[Silver Sliver Tavern] Self Service (Open)

[Cassandra Coven]

5th of Fall, 510 AV Summer had come and gone before she even realized it. But the passage of time was a good thing, or at least Cassandra thought so, for it meant she was rewarded her first salary for all the efforts she's poured in working in the Silver Sliver Tavern. The pay wasn't much but at least it allowed her to buy new things, such as new clothes to replace the deplorable ones she had before as well as the hand-me-downs she's received from others. It wasn't as if what she was doing was backbreaking work – serving tables seemed to be the same anywhere one went after all. Lousy tips, groping hands of drunks, and ogling eyes of the younger ones entering the pub...just like how things were in Syliras. It was all the same. This was not to say Cassandra was ungrateful, however. She had a place to stay to, and now money to support herself. Stepping stones for her to start a new life; never had she been without hope that things would turn out better in the future. Considering that her flight from Syliras had almost been the death of her, Cassandra was grateful for every little thing she received now, always thanking the gods, especially Priskil, for her blessings, though she always prayed in private for she had begun to realize how dangerous such a thing was in a city dedicated to Rhysol. Secretly, the young woman also prayed for the removal of the markings that tainted the veins in her hands a crimson shade. She had discovered that they were the source of the pain she experienced, from the headaches to the strange symptoms of heartburn, and its relief was somehow directly related to her hurting people. She got by by pretending to clumsily step on the tarvern patrons' toes, or “accidentally”scratching them with her long nails. The act of willfully exacting pain on another made her guilty, though she felt that she did not have a choice considering how much pain she had to suffer if she did not. Strangely, the pain people felt seemed to be more than what she inflicted warranted. The effect must be somehow related to the Gnosis mark. She resolved to discover more about the cursed thing. Tonight, however, Cassandra's thoughts did not dwell no such things. She had no need to worry about the mark's effects, having already “mistakenly” pricked one of the other serving girls with a kitchen knife while she was preparing the meal of the day. Besides, there were tables clean, food to ready, drinks to serve, and customers to please. It seemed as if the regular clientele were coming in tonight, though there might be new visitors with the changing of the season. Surely more merchants have brought new things in for trade. With an empty serving tray in one hand and a dishrag in the other, the barmaid scanned the crowd looking for anyone wanting to order or any table that needed cleaning. Thread Note : I've made this an open thread but please note that my main purpose for this is to meet one particular PC. If you would like to join and socialize, feel free, but please be warned that you will not be my main focus.

[Keating Ash]

The man sat alone at the table and stared into his mug. His large hands cradled the vessel loosely. It was empty, again. This is not working! A tampered rage lay with in his gaze; there was not enough alcohol in Mizahar to drown a woman’s vexations. He fumed at the thought. And the ale was not strong enough to wash away his troubles this night. He needed drink much stronger when the anger ran so hot. But Keating did not trust himself to look up and engage the barkeep. Even the voices of the patrons near him irked in this worked up state. Keating knew, if he only could get enough alcohol, he could become civil once again. It was Rose, of course. Always it was Rose. Even after ten years, his sister got to him as easily as the mouse stole the grain. Damn woman! She refused to listen. Rough hands gripped the cup tighter. He was supposed to have gone by now. He had planned to be out of this damnable city already. The farm beckoned. But after finding Rose here… how could he leave? He would not desert her again, even though she refused to leave that damnable job! A whore! Living as a common prostitute, because of him! It ate at his insides knowing she lay with other men. Even now some idiot would be warming her bed while she… His dark Rose, a whore! One hand lifted forcefully to rub across his face. Ravok! Keating snorted, his whole life spent toyed with, and trampled upon by the whim of the gods. Dark and brooding, Keating Ash leaned deeper into his elbows and scowled. The need for drink far outweighed the desire for solitude. Lifting his head, his tortured eyes scanned the room. There! A barmaid. With a brief, yet serious nod he called her over, and when the girl drew near, Keating reached out a large hand to grip her wrist, “I need stronger than this!” He told her shortly, not bothering to look up into her face. He handed her the mug before returning his gaze back to the old wooden table, and the imaginary acts he assumed Rose and her temporary paramour would be engaged in.

