Closed [Rearing Stallion] Hurricane Drunk (Orion, Rothyr, Carney)

[Naeya]

"And you can't save me now. I'm in the grip of a hurricane. I'm gonna blow myself away." Timestamp: Season of Summer, 64th Day, 512 AV – Evening The city stank worse than Rivarian horse manure. This thought had all but taken over Naeya's mind from the moment she'd arrived in Syliras. When she woke up, the smell permeated her existence. When she went about her day, it only worsened. And when she went to bed at night, the stink remained. The young Konti woman wasn't much of a drinker - in fact, it was a rare occasion to see a mug of ale in her scaled hand. Tonight, however, was one such occasion. In order to escape the smell, she'd run off to The Rearing Stallion. She had a sneaking suspicion, supported by past experiences told to her by friends, that a drink might make her more immune to the smell (or at least more apathetic). And right now she told herself that she wanted nothing more. A deeper and more pervasive truth was that Naeya was feeling deeply homesick. She had been away from home for nearly thirty days, and still had many, many more of these days to go. It was her first time outside of Riverfall, and so far she'd seen two cities and a lot of sea. The first city, Alvadas, had succeeded only in frightening her with its unnerving and unnecessary illusions (a feature which she hoped never to return to). The second was Syliras which, at this point, wasn't doing so well for itself either. Naeya sat on a barstool with a half-empty mug of ale in front of her. Pale blonde hair fell halfway down her back, a clear contrast against her long, jade green dress. Truthfully, it wasn't really the comparison of Riverfall to the foreign cities that was affecting her the most. It was the lack of her family, her friends... the scarcity of what was most familiar. She had grown closer to her travelling companion, but the Symenestran girl was no Kobalt. No Behren. No Imass. She swirled a finger around the rim of the mug, and glanced sideways at the people who populated the tavern. Tonight... tonight was for forgetting. For pretending. Tonight was for becoming someone else: someone who wasn't so homesick and sad and far away from everyone and everything that she loved. "Bartender! I'll have another one."

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 64, 512 AV At this point the place was almost Orion's second home. Each day after he completed his tasks, he would return his medical supplies, clean himself up, and make his way to the tavern with intentions none too pure. Today would be no exception. Drinking was a large part of his lifestyle, but getting other people drinking, now that was even better. Everyone had much more fun when they didn't have a filter. He hoped tonight would be one of those nights. He'd taken a table slightly earlier in the night, disinterested in the happenings of the tavern up to this point. No one had really caught he eye, as he found himself staring quietly into his drink. His mind had wondered to work; the hours, people, wages, and procedures. For Orion, this was unacceptable. "Nope, nope, nope. Not tonight." He said aloud. "Something is going to happen tonight." It may have been one of his larger understatements. "Bartender! I'll have another one." His eyes widened slightly, turning his head to find who'd spoken some of his favorite words to hear from a woman. When Orion's found her, a look of shock briefly sat upon his face. Orion. You're slipping. How did you miss her? Shaking his head, the physician downed his drink, stood and made his way over to the bar stool next to her. He'd couldn't remember seeing a Konti woman before. It's possible he'd passed one at the Great Bazaar, but unlikely. He was always on the lookout, after all. Long blond hair and..scales? Interesting... Orion took the seat next to hear and spoke to the bartender. "Another drink, please. And add her last to my tab." He turned to the Konti woman. "I figured I'd be the first of the pack of wild dogs bound to swarm you the longer you stay here and the drunker they get. Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but welcome to Syliras?" he half asked, have stated. "I'm Orion. Charmed, I'm sure," he said, offering a handshake and giving her a wink.

[Carney]

Curley sat at a barstool near and tried to drown his pain and the like in drink when he heard a female voice say, another one, the gentlemen in him said outright, "I have it covered barkeep and one for me as well!", but he was beat to it. He looked over to the Konti woman nodded saying, "Long day?" He had been drinking a dark beer and was nearly done with it, he welcomed the new drink whatever it maybe. It had been about a week and a half or so since he had ran into a large bear, between that and his work he was a very sore man with a very empty cup,

He also was one who was missing his home of Riverfall, and between him and Sorley, his twin soul, it had been proving to be hard to be so far from everything they knew. He looked over toward where the womans voice had come from and smiled brfore finishing the rest of his drink. "New here?" He tossed the barkeeper a few coins and turned back toward the woman. Until ths point he had chosen to ignore the man that had sat besde the woman. Carney could hear hs brother telling him that he had been there first and to "do something" but he was not drunk enough for Sorley to take over yet.

