little faster than we originally planned, no? “ He clicked his glass against Delilah’s and she merely shook her head, blowing out a raspberry.

“ Despite the claim this drink was supposed to do the opposite of killing me. “ The thus far awfully generous bartender was given a new sort of scrutinizing stare, one red eye narrowing. “ How are you with a sword? Got a proper knightly appetite? “

 

[Matvi Iramene]

Matvi but raised his hands at Delilah's suggestion, an expression like warm butter there with the gesture. A little laugh at the mention of them cutting and running. Even Tilda managed a chuckle as she sipped.

"You best bet i can catch a pair of salmon this far up the river," Mariel teased. And scooped up her serving tray, laid it onto the counter and started loading drinks to go out.

Come the scrutiny, Matvi quirked a brow. His smile tart. "Depends on the sword," he replied with a bob of his brow. "And, what's served up," his lips pursed as he pulled his eyes from the lone red eye that looked to him.

He found a bottle of gin, and a bottle of seltzer, hand crafted spritz pump likely as old as the Cat itself. A dash of the palm saw the contraption spit out a spray of bubbly fizz into a tall narrow cup.

He shrugged. "I've managed to keep myself whole so far," a thump against the ice box beneath the counter saw tendrils of cool mist wave up from the shroud-powered contraption. A duck and a scoop saw bits of ice scooped up and poured smooth into the tall glass with the seltzer, where it clinked and float. "Prefer to deal with other troubles, mind you, ones needing a, more measured approach,"

Tilda chuckled at that. "Means to say he leaves the hard labor for yours truly," she said with a raise of the glass.

Matvi smiled a bastard's smile. Shameless. He nod
"Guilty," he finished a good pour of gin into the tall glass, and squeezed a half lemon into it.