[Annerito Uwak]

Annerito had been sitting in the tavern for about five minutes. Sleep had evaded him as it did on many nights and wandering the streets and ill lit back alleys didn't appeal to his current state of mind. His usual murderous and hostile self that was teetering on the edge of sanity almost constantly was lost this night. Murderous intent had been replaced with the sound of voices crawling around in the back of his mind. Most of the time they were mere whispers of words that were fell off the spectrum of human hearing, but every once and a while a few voices would rise up with a damning fervor that bordered on deafening. But those voices had been more infrequently as the days went by. Annerito glanced to and fro as the tavern patrons went about there business of relaxing and celebrating whatever minor gifts had fallen into there sad little lives. As he glanced at each person a voice hissed in the back of his mind. Whore! Mongrel! They all need purification by flame! Do it! It was a temping suggestion but that murderous intent that usually accompanied Uwak was gone. "Watch and wait..." He mumbled to himself and that is exactly what he did for a few minutes. A thought of his own had occurred. He was in a tavern. Why not order a drink. Alcohol was usually pretty flammable and it would provide him something to stare at besides the people and the walls. Both got boring after a while. Annerito was an odd man. Many would consider him depraved and yet he didn't take part in many of the vices that life offered. The drink would only cause him to delve into a deeper of state madness. Sex was something he simply didn't have a need for or could really afford. It wasn't as if a woman would want to touch his burned and calloused flesh unless they were being paid a large sum of money. You are filth. Another voice. An insult directed at him. How wonderful. The acute paranoia that had been plaguing Uwak only moments ago was starting eroded by a tidal force of utter annoyance. Who had invited these god damn voices into his head anyway? He did, thats who. This is why he didn't overgive. The damn voices all came back with a new intensity. He would have preferred internal bleeding or some other painful and agonizingly slow death to this continued bullshit. Upon finally deciding what to do he got up from his small chair near the door entrance and wandered over to the bar, occasionally brushing a patron or two. He kept his head down as he walked, the slightest jingling sound accompanying him as the metallic tassels attached to his hood swayed back and forth as he moved. He took up a seat at a table that was slightly closer to the bar and across from him sat a rather angry looking man. Wonderful. Hopefully he would have some sob story that would give him a good chuckle. He needed a laugh. You thrive off the suffering of others don't you? You are nothing more than a vulture. Another insult hurled his way from the voices occupying his head. This particular insult didn't really bother him though, he liked the image it gave actually. A smile formed on his lips, very similar to the scared and burned one that seemed plastered upon the mask he wore. He listened to what the man who sat across him said. His tone obviously suggested he was angry and very possibly sad about something. Just perfect. "Bring me a drink as well." His voice was muffled only in the slightest by his mask making it seem he said everything at a volume that only hesitated above a loud whisper. He raised his head and gazed at the man who sat across from him. "What bothers you tonight?" He didn't really care if he got an answer or not. He would get his laugh one way or another tonight.

[Cassandra Coven]

