"A bloody knuckle buster?" he said, in disbelief. Threw one last punch that landed wet against the man-beneath-him's busted nose. "What do you go and take me for?" he let the man beneath him go and clapped his hands to better get rid of the blood.

A bull-headed beastkin charged toward him. Param went wide eyed, long stepped, and wove out of the way. He grinned wide as the man crashed into the wall and got his horns stuck in.

"I'm an honest man, and I make an honest living," he said, wobble stepped but caught himself up before he fell.
 
Moina shrugged. "At the moment?" She asked as she watched him clapping together blood covered hands. A grin quirked at the corner of her face. He seemed very much that knuckle buster that he was disparaging in this exact moment. The only difference being that he wasn't getting paid to throw the punches. Unless this whole fight was the result of some kind of bet, then he might even be earning, or at least taking back, a bit of coin.

The healer raised her glass to her lip and sipped at the liquid within, definitely as stubborn as a Palgris. She wasn't going to argue with him further about what made something honest work or not. He may not approve of her particular brand of work, or the ways in which she completed it, but she didn't lose sleep over it. Another fighter in the brawl approached her coin in had as he bowed out of the fight. His arm hung loosely at his side and after a brief examination, she popped the arm back into the socket, stealing away the pain with her skills. Coin slipping into her pocket afterward. "And you said your honest living was that of a pilot?" She asked finding herself curious as to what brought the Deva all the way to Crorefell.​
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Something in the corner of his eyes glint. Had his pupils go full as black moons in an eclipse. A bottle, end over end and as it sailed. He ducked his head down and it careened over and smashed into so many little pieces that scattered across the floor.

A rogue "Fuck you!" from across the room.

Param clicked his teeth and thumbed his nose with a huff. "Aye," he said and picked up some drink another had left unattended, tilt it this way and that as the the amber liquid glowed with the warm fire light that passed through it. "A pilot," he said confident, and took the drink down in one big gulp.

His cheeks ballooned wide as a puffer fish, and he near spat it out. The flavor a sweet sickening fire in his tongue. He managed to keep it in, and force it down. He hissed, with a show of teeth and tongue as it shook it off. It burned something awful.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Moina watched as the Deva took a deep drink from a coup that had some how managed to remain unscathed in the fight. The healer choked back a laugh as he seemed to immediately regret the choice, but powered through, swallowing whatever had been in that cup without so much as a cough. She had to give it to him, that certainly took a lot of courage and more trust that she was willing to give to some random cup left on a table.

The fight had seemed like it had been about to die down, but the random fuck you and the shattering bottle seemed to stir things up again. Surely they had to grow tired of this eventually. Another, a dwarf this time, perhaps the same dwarf from earlier seemed to have realized that he was quite down after the first round. He sported a rather large knot on his head, which for a couple of coppers, the Boneknitter was able to fix. The swelling immediately going down and the initial evidence of bruising disappearing as well.

It seemed however that this second pout wasn't bound to get too far as the sound of feet thudding against the floor alerted everyone that what amounted to the city guard had arrived to put an end to the brawl. Different groups were often under contract of the Steel Rabble to help keep the peace of the city. This group looked to be a couple of Bronze Bulls, one of the Storied that she'd worked with before though she didn't know these ones in particular.

As the fighting ended and the combatants returned to tables and drinks, she turned back to the Deva. "You're a bit far from the sea for a ship's pilot. What's got you out this far inland anyways?"
 
Param eyed the Bulls as they charged about. Shoving a sod here, and clapping a bastard there. Another click of the teeth came from the Deva, and his tail was full puffed and flicking with an annoyance. Bruised and battered as he was, he wasn't so fond of shore-born officials, no matter where he found himself anchored.

His brow piqued at the mercenary's question, his fingers still fiddling with the cup. "Ship's come in all types, miss, I'll have you know, all types," A stray bottle of something rolled its way across the floor, and his eyes dart down towards the motion.

Red drink spilled out of it in slow glugs as it wobbled and rolled inch after inch.

"No sense in wasting that," he said sure and quiet. Bent down, scooped it up, and was up at the bar again. His head had spun some from the motion, but he managed. To stay upright. Shook his head a little, and took a sniff from the bottle's mouth. "Oh, some wine," he said with a laugh. Realized something. "Would you fancy a drink?" he offered it over.
 
