Luncheon [Murmur, SS Tavern]

[Sulavik]

46th Winter, 510AV He had ridden hard up the slope, past the Southern Trading Post and into the city. Though not yet close to the city centre, the Docks were a vibrant place, full of bustling comings and goings. The state of some of the ships were positively rank, and it was unnerving to know that it was on these crumbling vessels that his future mate probably would have come from - a Kelvic from the Breeding Pens. Sulavik found it rather ironic that the city he came to to escape the stifling heterosexual expectations of Riverfall, was the very city that fueled the mating practices in the city itself. Riverfall was mocking him even from thousands of miles away. Jil'sk had run faithfully and strong all day. The bond between owner and horse was increasing - she no longer tried to throw him off at every opportunity. A refreshing change. As a reward, Sulavik deemed it appropriate to find a place to rest her and to satisfy his own grumbling stomach with lunch. Signature flashed in the corners of his eyes, directing him to the Nitrozian Plaza. The ride was not far, and entering the busy plaza on an elevated position of Jil'sk, he looked around trying to find a likely looking spot for lunch. A sign jumped out at him, notifying him of the "Silver Sliver Tavern". It sounded good. Riding to the outside of the tavern, he dismounted and tied Jil'sk reigns to the outside of the Tavern. Though Ravok was certainly a shady place, he doubted anyone would steal a horse in broad daylight. And if they did? Jil'sk, though a lovely horse, was replaceable. Pushing open the door was an experience. To be honest, he had expected a dark shady pub filled with evil looking denizens, their dirty feet on the table and hooks for hands. It was slightly disappointing to see that the Tavern was as clean as any other place in Riverfall. Barmaids were bustling to and from, and he pushed past one particular laden with plates and cups to the bar. Seating himself, he called for the finest wine they had. He was never much of an ale drinker, wine being much more refined. Sipping his wine in silence, he was enjoying the peacefulness and just debating to ask for a plate of their inhouse food when the tranquility was disturbed by his annoying other half. I'm hungry. You are too, I know you are, we're the same person. Makil, you are far too impatient. Shut up so I can concentrate on the ordering. Hurry up then. Looking around for a barmaid, he raised his hand in the attempt of getting the attention of one of the buxom females - not that they did anything for him. He looked rather an idiot, sitting alone at the bar with a hand feebly in the air, looking every part the lonely blue man away from home he was - but there was nothing to be done. The longer he ignored Makil, the more annoying he would get. Lunchtime for them.

[Murmur]

Murmur had been taking advantage of his special deals with the proprietors of the Silver Sliver Tavern for the majority of his lunch. He frequented it almost as much as he frequented the majority of the Docks. It was the usual this day. Bustling, loud, filthy and reeked of unwashed masses and labor. But work was work, and he’d rather stab himself in the eye than return to Sir Fren and ask for a relocation. Such talk was taboo, and if it meant anything to Murmur, he’d rather not add another scar to his already tarnished skin. So he sat at the bar of the Tavern sipping his mug of Silver Sliver and eating a very appropriately arranged meal that at least was aesthetically pleasing for it’s lack of savory flavors. Only when he heard the gasp of a woman nearby did Murmur glance up from his food to see the woman staring at someone that had obviously caught her…and everyone else in the room’s attention. Murmur nearly mentally sighed at himself, wondering if it was yet another bum off the streets coming in to plead for the usual bread loaf or two. But as he turned to glance at the figure who moved toward the bar. He was blue. Blue. “Ah, an Akalak,” He thought aloud. Of course, he had heard of the race of warriors from the plains of Cyphrus. His interest was piqued, and he smirked as the Akalak raised his hand as if that would draw the attention of the barmaid. “That won’t do you good, I’d suggest you throw a knife at them instead. They can be quite the feisty vixens.” He said, bringing his mug of the Tavern’s famous brew to his lips for a sip. He would definitely need some alcohol for this conversation. “Not often we see an Akalak in Ravok, normally they’re prized as slaves. You must be a lucky dog.” Perhaps his brew was affecting his ability to actually give a damn or perhaps it was because when it was lunch, he didn’t equate himself to Ebonstryfe. “Did you filch your papers or did you bribe someone?”

