Loosen that tongue of yours (Julian)

[Naama]

The woman watched him closely. Her lips curved into a flirtatious smile, but ever so subtly. Nothing wrong could ever come about hard liquor. It loosened tongues and jumbled thoughts, and sent the intoxicated individuals in a swaggering dance of total self absorption. So who wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy getting others drunk as much as she got drunk herself? Julian was making good progress, from what she could tell. But the true persona that he was under the influence, she suspected, had not yet reared its ugly head.

But with each pass of bitter liquid down her gullet emerged the prospect of a suitable bed mate. It’s been more than a week since she’s had one, which just wouldn’t do at all. “By all means, order twelve more pints of ale and we’ll see just how much of that sanity of yours is intact, sweet thing.” She smirked, “Marriage. What a trifle. Bonding yourself to one person is so selfish. It’s much more productive to spread your coitus skills to anyone who is willing to learn.”

Then she stood, approaching her seated acquaintance with a glint in her ebony eyes. With one fluid motion, she had gripped Julian‘s hair in one hand and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. Naama bent down, her lips pressing lightly over his. “Go on, show me your strength, sweetheart.”

Then she released him. With a wicked grin she grabbed his mug of ale and smashed it into the head of a patron sitting behind her and sent him colliding into the table. There was a chorus of swears and flying fists, and the several of the men turned to address the perpetrator responsible. Naama, leaning against a wooden pillar pointed at Julian and said, “Looks like he’s the only one here missing a drink.”

Brawl on!

[Julian]

Those black eyes were unsettling, and beyond that, difficult to pierce, but Julian could have sworn something had changed in them. He briefly debated in his head about whether he was racist for thinking so, and whether that even mattered, as he took another long drink of whatever it was that was slowly killing his tastebuds. He paid an amused snicker to her comment on marriage and shook his head, ignoring the inward flare of poignancy the statement had for him. "That must be a Myrian way of thinking," he remarked dully. Why choose Myrian? Suppose he just didn't see the Chaktawe getting down and dirty very often if they lived in a desert. Oh, he thought belatedly, what an intriguing mix. A woman from a lush jungle and a man from an arid desert. Or had it been a jungle man and a desert woman? He had already forgotten. Julian barely paid attention as Naama stood, assuming she was just leaving to get a refill on her drink. But she remained close in his peripheral vision, and suddenly Julian found his head forced backward. His stone blue eyes caught her onyx ones in the brief moment before she closed in and kissed him. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair (always the hair) as he briefly swam in pleasant moment of surprise and confusion. It was brief, and she drew away before Julian had a chance to formulate a reaction. He stared at her and put on a bewildered look, almost a suspicious glare, as he reached behind his head to re-arrange the strands that she had dislodged. What in the world... And then the situation starkly changed as Julian's mug somehow ended up smashing into someone's skull. What might have been a mildly excited smirk dropped instantly. What. Oh come on, this wasn't happening. He recited this as several burly men rose to their feet with purpose. His mouth fell open and his eyes moved from one tall, angry stranger to the next. Even more incredible, Naama helpfully indicated Julian as the culprit. His head snapped toward her, wearing a sudden glare of pure astonishment. "You..." She was nuts. Even as Julian put his hands up in protest, the bar's patrons seemed inclined to listen to her. And why wouldn't they? Just look at her. A simple shake of her shoulders and twist of her hip, and she could become a better hypnotist than Julian could ever hope to be. "You whore," he finished at last. All right. With that accomplished, now he had to figure out what to do. The front most patron, a dark-skinned, bald man with a tattoo inked into his scalp, trained his dark eyes on the slight musician, still clutching the back of his head. Julian slowly got up out of his chair. In less than a minute, this was going to get rough. So he did the only thing he could think of. Julian locked his slate gray eyes with those of the tattooed man's. Using hypnotism in public might get him in trouble, but none of these people looked they would be particularly close to any of the Shinya guard. There was no way Julian could hypnotize an entire crowd. But they were all standing up in defense of one man (or just wanted a brawl anyway), so that's who he thought best to focus on. "She's lying to you," Julian told him in a low, practiced voice. He looked confused for a moment, then glanced at Naama. Julian looked at her too, briefly, just to give her another hot, irritated look. Then he lifted his hand and pointed at one of the man's nearby friends. "It was him. I saw the whole thing." "What?!" the accused cried out in shock, then turned toward the tattooed man wearing a 'do you believe this guy' look. Julian gritted his teeth. He wasn't helping. When the tattooed man looked back at Julian, the musician erased the last crumbs of skepticism by tossing an insistent cant of his head toward the other man again. Then another chorus of yells and howls rang out as a fist hurled itself into the stranger's face. Julian winced at the sight of it, but knew that he wasn't going to be safe from harm as this chaos escalated. Besides, it looked like there were some people who still really wanted to hit him. As the tattooed man's friend defended him, and the poor fool, the one Julian had selected, had friends come to his aid, a classic crescendo of violence and spilled drinks filled the bar. Slipping swiftly toward Naama before the fighting made its way to him, he grabbed her by the arm and tugged her away from her stupid wooden post. "I'm not even going to ask," he hissed at her as he pulled her close, dragging her toward a more unoccupied corner of the bar. The fighting was quickly spreading, and Julian and Naama hadn't escaped notice. Behind her, he spied two decidedly angry-looking, and very drunk patrons making their way toward the pair. "Well, you started this. Why don't you deal with it." If Naama hadn't pulled away, Julian generously turned her around to face the approaching attackers. Meanwhile, he searched for something nearby that could help him: a stool, a mug, a barrel tap, anything that could be made into a makeshift weapon. How did this happen every time he went into places like these? He sighed to himself in his miniature private moment. "Hrh, I'm not drunk enough for this."

[Duality]

Naama Storytelling +3 Seduction +1 Rhetoric +5 Observation +2 The Shadiest of Places To Enrapture a Drunken Audience Telling Someone All They Need to Know Not-So-Friendly Conversation Lore of Alchohols (Basic) Bar Fight! This was definitely a fun thread to read, I'm sure it must have been fun to write as well. Nice use of twists and turns, Naama, I love the way you set the scene. You both had a very nice conversation going; I liked how realistic the words were. Don't be afraid to post a final time to finish off a thread when the other player is gone, give the thread some closure. Overall, excellent work! For any questions or concerns with my ruling, feel free to PM me!