A large and muscular man waved Cassandra over for a refill and the barmaid weaved her way smoothly through the maze of patrons and tables, expertly dodging grasping hands of some of the the friskier clientele. She kept just ahead of their unabashed grabs, making it seem like she's teasing them to try harder in their attempts to get a free squeeze in rather than pointedly avoiding their desirous touches. As she approached the large man's table, another customer, a cloaked man (or perhaps it was a large woman underneath the folds of the heavy fabric) moved in, settling himself to a table nearby, just across the man she intended to serve. She did not hear the bells hanging from the tavern's door that signaled the arrival of a customer chime so she assumed the newcomer had just transferred from another table. A quick glance under his hood revealed a mask with the caricature of a macabre smile painted on it. Cassandra suppressed a shudder; was he one of those Black Sun type perhaps? She hoped there would be no trouble tonight, the night was too fine for such unpleasant things. The young woman arrived at the side of the large man, who promptly reached out to grab at her wrist as he thrust his empty mug towards her with his other hand, eliciting a surprised cry from Cassandra. She could feel the large and thick fingers of his beefy hand through the thin fabric of her lace gloves, digging through her flesh, his grip tight and strong. The only released her when she took the mug with a trembling hand. He did not even look up at her when he demanded for a stronger drink. “Y-yes, sir, of course,” Cassandra stammered, fighting to keep her voice steady, injecting an equal mixture of calm and soothing in her tone to placate the man. “I'll bring you our house special.” She doubted the man even heard her as he stared sullenly at his table, his eyebrows like an oncoming storm above his dark and brooding eyes. Cassandra did not need her years of serving tavern patrons to read that the man was trying to drown his rage, and perhaps underneath that his sorrow, with potent drink. Trying to empathize with the man, the young woman wondered why he would be drinking alone and in such a foul spirit this fine night. Was he a jilted lover perhaps? She could not imagine why – albeit roughshod, the man cut a fine figure, tall and strong with an attractive, if currently frowning, face. He was one many a woman would not turn down as company for the evening. Shaking her head at her imaginings, Cassandra gave herself a bemused smile before nodding at the nearby hooded man to acknowledge that she had heard his order for a drink of his own. She made her way to the bar, filling the empty mug she had on hand and a new one from two different taps. The latter she filled with the regular draft enjoyed by every customer, foamy and fine, while the former was graced with the silver Sliver the tavern was well-known for. There was not a better drink in the city, nor a stronger one, than the Sliver. As she was about to leave to serve the drinks, one of the other barmaids leaned in close to Cassandra and whispered, “Hey! If you'll wait on Sir Creepy Cloak for the rest of the night, we'll let you have Tall, Dark, and Handsome as well.” The girl giggled. “He's a fine one, isn't he?” It was obvious the other girls were not looking forward to serving the cloaked and masked man, so much so that they were trying to make a deal with her by “throwing in” the tall and brooding man to make it seem like an attractive offer. Not that the tavern was lacking of attractive customers to flirt with, though the tall man certainly stood out among them with his cut figure. As the newest employee, Cassandra knew she'd be getting to serve the unpleasant ones for quite a while; she knew how it worked. With a tentative smile, the young woman could only nod at her co-worker. Presently, Cassandra returned to the tables she would apparently be serving for the rest of the night. She dropped the regular mug of ale off first at the cloaked man's table, keeping a respectful distance away from the strange man (or woman?) once she did so. “Good evening, sir,” she started, her voice pleasant despite the discomfort she was beginning to feel so near the cloaked man's presence. “My name is Cassandra, I will be serving your table for the night. The drink is four coppers; I'll put it on your tab for now in case you would like to order further. We serve meals as well, so if you decide to partake of one, please don't hesitate to catch my attention to take your order.” She did not wait for the man's reply, moving to the other table and sighing in relief as she served the tall man his drink. “This is house special, sir, where the tavern got its name. I hope you enjoy it. I will be serving your table for the night; my name is Cassandra.” She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she might upset the man further with barmaid spiel. She went on with it anyway, not wanting to treat the man any differently from the other customers. “We have hot meals ready to be served as well, in case you would like to order.” Unlike what she did to the cloaked man, Cassandra lingered about the tall man's table a little longer, hoping he would order a meal. Perhaps having food in his belly would improve his mood. While she though it unfair that she was favoring this man over Sir Creepy Cloak (as the other barmaids labeled him), the young woman did not feel any guilt over it. This man was certainly more pleasing to look at despite his seemingly foul mood. Cassandra's Notes: : Bill: Keating - 1 gm (Silver Sliver, mug) Annerito - 4 cm (Ale, mug)

[Keating Ash]