[Sulavik]

Sulavik, waving his hand around in the air, for all the good it did him, was starting to feel uncomfortable. The amount of people ogling his skin colour was extremely disconcerting. He had a half-forgotten memory of his uncle telling him, when tutoring him on geography - of which he was knowledgeable about - that Akalaks were rather rare in the violent city of Ravok. Rare did not necessarily mean revered, as he was starting to find out. The stares of some of the grimier patrons of the Silver Sliver Tavern were indeed alerting him to this fact. Sulavik heard a man mention his race, and thankfully turned to the side of the bar where he heard the voice come from. The sight that met him was particularly surprising, though not displeasingly so. Tall for any of his race, he was rather striking with a laid-back smirk on his face. Really, Sul? You're flirting in Ravok, of all places? Choosing to ignore Makil, he focused on what the man was saying, chuckling sheepishly and slowly lowering his hand, reattaching it firmly to the somewhat excellent wine in his hand. "Believe you me, I'd be more than happy to chuck a knife at them. My aim is poor though, and I'd probably end up stabbing an important member of Ravokian society. Not a good impression on one's first day." Mirroring the handsome man, he too took a sip of the alcohol he was clutching close to his chest. Slaves? Akalaks were slaves? His uncle had certainly failed to neglect that fact - he had only heard they were a rare commodity in Ravok. He had never realised that commodity literally meant an object in the city. Suddenly all too aware of his seven feet of blue skin, and the attention that was drawing from the rest of the tavern, he attempted to maintain the look of nonchalance in front of the man. Though good looking, it did not necessarily mean he could be trusted, as depressing as that thought was. Get a boyfriend, already. You're turning into a sad case. The interjection from Makil was all Sulavik needed to refocus on the man before him, realising a couple of seconds too late that he had been asked again. The man was impertinent, strong, dominant - he liked that in a man. Grinning toothily at the man, taking yet another sip of the heady wine, he attempted to answer the question as coolly as he could. "Filched, bribed, or honestly acquired, does it really matter? You're hardly going to believe me any which way."

[Murmur]

Murmur scrutinized the exceptionally tall Akalak for longer than he probably should. To be honest, he was amazed one could be brave or foolish enough to saunter into the bar of a notorious tavern and act as if nothing is out of the ordinary. For Ravokians, it is out of the ordinary, and just as Sulavik began to notice, his attention wasn’t exactly the positive kind. So either he was new, and most likely he was, or he recently got out of slavery in the pits or had cleanly been set loose. By the looks of it, it seemed like the former was the better conclusion. And then the Akalak spoke, and reconfirmed the fact that he was a new arrival. Oblivious to the laws of the city; fresh meat. Murmur gave him a charming smile as he set his cup down with a dull thud on the wooden counter. “Your very presence does not do your first impression any good.” He remarked matter-of-factly, “I’m not sure if I should consider you brave or stupid. Ravok isn’t everyone’s first choice.” Suddenly Murmur felt a jolt in the back of his neck, and he winced ever slightly. A sharp intake of breath, and he glanced behind his shoulder. Nothing. What could it have meant? Gray eyes returned to the astonishingly blue presence before him, and he took another generous swig from his mug. He slammed it on the table just as the Akalak began to speak. From his answer he couldn’t help but smirk. Oh the wonders of foreigners. Murmur couldn’t help but bet with himself to see how long the blue man would last outside without his papers. “You have no clue, do you? Registration papers are a necessity. Do you know what those are, blue boy?” Murmur waved his hand idly for the waitress who replaced his empty mug with a fresh new one brimming with Silver Sliver. Regardless of his answer, he continued, “Protection. Immunity. I can tell you have no papers on you. You’re fresh. Like newly imported livestock. At any moment anyone could just waltz right in and take you under custody, and there is nothing I will be able to do about it.” Overly friendly Akalak, alone and unwanted. Murmur had the feeling there was something already odd about him, but despite it, he continued with his charming charade.

[Sulavik]

The charming smile the man gave him threw him momentarily off balance. It had been all too long since he had had a decent kiss-- Sulavik, you've never had a decent kiss. Or rather, you've never had a kiss. I ha-- Yes, I know, you hate me, yadda yadda. He cringed at the thought that the man, evidently a native of Ravok from the confident way he lounged on his bar stool, already thought he was stupid for coming to Ravok. It was clear he was going with the stupid, not the brave option. In all honesty, Sulavik did not blame him, and applauded the man on his intuition. Sulavik was also beginning to think he was stupid to come here, and Makil just thought he was stupid all the time. Sulavik doubted he would have come here if he had known he was a target for slavery. It was the way Uncle Jelis had described it to him that made it seem like a brilliant place to gain some dirty combat skills, to train his murder instincts, to build up the courage that he would need when he tried to kill his father. Nonetheless, Sulavik smiled and kept up his suave, laid back sarcastic demeanor and swung back on his school, grip and heart jolting slighly when he tipped back too much. Smiling sheepishly at the man, knowing he had seen it, he pressed on. "Brave or stupid, Ravok was my first choice. Believe it or not! Guessing you're a local, then?" You always try so hard, and yet you always fail. I almost feel sorry for you - I actually would, if I liked you at all. Shucks, Makil, when did you get so lovely? I know, right? I'm such an amazing person. As was common, Sulavik ignored Makil and pressed on with the conversation. He cringed as the Ravokian man picked up on Sulavik's exact problem - he had no idea what these papers were. To be honest, when was Sulavik supposed to find out that he needed these papers for immunity from slavery? He did happen to be slightly busy whilst running away from home after murdering a family member and avoiding getting a giant black tattoo printed all over his face. Get the papers, you idiot. Sulavik smiled, nervous cracks probably showing through. Flirtation and attraction momentarily forgotten, he leaned forward as if confiding something deep and secret - which he was. He thought quickly through the possible reprecussions of telling him this (the man could turn out to be a slaver and capture Sulavik) but he needed these papers, and he needed them bad - and no one else was readily talking to him. "Uh, so. Where is it that I get these papers? You may be right... I may or may not have any papers... Leaning towards the latter possibility, at the moment, to be honest."

[Murmur]

Murmur smirked, gulping down most of his beverage then set it down. “More than just a local, you could say. Whoever gave you the advice to come to Ravok has it out for you, sir.” And of course, there it was. The question so many seemed to be asking of him lately. He wondered how much coin he could attain from this blue man if he sold him instead. There was a possibility! Riches beyond belief for the capture of one Akalak. He smiled inwardly, contemplating all of the weapons and armor he could acquire for both himself and his ever affable steed. Murmur scrutinized Sulavik silently. He was in good condition, at least from what he could tell. Tall, muscular, the makings of either a good piece of ass or a good laborer. But if he was to get as much coin as he could from someone he would assume the House of Immortal Pleasures was the perfect place to commit to. He, at least, would decide on Sulavik’s fate now, so when he spoke, he leaned forward, and his voice was low, “You cannot go anywhere, I’m afraid. I would be the one to fetch your papers, but you see, without some sort of restitution, I see nothing in it for me.” He leaned back, and took another swig from his mug, waiting.

[Sulavik]

How could one be more than just a local? You either were a part of a city or you were not. Unless Murmur was king of Ravok, and as far as Sulavik knew there was no such thing, then you were a local. The pedantic part of Sulavik wanted to speak up and tell Murmur exactly what was running through his head, but there was a slight vicious undertone to the man and Sulavik did not want to antagonise that, attractive though he was. So, the man would get him papers, but he had to wait. Seemed shady, but then again, Sulavik didn't really know anything about the workings of Ravok. You could have to stand on your head and recite the entire Gods, Goddesses and Alvina list to get your papers, for all he knew. As creepy though the guy was, he'd have to trust him. The man however wanted Sulavik to give him something. He was a traveller, he didn't have anything. He didn't have any skills that would contribute to the man's welfare either. But he needed the papers. "Well, I would be really grateful if you got me the papers. But I don't actually have much money, I'm a traveller, kinda poor." He's manipulating you. Idiot. You think I don't know that, Makil? But do you think I have another choice?

[Murmur]

Murmur smiled. No matter what Sulavik thought, he seemed oblivious to the workings of Ravok’s elite. And this was in his favor. So with a motion to the bartend, Murmur addressed Sulavik’s currency issues. “Tell you what, blue boy, I’ll take you to someone that can get you your papers, which means, well, you won’t have to owe me anything at all. And that’s just me being the kind and generous man that I am. Come.” He gestured for Sulavik to follow, and if he was willing, they would leave the Silver Sliver. Walking was a short distance. Murmur led the Akalak to a supposedly dilapidated building in the Plaza of Dark Delights. Many citizens watched them pass; an odd sight to be sure, but they made no move to obstruct their path. On the contrary, they stepped aside with a clear-cut efficiency. “And here we are,” Murmur announced as they arrived at the entrance of the notorious establishment. He opened the doors and ushered Sulavik inside. “Welcome to the House of Immortal Pleasures.” There was hardly any downtime. Women and men alike, scantily clad and with the look of lust in their eyes passed them by, some of the girls immediately approaching Murmur with squeals of delight. He gave them a charming smile, “I’m afraid I’m here on official business, my ladies, I have not the time to give you the attention you all deserve.” There was a collective sound of disapproval, but as several of them returned to their stations, Murmur pulled one red-haired girl aside and whispered in her ear, “If you would be so kind as to fetch the proprietor, I have someone he might find of great value.” She nodded and ran off, while the Ebonstryfe addressed the Akalak once again. “The owner of this humble business has the means to get you what you want, and since you have no coin, it’s your best option.” Murmur settled himself into one of the silky black couches, gesturing for Sulavik to sit as well, “I never did get your name. I’m called Murmur. What exactly brings you to this fine city?”

[Sulavik]

Sulavik didn't know what to say or do. He had no home yet in Ravok, he didn't even know what these petching papers were. He did not know who this man he was talking to was. He knew very little about what on earth was going on. All he seemed to know was that he knew nothing. Should I follow him? Will what I say really make a difference? You do whatever the petch you want, anyway. He stood up quickly, scrambling to follow the human. He felt awkward, following a shorter man - who evidently inspired some fear or intimidation in the regular citizens of Ravok - as a seven foot tall blue giant. It was almost as if he were being led to the noose. He had no idea where he was going nor what he was going to do to him. He followed, silently, just hoping that the man before him was as willing to help as he said he was. He quickly looked back at Jil'sk, darted to her and untied her reins. He did not ride her, he merely pulled her along behind him. "Sorry," he muttered to the man, but he would not relinquish Jil'sk like that. Sulavik tied up Jil'sk once again, and silently, trustingly stepped through the doors of where they were. He was about to ask where it was they were, if this was where everyone got their papers - but the man's next words made his heart thud in his chest. "W-where are we?" he stuttered frantically. "Immortal WHAT?" Makil, what am I doing here? Why do these things always happen to you? Stay still. Stay calm. Assess the situation. We'll get us out of here soon. He smiled awkwardly at the swarms of women ... and men around them. They seemed to work here. It was the men who made him awkward. He looked around, anywhere but them, not letting his eyes rest on them for too long - otherwise his cheeks would flare up in a telltale blush. He couldn't do anything except for mechanically sit next to the man on the couches. "Yes, yes, I suppose it is..." he muttered, distracted. His eyes danced everywhere, his back straight. It was clear he was uncomfortable. "Sorry, what? Murmur. Oh, I'm... I'm Sulavik..." As soon as he said his name, he winced. He didn't know why he told him that. Based on where they were, it probably wasn't the best move. He could feel Makil getting tense, nervous, about where they were. That feeling only increased as Sulavik, foolish, bumbling, socially awkward Sulavik, gave away way too much information - yet again.

[Seth]

The soft click of shoes echoed throughout the building, the presence of the approaching man drawing silence from all those around him. He was a gorgeous man, one that put even the paid professionals in the room to shame. His skin was smooth like china, his dark eyes deep and mesmerizing. He was sharply dressed in a custom-made suit, one that fit perfectly to his tall and slim figure. His eyes never left Murmur, but a single eyebrow raised at his presence. He didn't even bother glancing at Sulavik. The Akalak seemed to warrant no interest from whom they could guess was the owner of the place. He walked with a cane in his grasp, yet did not use it. He had it behind his back at the moment, just clasping it tightly. It was a long steel cane colored black, with the head of a screaming silver skull. It was creepy, but at the same time, elegant. The man's voice came out, short and deep, with a bit of some kind of accent to it. It was a husky voice, one that would instantly bring one word to mind. Alluring. "Might I help you, sir? I understand you wanted to see me?"