Private Where Feather Falls

[Song]

@Duscan

The long robes swayed around the soft steps, layers of differently woven silk on each of three collars - emerald brocade atop the seafoam-green shell embroidery atop the white. The garments wrapped around the ankles, shoes with soft soles and curved toe not made for travel, though the satchel and some sort of a large rectangle bag slung over the shoulder spoke to the contrary.
The vision's face was soft and smooth, presence radiant like a peacock's gliding descent, head high, expression glowing, moving with purpose.

Briefly caught in the pale dawn outside, the vision moved across the weathered floors with creaky boards, subtly avoiding what had certainly been a cleaned up but drying vomit stain, then swaying in the opposite direction, graceful as a dance, to avoid stepping into an old ale spill.
Places like this would only see life in the afternoon, start with the regulars and benders nursing hangovers.

The stranger stopped at the bar.
Delicate fingers emerged from under the long sleeves, presenting a small, boat-shaped polished lump of silver. A smile of the rose lips sparkling like a sunlit stream followed, mirrored in the blue eyes. The voice that spoke turned out to be male, honey-warm cadence pleasant to the ear, the trade dialect impeccable.
"Good morning to the young master. Do you take yuanbao as payment?"

 

[Duscan]

"Fucking do I take fucking what?" The old man behind the bar turned around, not even looking at the male that approached the bar with the question. Old Bozzy had been drunkenly going off at some satyr, who huffed and began to argue back.
It was a scene Duscan saw plenty of day in and day out. He came down the stairs and swore loudly, arms full of a small crate that he set down onto the wooden surface of the bar. He swore again when his hands stuck to the surface, but Duscan knew what came next in the line of priorities.

"Shove that in your pie hole and fuck off for a while, eh?"

Duscan forced a stein of ale into the old man's hand and turned him towards the doors that disappeared into the kitchens. The old man didn't need to be persuaded any further, and that left some peace to the front room. Twin furrows settled above his brows, staring down the satyr that knew better than to pick a fight with the Bastard.
His eyes scanned the bar, settling on the keenly awaiting stranger before him. Dusc's eyes looked him up and down, quirking a brow. "Can I help you?"

 

[Song]

He waited for the man to recollect the thoughts that were clearly as scattered as dew in spiderwebs, and as spry as the dead flies strewn across. The smell of booze, the sour-acid stench of an unwashed body. This man must have been feeling very unfortunate in life, to need dulling his senses to this astonishing degree.
Better than finding joy in misery itself, and wishing for everyone around to join on that descent, he guessed.

The sunshine disposition remained, the beautiful vision definitely drawing looks. Mostly perplexed looks of people, some of which would glance into the bar from the busying street - for a double take, or just to gawk. Some comments questioned his gender, no doubt on account of longer hair.
He was dressed like a peacock in a grouse flock, he was aware. But a rest was a rest, despite this city's clear military inclinations.

Eyes followed the exchange glittering with held back laughter. He showed the silver boat to the one who looked, presenting it in an upturned hand, a delicate pinch of fingers. Pure silver usually caught more attention than this, coin or not. A smile bloomed on his lips, regarding this one, with cheek stains that looked like his tears came bitter and burned into skin - with an excitement of someone just rescued from a threat to life and decency.

"Oh, of course! Young master has my gratitude for chasing the wine tiger back up the mountain," he almost laughed, "I am new to the city. Will this," his delicate fingers tilted the boat without changing its pinched grip, ever so slightly, up and down the waves, "buy me a few drinks?"

The place didn't look like the one that would shun silver for gold, if he was honest. A lot of it dirty, and dimly lit at all hours of the day. Made a man wonder.

 

[Duscan]

Duscan regarded the well presented man with a lingering look, his expression laced with subtlety and heavily confused features. "Uh... sure. It'll get you four, actually." The bastard didn't quite understand what he had said, but he understood the value of trinkets and things.

Finally able to take off his non-judgemental eyes off the stranger, Dusc went about taking the bottles of wine from the crate and filling a shelf behind the bar. "We've got ale," he gruffed, reaching the highest shelf to replace empty bottles with filled ones, "and ale," he continued before turning around, "and mead," Duscan lifted a bottle and wagged it before the customer, "and wine. If you want something top tier, you're gonna have to go elsewhere. Some fucker came in last night and bought all our nice shit."

Old Bozzy had delighted in the sale, but Duscan had been swearing his head off all night and day whenever he remembered he was responsible for ordering the regional wines. "Fucking shit cu— sorry, not you... the rich fucker..." He placed the bottle of wine down, his free hand coming up to wipe down his face. It didn't help the exhaustion tugging at his overall being.

"I'll be honest mate, if you want to use your nice little... boat, to buy something delectable, you're better going to the..." Dusc frowned. "Actually, I cannot give any recommendation of any credible place, since I have never made enough coin to even walk through such pompous doors."

 

[Song]

The look directed back was one of levity and innocense. One could almost consider that a travelling dignitary, bored to the fiendpits by the road stretching on, and on, and on, or not being let out of sight and out of his palanquin by loyal guards - decided to get lost in the streets for an evening.