The order for stronger drink had been placed, and Keating once again became oblivious to his surroundings. Deep in thought, and deep in memory, the typical tavern atmosphere was no match for the pull of his private agony. Drunken voices and clinking dishes did not register in his mind. They were nothing to him, not even worthy background noise. All these things floated whisper-like around him in his reverie. So intent was he on his own thoughts, that he almost missed the low words of a masked fellow sitting near his table. Keating’s dark eyes shifted to rest upon the man, before they moved to glance among the crowd in the tavern. If he thought the man strange in garment or mask, Keating did not reveal it. He had worked in various taverns and well houses for over a decade, and during that time he had seen any manner of attire, and actions. Some of which he hoped never to see again. But this man did not register in that category; and his mask only served as a vivid reminder of Rose and her painted mask, and their ill-timed reunion in Ravok. Unable yet to speak civilly, Keating snorted at the man’s question. What bothered him? Only a little thing... Rose! That woman destroyed him daily as thoughts of her chipped away at his heart. Nightly, memories of her flesh tormented his soul. Every second of his miserable life she beckoned in word or spirit. But Keating was a proud man. Never would he announce his misery to the world, so he kept his mouth shut, a tight line against the overwhelming, yet conflicting emotions that threatened to violently discharge outward. He remained silent while the girl delivered his drink, but she spoke the words of barmaids everywhere. Keating was unwilling to speak or even acknowledge her. His actions were dismissive, yet still she hovered. Sliding his eyes to the side, he could see her dirty apron almost touching his shoulder. The woman’s continued presence next to him and her agreeable voice softly penetrated his shell. “Wait!” he said firmly as his eyes rose upwards from her apron. Without judgment, his practiced eyes appraised her, experience evident in their depths. His look was encompassing, though his face was still stern. But as their eyes met, the barmaid could see, his black eyes were haunted and soulful, and a deep sadness filled them. The look of which was so very different from the enraged expression upon his face he had been carrying previously. Keating lifted the mug in silent salute to the stranger at the next table, and brought the drink to his lips. The sorrowful expression vanished in a long, deep draught. His throat worked to swallow as much of the fiery liquid as possible. “Bring me another…, Cassandra,” he added, his attention returning to the remainder of the drink. It was strong, very strong and the burn of it coated his throat, but he could feel the beginnings of Rose’s death grip upon his soul begin to loosen. The desire to drown his feelings forced his hand, and Keating drank down the remainder. He did not choke or sputter, accustomed to hard drink as he was, but simply closed his eyes as the empty mug came down heavily upon the table. Soon he would be free, the alcohol dissipating his anguish for another fleeting night. It worked within him already, warming his bones. Forcefully Keating looked up at the man and shook his head, voice low, “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve got no troubles to speak of...,” he lied, and scratched at his chin. “’Cept waiting for that next drink.”

[Annerito Uwak]

He pushed the drink towards the man across him almost immediately after it was set down before him. A gesture of friendship. A gesture of trust. A potent weapon. Annerito watched the waitress move over to the other patron almost at once. That wasn't very nice. What happened to customer satisfaction? Was he truly that unnerving? Of course he was and he knew it. He relished in that fact and used it to fuel his constantly growing instability. He was something others looked upon with unease and even fear. He was a specter hovering on the proverbial edge of humanities ability to feel empathy and care. Annerito cocked his head to the side just a few degrees. It was gesture he decided that would show his displeasure seeing as no one could see him smile or frown through the mask. It added an unneeded quirkiness about him that he liked. It was also one of his few non lethal habits that didn't revolve around fire or or chucking around flaming mounds of earth. "That was rather rude of you. Do you always treat all of y-..." He stopped mid-sentence as the man across him spoke to Cassandra. Uwak found the interaction informative to say the very least. How he relished in the interactions of others. He was always an observer and often a meddler if the urge struck him. "You lie." He said it plainly and cooly. It was not an accusation but a statement of fact that his actions and body language showed. He was obviously brooding. "And you have your next drink." Annerito motioned to the untouched mug that he pushed in the mans direction earlier. Sly sack of filth! Another ill conceived insult. He was beginning to wonder of these whispers that slithered around his head were simply a manifestation of his own mind that only served to push him further and further. If so they were doing a lovely job. Or maybe the whispers got less intelligent as the effects of over-giving started to wear off. Either way it was a nice little ego boost. "We can always play the guessing game. How I enjoy the guessing game..." It was one of his favorite games indeed. There were an endless amount of possibilities that his twisted mind could come up with. He would start out with something relatively tame. "Lets see...judging by how you acted with the woman I'm saying girl troubles, yes?" He continued on without waiting for an answer from the man, he was enjoying this game far to much. "Beat your girlfriend to death? Sulking about now?"