The Boneknitter had heard of ships that were more airborne in nature, but had never seen one herself. She new that they were more common to the other continent, Sulduza. "You must be very widely traveled then." She found herself wondering if she'd get the same traveling sickness that she did when on a seabound vessel if she were on an airship. Might be something to figure out one day.

At the offer of a drink, she turned and reached behind the counter grabbing two glasses as George was currently occupied in a conversation with the Bulls that had broken up the fight. "Sure. Why not?" She agreed, leading a way to a table that was nearer to the wall in the back. One of the few that did not seem to have gotten thrown or tipped in the brawl. A few of the combatants were working on picking up the furniture in order to return to their own drinks or to get new ones now that everything had calmed down. At least calm for now.

Moina sat the glasses on the table for the Deva to pour into them. "I'm Moina, by the way. I got your name earlier, but I don't think I ever told you mine in return."
 
Param smiled the wider as she accepted. Offered it up the more with a raise of the bottle. But she got up and leaned over the bar. Snagged some glasses and sauntered off.

The pilot blinked, and watched the knitter mosey over to a table, and sit herself down. He looked about, and followed after. Sat down quick, and wasted no time in the pour.

It glugged fast. Filled one cup up too quick. He tut his tongue and cut the pour short. Laughed and poured into the second glass to match the first. Bottomed the bottle up and with the last few drops made the two just about even. Heavy pours that they were, he set the bottle down and motioned to the cups with an upturned palm. Your pick.

"A pleasure miss Moina, to be sure," he said with a tilt of the head. Felt the room swim some as his balance wobbled. But he steadied his composure all the same. "And to your earlier comment, aye," he said with a proud puff of the chest that saw him straighten up in his half-busted-chair. "Been abouts, here and there," he said with a smile. His tail swished, this way and that, and his eyes seemed to chase every little motion that stirred a bit too quick.
 
The Deva poured as the Knitter sat on one of the stool. The pours were heavy, but with it finishing the bottle it seemed the best anyways. As he seemed to wobble, Moina looked over at him with concern. It was started to look clearer that he likely got hit a little too hard on the head or perhaps it was just the alcohol he had been drinking. He had downed and entire cup of something that had clearly burned on the way down. Hard liquor if she had to guess, or something dwarven-brewed. They tended to have some of the strongest liquors and beers in all of Khurun. They also tended to have the highest tolerances in her experience.

"Do you have a favorite place? That you've seen?" She asked as she sipped at the cup, intent on keeping an eye on the Deva. The wine inside wasn't half bad. She'd half been expecting something on the cheaper end as the bottle had rolled across the floor. Seemed the pilot had a bit of luck if he was finding the higher quality beverages among the mess of the brawl. Dwarven-brewed liquors weren't cheap after all.
 
Moon gold eyes came back to regard the Boneknitter. "Favorite place?" he asked her, cant his head left. "Well, suppose it depends now don't it?" he went on asking. "Can a sailor really call any one place his favorite?" he grinned, and took up his wine laden cup, gave it a tilt and gentle swirl. Took it to his lips and drank.

Set it down. Wiped away his lips with the back of his other hand and laughed.

"Leaving port after too long a stay, well, nothing quite beats the open blue," he winked to her. "After some time out in the wind though, and bet your bottom penny you miss the warm familiar dirt that finds its way into the nooks and crannies of home," he leaned back some, nursed his cup and took another sip. "Spose," he said as he let the drink come away again. "If I had to go and pick a single place I've seen," he said with a dreamy look in his eyes, as they looked up at the faraway nothing of his imagination. Then his eyes found hers again. "It'd have to be the Glass Sea, come winter," he said with a strange and haunting smile.

A thing familiar, and distant, all at once. As if he had been taken back to that time and place he had spoken into being.
 
The sea did seem an appropriate answer for a sailor, though Moina had never quite found any joy on the turbulent waves of the oceans. The rock of the boat making her stomach curl something awful. The Deva took a drink from his cup as he seemed to go to a far off place as he thought over his travels.