However when he heard the packs of dogs comment Carney could not help but feel a little sour, he thought to homelf that likely the only dog around was the one calling others wild dogs. He held his tounge though, he had nothing to prove to this man. Though he did find it to be rude that he had been interrupted by the man, as he had been talking first. Or was it the booze talking, either way he fgured it to be wise to stay his tounge. After waiting for the one who called himself Orion to finish Carney threw in his words, "I am Carney and charmed I am sure miss." It was a loose thing to say that it was Carney though as more and more of the darker brother was beginning to show, slowly and without permission. Though the last thing he wanted was to start a fight with the other man who was present.

[Rothyr Windbourne]

"The Rearing Stallion? Sounds like my kind of place." Rothyr said to his horse, Windlass. It had been awhile since he had sat down for a beer. Most of his available resources had been going to the bare necessities: Feeding himself, his horse, arrows, tools, among other things. Not to mention, he mostly bartered and traded for all those things with antlers, hides, bones, meat and other trinkets he made with what he could find. However, an aspiring leatherworker had paid in coin for a few good sides of leather he had brought in, and for some tips and pointers. Rothyr was no craftsman, but he had seen and worn enough Drykas leather in Cyphrus to know what was good quality protection or a burden. So he told him what he could, and took his coin gratefully. With this good fortune in mind, Rothyr decided he would drink tonight.

Rothyr dismounted, and tethered Windlass, much to the strider's dismay.
"You know I don't like this either. I'd take you in, if I could, but I don't imagine they'd let you through the door..."
He looked to the threshold, and looked back to Windlass,
"If you could fit, that is. This door doesn't look like it's made for horses." Windlass snorts at Rothyr, and nudges his hand with her nose.
"How about I bring you some oats and apples, when I get finished?"

Windlass whinnied at this, and Rothyr laughed, patting her on the head. He pulls on his tunic, figuring he ought to be decent, and stows his weapons on Windlass, all except for his knife, which he tucked into his boot. Taking a deep breath, and figuring out which ale he would have first, he walks into the Rearing Stallion.

Rothyr looks around the unfamiliar scene, this being his first time in a solid-wall tavern. He had visited mead-tents in Endrykas, but those were but large tents with some small tables and chairs, and most people just sat on the ground anyways. The wooden tables astounded him, as well as the size and scope of the place. The first thing he noticed was the smell. The mead-tents in Endrykas were much more ventilated, seeing how the walls were cloth and the wind could come through much better. Here, everything stayed, and stank up the place.

'When in Syliras,' he thought to himself, 'Do as the Sylirans do, I suppose.'

He spied some empty seats at the bar, where an Akalak and a human were trying to buy the same woman a drink. He didn't see any other places in the Stallion to sit, so he went there and joined them.

Rothyr took his coins into his hand, and placed them on the bar,
"Bartender, how about a drink for me and my friends here," He said, motioning to the three beside him.

"We're celebrating, you see! So keep our glasses full, friend!"
The bartender took his coins and placed their drinks before them. Rothyr took his mug and raised it in thanks to the bartender, and turned to the three.

"Hail, friends, my name is Rothyr Windbourne, and tonight I celebrate life and good fortune. Care to join me?" He said with a wide smile. After his trouble in Cyphrus, Rothyr had done what he could to lay low and keep a low profile, which is hard to do for a Drkyas man. Coming from a culture of song and laughter, loud talk and louder actions, this was particularly difficult. So, for a night, he would put away the refugee, and just be himself.

