[Rearing Stallion] Booze and Blood [Rhuryc, Open]

[Ash'eny]

Time Stamp: 44th Day of Summer, AV 510 Time: Morning Location: Rearing Tavern

To say it was a normal day for Ash'eny would be the same as saying a Kelvic was, for the fourth day in a row, without his or her master. It was a new life, different, strange, something that, even though Ash'eny was enjoying it so much, it had a hint of discomfort just because it was new, different, unfamiliar. Ash'eny sat silently in the Rearing Stallion, not an odd occurrence for the man really, but the fact that he sat at the counter, gazing off into nothingness, and not even a single coin spent on food nor drink, made such a situation odd for him indeed. Ash'eny's deep dark brown eyes watched the bartop carefully as if he almost expected it to jump up and bite him, and even though his line of vision was hitting said surface, he did not see it. The real reason Ash'eny was in the Stallion today was that he needed to think, he had so much on his mind, so many shifting and changing moments that he felt he was beginning to lose himself, confuse different areas in his life, and most of all he had to decide on what he was going to do with himself now that it had in fact so dramatically changed. He knew there were a few things for certain. He had to amend for his past, he had to obtain legal, honorable, steady income, he had to become strong for the sake of others. Hell, he needed to protect them as well. Right now, Ash'eny didn't have the faintest clue how to defend, hurt, kill, or protect someone. It had been so long ago since He had done something like that. His skills must be beyond rusted by now. Ash'eny looked up slowly, finally placing eyes on the bartender, he smiled faintly. "Beer please." The two men nodded to each other as their stares moved to opposite directions. Ash'eny couldn't help but feel he was weakening simply because he was drinking, or soon to be. It was a fairly common tradition of his, regardless that he was a lightweight. He felt it helped clear his mind, move away emotions, relieve stress, helped him think, or inhibited thought, sometimes it was difficult to tell when you finally wake up from your snoring slumber.

[Rhuryc]

Food. All he wanted was some food. And maybe a few moments to himself. With the past days' events he had barely time to breathe let alone think. The Stallion was his last bastion of hope; well enough to serve decent food and crowded enough for a man to hide. Yet it was difficult for one such as he to disappear. The size provided a challenge. Pressing the realm for 'human', Rhuryc stuck out like a headless chicken. Someone always noticed. Whether it was the ever-present blade at his waist, the rock-like demeanor, or the the fact that his clothing was interspersed with a temporary assortment of bandages , the young smith held an air of attention about himself. Unintentionally, of course.

His trek from the Ironworks was no simple matter. While he was in no real state to spend a full day in hard labor, the recent wound at his thigh did nothing to stop his tenacity. He ignored the occasional complaint and the burn that accompanied his steps, carrying on without much consideration for his own well being. Pain was only temporary, after all. The stiffness of his leg was evident in the half-cant he moved with, a weak limp accompanying his right hip. This made for a unique hobble when his boots collided with the hard wooden floors of the tavern; with a step-drag and a skipped beat he made his way through the rambunctious patrons, stepping past the various obstacles that were common among the evening crowds. A subtle ease accompanied his movements. Despite the wound Rhuryc was no stranger to the establishment, or any such like location, and his motions felt like they belonged among the drunken sods. A brawler felt nowhere safer than among his liquored fellows.

Rhuryc set himself down with a solid huff. He grimaced at his leg when he turned about toward the counter, his gaze briefly flicking over the form of the fellow beside him. A strange sort of fellow. Smallish, to him anyway, with a distracted expression; only four fingers on one hand and neither food nor in drink in his possession. What sort of engagement lost you a pinkie? Rhuryc shrugged the question off for now, his attentions shifting toward his own ravenous hunger. He wanted to consume an entire horse. Instead he found himself satisfied with a meat pie and a flagon of ale, the latter of which seemed to be he more welcome of the orders. Almost as soon as the mug hit the counter Rhuryc leaned forward and took it in hand, the cuff of his coat scuffing the bar in his haste. He could deal with he smell in the morning, perhaps.

"You look to be in deep thought, friend." Rhuryc's thick baritone cut clear through the crowd's roar. How the hell did he do that? "Need another head?"