"Then, I will have an ale, and an ale, and a mead, and a wine," the man echoed after Duscan, laughing. "Very considerate of you to worry for not being able to offer your best to the customer. A regular, perchance?"

Might have been a local drunkard with something to prove. But a tavern wasn't a wine shop, someone insisting on diminishing the stock might have been a competitor's work. He'd seen it done. If so, what came next would be detractors, people to start more trouble than usual.

"Perhaps it would be as the young master says," he deflected with a raise of the hand, fingers carrying the posture of a statue, "but I am here, and my legs are sore. You will make more coin when people spot a colorful kingfisher inside. Without your better selection, they will want to at least try what is so special - and even if they are disappointed, they will have paid."

An easy, bright smile, and a gesture at the large rectangular sheathe behind his back.
"I also play qin."

 

[Duscan]

Duscan was really good at keeping his thoughts to himself — when silence was the right answer — but he always had a problem with his face. No, not the bloody ashen tears staining his eyes and cheeks, but his expression always gave away whenever he was passing judgement.

"I am not being... considerate. I am being upfront in case any fucking idiots start to complain." Duscan frowned, and he stood tall and lifted his shoulders before loosing a breath through his nose and relaxing his posture. "I honestly rather not deal with people right now, so... keep your kingfishing down?"

Dusc refrained from scratching the back of his neck, unsure of how to even converse with this... stranger.
"Y'know," he spoke loudly, eyes drifting upwards in thought, "you reminded me that I should go order the good grog. How about you sit here with your four drinks and I go handle some business in the meantime?" He grinned, proud of himself for such a clever thought.

"I have to go meet with our supplier. Maybe by tomorrow I will have the nicer wares you can buy with your... silver." Dusc smugged.

 

[Song]

"I am as I am," the man in green shrugged. "When I write my travelling memoirs of the beautiful places in the city one should offer patronage for their hospitality, this one will not join the other quality. Relief it should be - for your old master seems much more suited working at a tannery."
His voice lilted pleasantly and melodiously, never once even a hint of hostility. But his eyes slid off Duscan. He picked up the silver boat, and it disappeared under the rim of the brocaded sleeve.

"Drinking alone is boring. I want to see that supplier of yours, perhaps, it's more than wine that they could proffer." Like a capricious prince demanding entertainment. Leaning into the role with a gesture of a hand floating in the air and a head tilted subtly to complement it.

 

[Duscan]

Duscan deadpanned at the man.

"You want to... uh..." He struggled to find words, astounded for he knew a good reason why this stranger shouldn't accompany him. Fuck, even Duscan didn't want to go see Emer.
"The supplier is a nasty, old, bitch..."

Why did he get the feeling even that review of a person wouldn't stop this stranger from going to see what menu was being displayed? Duscan stared at the soft featured man before him, stifling down the want to expose such an innocent face to the nasty things that went on in this world. Instead, Dusc cleared his throat, moving to pour an ale for the man.

"Nasty, because Emer is someone one should never trust. Old, might be an overstatement but let me tell ya, she's been in the game too long." Duscan sighed, wincing as he thought of what to say next. "A bitch, because well, she is one." Plain and simple.

"If you want to meet her, then aye, you may come along... but she works from a brothel. Owns it, she does. Actually, she is also a bitch for making every customer go to her to order, and she never makes a quick business meeting comfortable." Duscan hated going to a brothel for business other than to dip into the pools of pleasure and highs. Felt like some afterlife trial asking for two crates of spiced Asheran wine.

 

[Song]

"A lot of people and things in the city lack a certain elegance," he didn't even shrug, just tilted his head. But, the young man wanted to explain further. Song listened, eyes widening and smile quirking wider at the corners of the mouth. "Lead me toward her door, and I can settle your ordeal for you, young master, if you'd like me to? Come, stay your ale. Let's go."

Unless they were like this young man, choosing to ignore a pretty face, a venerable presentation, even the pure silver. He didn't want to spend the daylight time for other methods, not unless cornered. Always time for that.
"Maybe I'll find some drinking company, who knows? We'll see. Unless, you'd like to be mine? He who works all even only has times for joy in the morn."

"Are you afraid I'd see something inelegant out there?" Out from behind the belt came his fan, unfolding and covering his face in a snap. Light eyes narrowed with laughter. "Something that would scare me?" A glance towards the door. "It will be cloudy in a beat, we should make our way while the sun is not beating down on us."

 

[Duscan]

"I— you know— fucking hells, alright then." Duscan winced and shook his head.

Who was he to tell someone otherwise? He wasn't the type to be convincing or cunning, but Duscan could admit that he liked seeing other people realise shock and surprise. It often lended to hilarious facial expressions, and there were some faces that would look comical. This one's face would be amusing, but Duscan also felt that nagging guilt of having to expose someone of his caliber to something depraved as Emer's place of business.

"I'll do the talking, you just sit... and no drinking. You do anything other than speak to the hag, you gotta pay up for their services. I mean it. Drinking is a pretty penny, you may as well do that than bed one of the sheet warmers that are employed." Duscan made a face. Emer had built quite the high end business in Crorefell. The establishment was meticulous in cleanliness and privacy, and perhaps Duscan was over-exaggerating the kind of people to be found there, but he himself could never afford to sample any of the services. It was strictly business his visits to the Emerald Menagerie.