[Naeya]

"Long day?" The Akalak seated next to her began to speak, and Naeya glanced at him with delight. She had spotted the man when she'd first sat down and filed him away as a welcome reminder of home, but they had both been so inwardly focused that she hadn't yet screwed up the courage to say hello. "Long month," she replied, giving the Akalak a wry grin. "How has your-" Her conversation with the Akalak man was interrupted by the second stranger on her other side. A slow blush coloured her freckled cheeks as the Konti woman suddenly became aware of being the focal point for two very different men. Under any other circumstance, she would have hated to be the centre of attention. Naeya found it stressful and embarrassing, and usually tried to avoid it by quieting down until the person in question moved on to something, or someone, else. But she didn't want to be Naeya today. After a moment's hesitation, she accepted Orion's handshake and returned his wink with a raised eyebrow and a smile. "Charmed, indeed. Thank you very much for the drink, Orion. I'm..." Naeya glanced quickly around the tavern, and her eyes landed on a musician preparing to play. "Lute... rah. Loo-tra! I'm Lutra." That was a believable human name, right? "Orion, this is Carney," she continued, leaning back slightly in her chair so that the two men could get a better look at one another. The Akalak's mocking introduction had passed right over her head, and she spoke as though nothing unusual had happened. "Carney, Orion. And I'm Lutra." The Konti girl pointed to herself a little too enthusiastically, as she was quite pleased with her new identity. A thought radiated to the forefront of her mind, and she turned to Carney excitedly. "Are you from Riverfall, by any chance?" she asked in Tukant, forgetting that Orion would be unlikely to understand anything but the word 'Riverfall.' "I only ask because I haven't yet many any Akalak outside of the city and, well, I've just come from there. I mean, not 'just.' In truth, it feels like it's been ages." The small amount of alcohol she'd already drank seemed to have loosened her tongue a bit, though she still felt very much in control of her surroundings. As she spoke, another stranger joined the group at the bar and immediately ingrained himself by buying a round of drinks. She now had two full mugs of ale in front of her, plus the half-empty one she'd started with. Naeya would have been worried at the night's prospects, but the Konti ignored 'Naeya' for the time being. 'Lutra' was the one who would help her forget. Lutra or the ale, anyway. "To life and good fortune!" she declared good-naturedly in Common, pleased with the toast. She raised her half-empty mug to clink it with her new companions (it was something she'd frequently seen people do at taverns), and then downed the remainder of the drink. It was an effort to keep her lips from pursing in distaste, but she managed to swallow the ale with only a wrinkle of her nose to betray her mild aversion. Naeya tilted her head and pointed a finger in Rothyr's direction. "You, sir, look familiar. You remind me of, uhh..." She snapped her fingers twice to refresh her memory, as she'd somehow forgotten the word she wanted to say. "Of the Drykas people!" She had seen many Drykas in her short lifetime and could recognize the way they carried themselves fairly easily. "But you're a long way from home, friend." She took a small sip of ale and looked at Rothyr expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. Behind the group, music began to swell.

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 64, 512 AV An incredulous grin slowly spread over his face as he listened to the Akalak nearly repeat everything he said, albeit in less eloquent wordplay. Is this..for real? Is he mocking me? Orion's face flushed slightly, thrown off his game. Still learning the subtleties of this art, there was a certain flow he would follow that made things easier. When someone took him out of his place, it was always a woman. Not an Akalak. He fumbled with his words for a moment before taking a deep breath to regain himself. He let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. "Well, Miss Luterah Loo-tra Lutra, I must admit, my purpose for coming over here was one thing, but this fine gentleman has altered tonight's path, it would seem." He motioned for another round from the bartender as the ever growing number of drinks in front of them continued it's slow increase. "Bartender, how about a drink for me and my friends here." Orion's eyes lit up as he heard it. "By the gods, this night is going to be the stuff of legends!" If I can remember it. He smirked, turning to Rothyr. What was it...2 mugs before he saw her...or was it 3? He'd ordered 2 more...and now his...? Oh well. With a shrug, and a mug of ale in each hand he greeted the Drykas man. "Roythr. Please, we'd be happy to share in this evening with you, I'm sure. I'm Orion." He motioned to the other two. "The beautiful Lutra, and the..indescribable..Carney." He raised the mug in his left hand to Rothyr. "To life, good forture, beautiful women, enough coin in your pocket, and a strong mug of ale!" But not too strong. The night had just begun and there was just the one beautiful woman.

