Username: 
Password:    
Remember Me

Search by :  Username E-mail Region Interest AOL IM ICQ Number Yahoo! ID MSN Username Jabber

Locan (bloodandscales) wrote in watchers_rp, @ 2017-05-10 17:58:00

Who: Locan and OPEN
Where: A popular tavern near the harbor
When: Late Evening



It really was telling when the watery stink of the harbor was more inviting than the perfumed nobility he was used to.

Locan inhaled the smell of fresh fish, old fish, crowding bodies and sea air as he slipped into visibility in the alley behind some kind of ship shop, away from prying eyes. He'd begun his journey from his own estate, taking a carriage into the main section of the city, and then using his abilities to vanish. Walking from the city center to the harbor was always a chore, but usually worth it. The visage he wore now was only slightly illusory, which always made holding onto it with little concentration much easier, particularly if he planned on getting himself sloshed that evening. Which, of course, he did. The clothing, common but well-made, was a series of dark browns and blacks, worn and slightly stained to give it it the look of long-use. His hair, both on his head and face, was longer, the unruly dark curls framing his face. The strange sheen of his nails was gone, replaced with calloused, work-roughened hands and dark cuticles. It felt better to be mostly himself when he made his outings, though certain situations called for bigger changes, particularly if there was any danger he might be recognized. He doubted that would be an issue tonight.

He entered the tavern and nearly grinned brightly at his surroundings, but caught himself quickly, slightly yellowing his teeth before smiling. The crowd was loud and in good spirits, judging from the off-key singing-if you could call it that-half the patrons were partaking in. Some old sea shanty Locan had heard repeatedly but couldn't recall the name of. It smelled even worse in here than outside, the pungent concentration of body odor and booze seeming to bother no one. Probably because everyone here was used to it. Maybe they didn't even notice anymore. Most of them weren't used to anything different, and he doubted that any of them had sense comparable to his own.

Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any place to sit, and the frowned thoughtfully for a few seconds before he noted a wobbly older man with missing teeth sitting backwards on his stool at the bar, not talking to anyone, or looking at anything in particular, but obviously toward the end of his night. Whether that meant he'd wander home on his own power, or pass out and need to be carried by a friend or two, hardly mattered. Locan conjured the image of a rolling silver coin at the man's feet, darting from under the stool and toward the door, deftly avoiding he paths of the tavern wenches and boisterous patrons. The glassy gaze of the man didn't seem to notice at first, so Locan caused the first coin to disappear, then illusioned the coin dropping down from an unseen spot on the ceiling, right in front of the man's face, before making the same trek the one had before. That caused the man to jump to attention, clarity reaching his eyes before he stumbled forward and toward the door, stumbling after the coin. Locan nonchalantly took the man's place at the bar, sighing as if happy to be off of his feet for the first time all day, which was actually surprisingly close to the truth, and ordered and ale with bread and broth.