[Location] The Stranger's Welcome

[Tabarnac]

Oleg gave him a strange look. He poured himself a drink and tossed it back in one go, swallowing and considering Jackson. Finally he shrugged and went about tidying the bar with an attention to detail that bordered on obsession. "No, but he is generally either at the Chapel or at the Hall."

[Jackson LaCroix]

The tattooed warrior let the moment pass shrilly, watching the empty rebuttal fill another shot glass. Some drank to recall, others to let go.. it was possible Oleg served them both equal.
The weather here was warm and aired, as a breeze pandered under a nearby window frame like children’s toes through heated sand. Cross would have stood to roam had the drinks not been of such distinct quality, yet the man enjoyed the open space spent in lean comfortability with a people he’d lived but a few years with. It was not the hour nor the place to speak of levity, but the mid seasons used working here were distinct.. like a brief pause between the birth of lightning and the tree it severed.

Curling tongues fluttered as the birds did beyond, pecking for scraps before being chased off by a cart of cheese wheels. Gnarled roots tripped an old figure who vainly swatted them with a cane before drawing out curses to the cotton clouds high above.
The serenity of the village felt like a raindrop that became absorbed into the ruddy earth. It passed.. like anything else. Into stasis.. or perhaps something quieter, similar to a lean pleasure that squirmed to get closer before distributing evenly along the surface.

The cat scratched LaCroix’s leg while playing with a nearby dandelion wisp that had floated through the opening of the tavern door. It didn’t bother him, in fact quite the opposite.. waking his gaze to the lower portion of the establishment’s bustle. Waiting out such moments in silence had their merits, with a glint of light piercing across the shards of stone peaks into the faded seams of planks below as would an ancient sundial.