 

[Song]

"I can pay," the man in kingfisher green waved the fan, snapped closed, absentmindedly. "Would you like to join me? You strike me as a man who would sit well with some musk, charred wood and rose scents radiating from his clothes, not sweat, hangover and the lingering note of someone's alcohol not agreeing with them." The fan pointed to the stain on the floor. "If I can't do the talking or the drinking, by the gods I will be so bored so soon! What would I possibly occupy myself with, in this city that was sacked for its good manners?"

He knew that he was probably going to like what he was about to see. And so, light as the breeze, he walked to the exit, turning half-way to beckon. His black hair swayed behind his back like the curves of a dark river, an almost bluish sheen to it.
"Come, nameless inconsiderate master! I've heard the sheet warmers in the north are these contraptions of two pans with embers in them, is that true? I'd like to see one!"

 

[Duscan]

Duscan felt as if he needed the four drinks the man had paid for.
Shaking his head, he rounded the bar slowly, giving himself time to talk himself out of this but like an absolute idiot, he followed after the man.

"Duscan. Not nameless." Although that was all there is to his name, the one he was born with. His father never thought he amounted enough to anything at the age of being a babe, and never thought to bestow the family name to him. Dusc grew up unwanted and that was just fine by him.

He had made a home and family with other boys. Bastards too, and they were fucking menaces on the street.
They were going to be infamous one day, but now, he wondered if any of them were still a Brotherhood of Bastards?

"And I cannot wait to see your face when you see these sheet warmers."

 

[Song]

"Duscan," the man repeated after, somehow managing to copy the pronunciation down to the tone of the grumpy barman. "Written as in 'dusk'?" Not that he expected the man to be literate, necessarily - but it wouldn't be too large a leap if he could handle orders and as such would have to have known numbers.

A vision all his own, Song emerged into the street, his long robes swaying smoothly with his motions, steps still casually careful to not stain the shoes. Not that the outside streets would spare them.
And yet, outside, there were plenty fun, bustling fools to distract him from the plights of dirt and poor manners, just like the city's namesake suggested. Couriers ran with messages and parcels, the daily markets were set with carts rolling down the street. Someone's kids were taking turns playing with a wheel and a stick, keeping it rolling after the cart.

A cat caught Song's gaze. A fluffy cloud with tangerine splotches on its head and side, keeping low to the thatch roof, a skillful predator, she was stealthily hunting a large raven. The bird was gorgeous for what he was, blue sheen to the luxuriously lustrous feathers, big and fluffing up to bake some more in the sun, silver veiling his eyes.
Song smiled, following Duscan out of view before the cat would pounce.

A disgruntled yowl, a fluttering of feathers, and a few birds took off the roofs besides the large one, alerted. Song covered his face from the sun with an open fan, and hid what seemed a silent victorious grin.
Most of the streets besides the center seemed to be dirt, cobblestones long since come apart. Somehow, the young man in emerald strode so lightly, one could still make out the embroidered clouds at the sides of his shoes, thread white, when they'd reached the fancier part of town.

"This city is so big! Do you walk the streets often, young Duscan? It must be such a shame to spend every single day outside when the world is so vast outside the door." Song lamented. "What do you do when not at work, here in... Ilica? You seemed to have little liking for sheet warmers, why?"

 

[Duscan]

The harsh reality of stepping out in the day time was an assault on his eyes that were far more comfortable in the dimmed inn's front room where the curtains were probably stiff from staying closed. The sun may be well hidden behind cloud cover, but it's atrocious brightness still casted a glare seen all around. He swore, loudly as it was warranted.

"No, I try not to be out here long." He frowns, throwing a hand up to shield his eyes. "In there? I'm just the barkeep." His thumb jerked back over his shoulder. "Out here I am seen for what these marks make me. A weaver. Not a fun story when you are moving about this city."

Joining a cadre didn't bear a lot of good faith in his own opinion. It reminded him of the brothers he used to have, and bitterly of the woman that kept him indentured to be her Weeper.

"I don't tend to stay in one place for long... Was meant to leave a month ago but... Bozzy. Made me realise I am an idiot and soft hearted."

 

[Song]

Song seemed to bask in the light for a moment, and then recalled that his face was not covered by a wide hat brim nor a veil nor a hood. He sighed, dejected and accepting of the blemishes that weathering would bring to his complexion. He'd have to put on ointments on ointments - and for that, find somewhere clean, with hot water. What a bother, the brothel in a decent place might just be offering all that.

"But if you wanted to keep people outside away from inside - wouldn't you want to be somewhere else than running a drinking hall?" The fan tilted in the hand, and the man's head tilted in the opposite direction. "Do people here not respect weavers? Where I am from, it is an honor and privilege."

A sigh, fan swaying to send a breeze across his face as he walked, the heat having finally caught on as the day settled. No issue - the brothel would offer shade and possibly an array of more pleasant scents. He could only hope.
"What about him softens your heart, weaver Duscan?"