"The Glass Sea does sound beautiful." She had not seen it herself, but if the name was anything to go by she imagined such waters were as still as glass. Hard to feel sick when the boats aren't rocking. She had to imagine that in winter, that meant the water was freezing because of the cold. Yet that was all conjecture.

"I've heard in the far north, the night skies come alive in a riot of colors. More than just the moons that travel the expanse." Moina had never been much further north than the Free States, most contracts kept to the South between the Free States and the Empire. Not to mention just the idea of traveling across the seas for a contract made her feel sick to her stomach. But perhaps she'd make it to the Highlands of northern Ilica one day to see the sky lights there.
 
"A riot of colors?" the Deva asked, his eyes scanned up to the ceiling, as if looking through the boards and mortar that surely laid there behind them. "Aye," he said with a nod, his a happy swish tail. "S'pose you could call it that," he added, glad for the memory that played in his mind. "The whole dark of the night," he fanned his fingers, as if to cast the dark glow of midnight into the air between them. "A twinkle with the distant stars, the belt there too, alight with greens and reds, purples and yellows, all tilt and bend across the sky,"

He clapped his hands and smacked the table. "S'a thing that never does leave ya, miss Moina," he couldn't help but grin, his eyes a-twinkle. "Not even mentionin the ice and how it catches the color," he sighed, grabbed up his drink and gave it a swirl. Grin turned to bittersweet smile. "Lucky to see it,really, luckier to see it and still have all m' toes," he laughed, and wiggled his toes beneath the table for good measure.

Large golden eyes turned to regard her once more. "How about yous?" he asked, and raised his cup toward her with a point. "Got a place you fancy more than others?"
 
"I'll have to put the Sea of Glass onto my list of places to visit. One day." She took a moment to consider his question. An almost wistful look appearing on the woman's normally hard features. "Home." She started simply as she took a sip of her wine.

"I come from the Empire. Circumstances forcing me to leave. You never realize how much you loved a place until it's gone." As a child, she couldn't wait for her chance to go join the legions or attend the Brahman Magisterium or go to the Capital and serve the Senate. There had been so many dreams, but all of them meant leaving the little olive grove that held her family's home. Now that she couldn't return, she missed it all the more. Though how much of that was that she missed the place or the people that had lived there.

"My family home was in the south of the Empire. We lived on a little olive grove, nothing substantial, but the smell especially during harvest season. It was a delicate floral and fruity scent when the blossoms in bloom. The air warm but the slight breeze making it bearable. I think that would be the place I would most wish to return." She sipped at her glass again. Savoring the taste of the grapes. This wasn't half bad a bottle. Whomever had thrown it had lost out.
 
Param watched as her eyes seemed to go far and away at the mention of home. A glimmer of hurt there in the sheen of them.

"The way'n you tell the tale," he let on as he shift back in his seat. Glass full of sweet poison. "Can see myself bakin under that southern sun," a toothy smile.

"Almost smell the feint sweetness of them flowers too," he looked into his cup. Gave it a swirl. Tilt it to her. "Might the winds find you there again," raised the cup and took a pull.
 
It would take more than the winds to help her to get back to her home. She didn't even know if it was still there or even who owned it now. Likely it had been sold or perhaps taken by the Empire and given to someone who'd was considered loyal. Home was long since lost to her.

"Thank you. May fair winds led your way as well." A stronger blessing perhaps to one that was a pilot, on sea or in the air. She raised her glass in response to him and then took a drink. It was interesting how a brawl where they had initially disagreed had led them to sharing a glass together.

"Where are you off to next?" She asked of curiosity. She imagined if he was this far inland, he had to be piloting an airship. She'd never flown on an airship and wasn't particularly a fan of the seafaring kind. Often finding herself seasick. Perhaps an airship had smoother moments and might could be a better option for her travel.
 
A gentle nod to the lady mercenary. "You've my thanks," he said with a playful raise of the cup. Near empty, he left the last bit of drink there in. Gave it a swirl. Some of his aches still hurt, and some of his hurts still ached. But this was nice enough.

Minus the shatter and mess.

"Hmm?" his eyes flicked back to Moina. "Where we off to?" his eyes rolled up as he keened his head and quirked his lip. "The Cloud's Keep, I do believe," he evened out, jut his chin to her and winked an eye shut. "You needin a ride?"
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom