[Malfazar’s] Where You Belong [Bob]

[Victor Lark]

45 Spring, 507

The next person to enter the Hut seemed too young to have ventured so far from the city center, much less into a bar full of rowdy adults and various other shades of delinquency. He stood at the cusp of his mature height and his soft face was dotted with the blemishes of his unbridled hormones. Not only that, he was dressed in clothes that should have only been found at a funeral in the Noble’s District: a glossy black tie sat over a crisp buttoned shirt, though if he had a coat it was long abandoned. His polished leather shoes made little sound above the prevailing bustle of the early evening as he advanced on the bar.

Climbing onto the tall stool did not trouble him as much as he anticipated; he squirmed proudly in his seat as the barmaid approached with a patient smile. The youth reached into his pocket and produced a shining golden coin. It snapped onto the counter beneath his fingers and as he sat back, he said, “One, please!”

She took the money as if it were an appropriate payment for a single drink, forgetting to give him change. He tapped the table with the whole of his palms and swung his legs between the chair’s rungs. His eyes moved around the room in a sad attempt at scrutiny until the hard clunk of glass against wood pulled them back to his immediate surroundings. His vision was consumed by a giant pint of ale. His grin nearly split his face in two as he reached for the cold, moist mug with both hands. For a moment, he could only stare at it, but then he remembered to seem presentable. He lifted the heavy glass with one hand, and for the first time in his fifteen years, took a taste of alcohol.

[Bob Barton]

Bob did not like Ravok. It had this eerie, uneasy feel to it. But that was just him apparently. The people who live here seem to be just like any other city going on with their everyday lives. The people even go to their favourite spot after work. Those pointed Bob to Malfazar's. A quaint little tavern outside Ravok. If people were willing to make a trip outside just for this, then Bob would have to try it out himself. For the sake of experiencing what other people do of course.

The smell of booze and tobacco filled his nose as soon as he stepped him. Not one of his favorite kind of places then but still his kind of people. Just being new to Ravok, Bob had no acquaintances or friends to speak of so its the bar for him. Like the young boy who entered before him, Bob did not find much trouble getting up the stool although he was staring at it a little disturbed by its height earlier.

Only ale and tobacco? What sort of a place was this? When Bob asked if there was anything else for him, he started to get funny looks. Fine then. But not wanting the drink he called for the tobacco instead.

A little whiff and a puff was all Bob could take until he found himself coughing and hacking. Looking around it was embarrassing. Even the boy beside him did not have any trouble taking in his alcohol. Just to save his face, Bob went through the motions of having a little smoke again. This time not sucking anything in. As if it would fool anyone.

[Victor Lark]

The ale, which seemed to his eyes as light and sweet as honey water, was inexplicably bitter on his tongue. Victor managed not to wince, but instead revealed his surprise in the whites of his narrow eyes. The mug fell loudly against the table in his faltering grasp. When the last of it found his throat, the warmth that tickled at his brain made him forget his displeasure at the taste. He smiled.

Consumed in the adventure, he had not noticed the short man that accompanied him at the bar. Their introduction was a sudden series of loud coughs that turned Victor’s gaze from its vaguely contented stare to an unrestrained laugh. He let the mocking grin linger on the stranger’s face as he kept his eyes on him, trying to catch his attention. Only after he witnessed the self-conscious recovery did he offer up a cough of his own.

“Having trouble?” He asked with the kind of haughty condescension typical of his family’s class. There was no need to admit that Victor himself had never tried the pipe and would have probably struggled similarly. Though this was his first visit to the remote tavern, he felt inspired to pretend he belonged, if only to satisfy his recently acquired position as the composed one. He wrapped his fingers around the moist glass and looked forward at nothing in particular. “I take it you’ve never been here before.”

[Bob Barton]

A cough suddenly surfaced from beside him after his own. Its timing was too nicely done especially since it was following after the laugh. Bob looked over his shoulder. The brat, he was mocking Bob wasn't he? Look at that grin showing at his face.

Bob normally liked to take deep breaths when answering those he met for the first time. From experience these introductions tend to take long and any pause in the middle will just make the listener lose interest. As he did his habit in reflex to the boy's question, he sucked on the pipe for another mouthful and he chocked on it again.

A little cough cleared whatever was in his throat to answer the boy. "No, no trouble at all. This is good stuff." Bob tried to give a little smile and stop himself from coughing again. Despite what he had just said he was thinking that this can't be good at all or he wouldn't be chocking on it. Bob casually put the pipe on the table to mimic all the other smokers in Malfazar's but unlike those who had already been using the pipes for most of their life, his fingers on it was clumsy and his hands looked strange when holding on to it.

What gave Bob away? Was it his clothes or his shining personality in this town of doom and gloom. Regardless it won't do to look out of place. Some of the more unsavory people of this world make it a point to prey on the lost and less informed who find themselves at a new place. Maybe this boy can provide some insight. "How can you tell? Well you are right. I only got to Ravok a few days ago. How about you? Here your whole life?"

[Victor Lark]

There rose and incredulous bend in the youth’s brow, half hidden behind his profile as he refrained to look back at the sputtering man. A heavy gulp of ale followed a breath of a chuckle, and Victor was forced to pause longer than he would like to push the drink into his throat. A genuine cough threatened to ruin his inflated sense of reputation, but he managed to let it claw angrily at his palate until he could swallow it. His ears barely caught the tail end of an answer as it was spat into the thick air between them.

“Lucky guess,” he replied, glancing sideward as he attempted to hide his distaste in learning the man’s status as foreigner, “I only meant to the Beer Hut, though. I would think someone who had been here before would know how to properly smoke a pipe!”

Finally, he turned to him. His eyes moved up and down without pretense, unsure what to make of the strangely shaped traveller. The happiness that welled from his liver to the back of his mind begged for another sip of alcohol, so he slid it off the table to lift it to his mouth again. But the mug was heavier than his quickly intoxicated memory had anticipated; he was forced to catch it in both hands. He took another hasty gulp and set it down quickly, trying to distract from the embarrassment with more words. “I am from the city, if that’s what you mean. Born and raised. What brings you here? To Ravok, I mean.”

Idle chatter bored him. Before he allowed the man to answer such a tedious and ambiguous question, Victor added, “And what do you like about tobacco, anyhow?” He could not resist a supercilious smile as he glanced at the pipe between stub fingers and the worn wood of the bar.

[Bob Barton]

Someone is a really bad liar. Really bad if he cannot even fool a boy who is probably halfway drunk with his ale. Bob is going to have to work on that. Especially since he just inadvertently gave himself away. "Next time, I am just going to lie and deny." Bob thought to himself on his new lesson learnt.

Continuing to smile as the boy glanced sideways, Bob did not tell that the boy may have something against him and answered "There are no lucky guesses, just calculated chances." hoping to maybe get the secret. Then looking at the pipe that he apparently should properly know how to smoke, "No, some people just recommended that I come here. If I had known they only had ale and tobacco, I'd probably go somewhere else. Any suggestions?"

The boy opened the line for communication when he finally looked at Bob. And Bob watched closely as he struggled with his mug of ale. The boy may have had too much and if Bob was not careful, he might end up like that. So he put his pipe on the table before continuing their conversation. "Why would anyone go anywhere?" a question asked more as a statement. Without waiting for a reply he answered it himself "I am just here to probably see if there are any opportunities for me. Thats all." Though what opportunities he wanted, that would better be kept to himself.

"What do you like about tobacco?" Thats a pretty good question and there was only a stupid answer waiting for it at the end. Bob looked at the pipe and back to the boy before looking away to hide the embarrassment in his face when he answers it. "Its not that I like tobacco, its that I don't like ale." Once he got back his bearings he looked back at the boy expectantly for the answer to his question. Better to have a local to show him around the place especially with the reputation of Ravok.

[Victor Lark]

OOCSorry it took so long, and sorry it's not a lot to go on. >_>

“Don’t like ale? Pssh.” Victor’s incredulous exhale was tellingly sloppy, but he did not seem to notice. “It’s delicious. At least this one is. You—” He began to offer a taste to the stranger, but then he decided that he did not like him enough. The witty little phrases that dotted his language (of which Victor remembered little except that they had tickled a smile onto his loosening lips) might have won him over, but Lark was raised a right racist. Even a human was unworthy if he was not a Ravokian, or so he had been told.

So Victor took the sip that might have been Bob’s. When the quarter-full glass clattered to the bar again, he had to wipe the corner of his mouth before he spoke. “No opportunities for strangers without wares,” he said, raising one eyebrow at the optimistic foreigner. “The people who told you to come all the way out here probably wanted you out of their way. I wouldn’t suggest going any further into the city unless you’re a merchant or a pilgrim. Or maybe you should!” He took another small sip, almost instead of a breath. “Maybe I could follow you, so I can see what happens.”

They were idle threats; Victor could not quite wipe the jesting grin from his face no matter how many times he glanced away or managed a twitch of a frown. “Anyway, we’re here, not there. I don’t like tobacco. I like ale. Why don’t you like ale? It’s delicious,” he repeated, and drank again, and raised his hand to the barmaid. “Another!”