[Rothyr Windbourne]

Rothyr raised his fresh mug with a laugh, glad these complete strangers would be joining him. He took a deep drink from his mug, letting some of the brew spill over his lips. He had never tried this Syliran ale, but he enjoyed the taste of the bitter brew. In his eyes, you could really get a feel for the area by sampling it's local specialties. Locally brewed ale, using ingredients taken straight from the streams and rivers, fields and flowers, one could learn much about the land around them. The taste rang tones of the city, complex and honed to a solid ale, while light. The brewmaster who created this had a particular taste in mind for this ale, and he created it. When you drank this ale, you drank Syliras, and Rothyr didn't mind Syliras so much after that long drink. The brews in Cyphrus changed with the seasons, and that was part of the fun. But, he could get used to this.

Rothyr laughed again, at Orion's comment about the night being the stuff of legends, “Legendary it shall be, friend! We shall make it so!” He clapped the man on the shoulder, the one called Orion. He had a feeling he and the man would get along well. He was friendly, it seemed, like Rothyr.

He looked to Lutra next, “Yes, miss, I am of the Drykas. Emerald clan, to be precise. Best hunters on the plains we are! I am a long ways from home, aye, troubles brought me here, and troubles are what I forget tonight. I have not long been in town, either.”

He takes a moment to listen to the music, noticing the lute-player strumming a song amongst other minstrels nearby. The tune was lively, and fitting of the theme of the evening, which was good. The mood about the Stallion was lively, and fun.

“Miss Lutra, are you a lover of music? Your name is similar to the instrument of the minstrel over yonder, and it makes me curious if the ones who named you were musicians,” he said, lifting his mug to his lips for another, less sloppy drink, "If you were, I might ask you to dance!"

[Naeya]

Naeya had no intention of allowing Rothyr's troubles to be forgotten. Although she was far from malicious, one could not simply perk her curiousity with vague references to their past and expect her to ignore it. In her buzzed state, she didn't see anything wrong with pressing the issue. What sort of troubles could the Emerald Drykas possibly be running from? she mused, keeping her deep green eyes on Rothyr for a half-chime longer than necessary. Before she could question her new acquaintance about his mysterious history, however, he began to interrogate her. Naeya started in her barstool as Rothyr asked about the origins of her "name." Oh Goddess. He knows. The Konti choked on her ale, and broke out into a small coughing fit. "Erm... ah..." Memories of why she rarely lied came flooding back to her. I am, without a doubt, completely and utterly terrible at this. Ironically, like the man she'd been so set on pestering, all she had wanted to do was forget her personal problems. She hadn't realized that escaping into "Lutra's" persona would involve so much more than simply renaming herself. There's got to be a way to get myself out of this predicament... A distraction, perhaps? Naeya's voice increased suspiciously by an octave as she attempted to reply to Rothyr's inquiry. "Minstrel?" she squeaked out. "Oh, look! A lute! I love lutes. And... music. Don't you love music?" ...I sound like a petching fool. She halted her rambling with a wince, and inhaled a deep breath. The mug of ale touched her lips once more, and she stared awkwardly down at the bar counter. This was not her finest moment - and with alcohol as her guide, it could really only get worse. Perhaps it was time to simply write the night off and accept that these strangers would not be seeing her at her most intelligent. Clasping her hands together, she raised her eyes and glanced from both Rothyr to Orion with a new look of resolve. Even if they had both completely seen through her lie (a development which would not at all surprise her), she could still channel Lutra. Couldn't she? Behind the group, tavern patrons had begun create a small dance floor around the musicians. Several men and women were already clapping and swaying to the lively rhythm. Naeya grinned cheekily. "Since you only might ask me to dance, I suppose I should do the honours myself!" Leaving her remaining mugs of ale at the bar's counter, she slid carelessly onto her feet. "You are both welcome to join. Or not. Whatever you wish." She winked (a clear indicator, along with her flushed cheeks, that the drink was going straight to her head) and skipped over to the musicians, her green dress swirling behind her.

