Caeleste Mods (caeleste_mods) wrote in adusta, @ 2010-04-28 15:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | conlan agrippa, vargis bartha, vera of beit-orane |
Fragrance [ Vargis ]
The stench of wet boots, blood and the persistent lingering of whiskey permeated the "fine" drinking establishment Conlan found with Vera at his side. The molding around the entrance was chipped and heavily dented. Fresh paint was half-heartedly slapped on and caked the obvious cracks in the wood so that they stood out even more. The sign above said entrance was written in faded black and read Gentleman's Keep. Conlan had a good chuckle at that, but no one else did. Too bad, really. As for the young Rider in his company, he had his reservations about her. Normally he would regret taking a Lady into such a place, but Vera entered first with her staff strapped to her back. Any inappropriate glances stopped when she drove her knife into a table top and told a lone drunk in an icy voice that he would choke on his mug if he offered her ale again. He decided then that it was okay if he brought Hasna inside.
Belwood did not have very many social gathering places. It was not a settlement. The farmers, for the most part, kept to their own homes. They were far enough from any major outposts or cities to be rightly paranoid of anyone without the right credentials. Travelers preferred sleeping in the woods. The town was for transit, not living or sleeping. But the Gentleman's Keep was known for hosting the few who preferred a roof over their heads to their own cleanliness and safety.
"What brings Riders to my place?" the tavern owner asked after spitting tobacco into a browned, glass vase on the desk. It was really a table shoved by the door, made to look important by the trim along the end -- gold ribbon ripped from a good jacket (likely stolen) that was tacked on to the wood by old nails. The log book sat near the jar and there were spots over the leather cover, likely spatter from the man's spitting. One of his eyes was brown and the other a darker shade. It didn't open all of the way. His arm was fat, but Conlan was sure it was used to lifting men bigger than he. The tavern owner glanced at Vera, who glared from behind Conlan. "That yer daughter or something?" the man asked.
"Her?" Conlan replied. He smiled and took off his mask. "Good gods, no. She takes care of herself. For your own health, you might want to keep that in mind while we're here."
"Yeah well..."
"As for why, we're actually on route to another town, northeast from here. I heard you get some business because of that place."
The tavern keeper stared at him.
"People going to Ackerly come here first," Conlan clarified.
"So?"
Conlan paused for a moment.
"So have any passed through or not?" Vera asked.
The tavern keeper looked from Conlan to Vera and then laughed. He flipped open the book and the vase teetered dangerously, the brown liquid sloshing about from the motion as the table creaked. "Let's see what's in my book, eh?"
Conlan opened his mouth and then shut it again when Vera reached out and shut the book back on the tavern keeper's hand. He certainly wouldn't have touched that desk, much less the book, or even come close enough to that man's hand. Gloves or not, there were some things you just shouldn't touch.
"Not your book. You don't use it. You don't even know how to write," Vera continued on, before Conlan said anything else. "But your eyes are good enough. I know they are. You stopped drinking some time ago and that's why all of that tobacco is on the chair beside you. So. Any visitors to Ackerly?"
The tavern keeper scowled. "Now I see why she's not yer daughter."
"Indeed," Conlan said, amiably.
The tavern keeper choked out another laugh, tobacco gurgling in the back of his throat before he spit again. "Look, we're mostly empty now. But even so, I don't do much for me by talkin' to Riders," he said. He held up his hand a second. "Not that I don't want to be a lawful sort of person, you get?"
"Of course," Conlan said, stepping back subtly on Vera's foot. The girl muttered under her breath.
"So. You spend the night, stay upstairs. I'll let you see who comes through. Let you talk to my staff --" A man with a handful of teeth and shaggy hair waved from behind a line of barrels with a long plank over top. Conlan assumed that was the bar. And the tavern keeper's 'staff'. "And you pay me honorably and get out in the morning."
"I'll pay you for the two of us if it's worth my time," Conlan said, looking from the bartender to the owner. His blue eyes lost their friendliness. "And I won't insist on talking to you in Simanel."
The tavern owner scowled. "Done."
Conlan looked back at the door as Hasna and Vargis came through. "We're staying here."
"You paying for them too?" The tavern owner asked.
"We had a deal," Conlan said with a smile. "So. Where do you let people sleep in this...fine establishment?"