[Bob Barton]

OOCNo problems, its my fault for not contributing much as well

Someone was a little bit hostile...maybe? This is why Bob does not like to drink, it can make a person a little loopy unless they knew their limits. Breaking these limits, it can put a person in a dangerous situation as he had seen many times. And Bob is one of those people who cannot risk having that. He already pushes his luck a lot. Its a surprise he isn't quite dead yet.

"Merchants or pilgrims you say? Hmmmm..." While the boy didn't seem like he was going to help when admitt he would want to see what happens to Bob, he did give some key advice. Advice which Bob would be a fool not to act on. "What pilgrims are you talking about?" Bob was no merchant so that is definitely out of the question, unless he could somehow "acquire" some wares of his own. But that would be hard work. Better to see if he can get in as a pilgrim of whatever it was then. His reasoning was pilgrims only have to walk around. How hard could that be?

Oh well, the more Bob can get the boy to talk the more he would know what to do next in Ravok. And he had noticed that everytime before the boy would say something, he would have a sip of his ale first. Time to test the theory that ale can make anyone talk more. Safer to try it on a kid too compared to big scary men.

Sighing he raised his hand. "Only one...one to get things started..." he reminded himself in his head. Bob waved at the barmaid to get her attention "And one here too!" and then looked back at the boy besides him "I'll try one then. But you better help me see it through." One is one, and Bob promised himself that he won't waste mizas going through them like water. "So if we are stuck here for a bit, I guess I should tell you I'm Bob?" trying to get the ball rolling.

[Victor Lark]

Despite his appearances, Victor was solidly convinced of his own sobriety. He had only put away a single pint; he could not possibly be made a fool by so little, even though it was the first and only pint that had ever entered his stomach. He only had eyes for the approaching barmaid as she returned with two mugs. And, as his latest acquaintance had predicted, the Lark boy tipped the fresh glass to his mouth before he bothered to regard him. He was laughing before he finished swallowing. “You bet I’ll help you see it through,” he replied, relishing the now familiar rush of cold beer and warm intoxication. As if it were a side note, a passing triviality, he added, “Victor.”

He did not usually withhold his surname from an introduction; it benefitted him to be known as nearly a Noble, in this city. But here was a stranger, who did not know his name, who could be anyone. Saying only one name, as Bob had, made the youth feel anonymous and defiant. In the same vein, he obliged the ignorant foreigner’s blasphemous question with a wry smile. “Chaon.” He answered, proudly aware that Bob would not recognize the word, “Or those who want to become one. Rhysol’s followers. This is Rhysol’s Ravok, after all!”

Victor had never been very religious; he and his family rarely attended church, but they swore in the name of Rhysol and thanked Rhysol’s grace for good fortune. He knew there was a drinking song or two about Him, but he did not have the chance to try and remember the tune. His drunken voice had spoken those final words above the collective murmur of the Hut’s patrons, who heard him and took up the song he had inadvertently suggested. Laughing, Victor turned around and attempted to guess the words he did not know.

“There’s an ear in the shadow and an eye in the lock,
and the words you said are rumors new
‘cause we all want to see what She’ll do to you
in ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!”

Bored before the first verse was over, he turned back to Bob again. Then he raised his mug—apparently unversed in the etiquette of toast-making, given the significant depletion of his drink compared to the one it would ring against—and exclaimed, “To Rhysol!”

[Bob Barton]

A little confused, Bob held out the mug as well. Toasting along with Victor "To Rhysol!" and then taking a few sips of the ale. He took them slowly and as little as possible. Well he was drinking but he won't drink much. And since Victor did promise to see it through he might have the chance to get the boy to drink a lot more until he sings more than that Rhysol song.

Bob took in the bitter-sweet taste of ale like all the others. He did not know what this Chaon or Rhysol is. Heck he was not even aware that Victor was referring to a god. And the only gods be probably knew about was Priskil, Sagallius and Aquiras that the akalak squire he used to practice with told him back in Syliras. And of course the only god which Bob truly looked up to from the three was Sagallius for his infamous accomplishments. Oh yes and the twins. His lovely benefactors.

"So uhhhh...Rhysol. She must mean a lot to Ravok then seeing how much you people seem to respect her." Yes, Bob was so ignorant about the gods that he even thought Rhysol was the she that the song referred to. But then he had to keep the conversation running if he wanted to know more about this pilgimage things. "These pilgrims of Chaon. What do they do for Rhysol, Victor?"

Again the mug of ale reached into Bob's mouth as he sipped on it a little. He needed to keep up the ruse that he was actually drinking the ale and hoped that the boy would follow suit and drink as much as he could.