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 64, 512 AV Rothyr seemed friendly enough and Orion thought the man gentlemanly enough not to step in another man's target. Therefore, he liked him. Loud, but almost poetic in his words, the doctor wouldn't at all be upset to lose to this man. Not with a few more mugs in him at least. Carney, on the other hand... Sipping from his mug, he listened half interested to the exchange between Rothyr and the woman who'd likely given a false name. Speaking of lutes, musicians, and troubles back home. Orion didn't know many Drykas, but the ones he had met all seemed to share this outgoing trait that this one was displaying. Lutra caught his focused solely as she reacted to the Drykas' question. It was a simple question, and any doubt that Orion had about her hiding her identity was evaporated. The music had quite picked up, Lutra using it as her out to escape the questioning. We've all got our secrets, Miss Lutra, he thought to himself, nodding to her invitation. Dancing. Orion's heart nearly jumped up into his throat at her offer. Smooth, friendly, and talented at medicine, were some things quite true when said of Orion. A word you couldn't use to describe him would be a dancer. Far from it, in fact. A dangerous man on the dance floor from plank like arms and unpredictable movements, if he could channel his dance into combat, none could stand before him. "I'd love to dance." It was the ale talking. It had to be. I hope it is.. With that, Orion slammed down another mug, standing to follow the beautiful blond into the small crowd. Maybe she's had enough to drink, she won't notice what I'm doing. The young man chuckled, looking over to their Drykas companion. "Well, Rothyr? You coming?"

[Rothyr Windbourne]

“Aye, I come!” He paused to drain the remainder of his ale. He held his breath longer than anticipated as he downed the rest of his mug. He took a moment to regain composure unused to putting away so much alcohol at once, and catch his breath for having held it so long as he finished his drink. He had begun to swagger a bit, not a lot but enough. He weaved around a chair or two, as he made his way to the dance floor. He was unused to sitting on barstools, which didn't help matters as he tried to maintain his balance.

As they had spent their time talking by the bar, the sky had grown darker. More and more people came out of the woodwork to the Stallion to drink the night away after the sun went down. Rothyr had not noticed them coming in. He was about halfway to the dance floor, the band played their lively tune as he followed Orion and Lutra there to learn how the Sylirans danced. Rothyr was having a good time, he had chosen a good night to come to the Stallion. It must have been the comfort of drink that caused him to let his guard down. Because before he could make it to join them, he tripped. His boot caught on a nail, and he fell.

Rothyr wasn't one to be so clumsy, but he had been drinking. There is also the golden rule to consider: shyke happens. However, there was a bit of collateral damage with this nasty stumble. Before Rothyr hit the ground, he instinctively reached out to grab something solid to hold him up, be it bar, stool, chair, or a post in the ground. Tonight, it was a very, very large man. The man could have passed for a Jamoura, but he was human. Rothyr wouldn't have survived what came next if he wasn't.

Rothyr stood a good six feet tall, but still this man was taller. Not by much, though, maybe four inches taller at a first guess, but the man was certainly wider and stockier with skin darkened by the sun. The man was possibly a blacksmith or some sort of craftsman like a mason or worked in construction. Either way, the man seemed to not need hammers, his fists swung hard enough.

“Get off, you drunk!” The man yelled, swinging his fist into Rothyr's face with a loud 'CRACK!' Rothyr's head about spun off his shoulders, and he was sent into the nearest table, nearly knocking it over. Luckily, it was a vacant table and nothing more was spilled.

Looking back up, Rothyr's nose was bent at an angle, and pouring blood down his face. His right eye was growing dark, it was likely he'd have a black eye by the next day. He reached up to touch it, sensing something was amiss by the fact he now breathed sideways. Feeling his nose and it's new shape, he took his nose in his hands and with a swift “SNAP” re-set it straight as he could, still leaving it swollen but at least pointing in the right direction.

'That really hurt,' he tought to himself, still hazy from the blunt force trauma to his head he had just received. The big guy had turned back to what he was doing, not seeing the Drykasman as a further threat, and Rothyr started letting his anger get the best of him.

“Hey Petchface!” Rothyr yelled, balling up his fists, “Dare you to try that again!”