[Cassandra Coven]

Cassandra heard the masked man start to complain - she didn't understand why, this wasn't a fine dining restaurant after all and she couldn't be expected to kowtow to his every whim while ignoring the other customers. She hoped he wouldn't start anything; the man looked like trouble. Ironically enough, Cassandra did exactly the opposite for the taller, brooding man (and much more attractive, she had to admit!) when he spoke, lingering about his table, waiting until he ordered something else or explicitly dismissed her (she hoped he wouldn't). Fortunately, the man asked for another mug of the house special, eliciting a smile from the dark-haired barmaid. "Coming right up!" she piped, heading for the bar again. Despite her enthusiasm, the man's thirst for strong drink sent a warning bell in her head. More often than not, the Silver Sliver's clientele preferred to take their time and nurse their drinks, taking a while to finish just one mug, regardless of what's served. The man went through his drink like a parched man dying of thirst however. It told Cassandra that he either loved his liquor or he was drowning unpleasant thoughts with the drink. He did not appear to be the town drunk, and the soulful sadness she noted not fully concealed beneath the feigned ambivalence in his eyes strongly hinted it was the latter. Such people were prone to displays of strong emotion once they got enough alcohol in their blood - never a good thing, in Cassandra's opinion. Still, she took a pitcher, enough to fill three to four mugs, of the Silver Sliver, feeling that the man could hold his liquor. "I thought you would like more than just a mug of it," the young woman said with a smile as she placed the pitcher on the man's table. "If there's anything else you need, Sir...?" Her voice trailed off but her tone was leading for the man to give his name, inviting him into conversation.

[Keating Ash]

Keating frowned at the drink pushed towards him. He made no comment, only observed the masked stranger, and studied his false face. Keating was not a man to take charity, even kindly offered charity. It went against his grain and his pride. He was neither weak, nor was he friends with the man. If he had been drunk, then maybe, but he was not yet there and the little alcohol he’d consumed, certainly had not yet affected his judgment. Anger still flowed in his blood; this was not the time for conversation. Later perhaps, after the next round he would be capable of civil speech. Keating rubbed at his temple, its cropped hair rough against his weathered fingers. This was what Rose had reduced him to… drinking to dampen the anger and the betrayal, to become a normal man once again, if only for a short time. “Thanks all the same, but I’m not in need of charity.” He said firmly and calmly to the man. Nodding in Cassandra’s direction, he added, “Another’s coming, right soon enough…” And with a push, the man’s drink was returned to him. But still, he talked and harassed him as Keating swallowed the last of his drink. The stranger accused him of lying! Keating lifted his dark eyes coldly to face his accuser and snorted. If Keating was honest with himself, the drive to do bodily harm to the stranger was strong. His inner aggressions fought for release and his fist curled slightly in its desire to punch the man. Keating was an intimidating man and his displeasure showed in his features. Why now? He wondered? Why not in another bell when he was lost in his cups; and frustration was washed away for a time? Then a drunken conversation would be welcome. Bala! Why was he so cursed! There could be nothing to make this night better! “Mister.” Keating replied, “I don’t much care for games, and you’re just not that good of a guesser... to go another round. I - ” and his head turned in a double take. Cassandra once more was at his side, and he turned his torso to look at the prettiness of the server. No doubt, she was a possible pleasant diversion from his troubles, and prettier by far than the masked man. His gaze traveled upwards and there in her hands was a pitcher of drink. A half smile crooked up the side of his face, it was a rare thing this night, but then she had surprised him. “It is welcome indeed, Cassandra,” he used her name for the second time and the alcohol began to work its magic upon him. “There is more I need, but only if you are willing…?” And his smile grew larger and more encompassing. “Call me Keating, I am no Sir.”

[Annerito Uwak]

Annerito scowled beneath his mask. Did this scum just snort at him? This pathetic piece of tavern trash thought he was above him? The urge to cause bodily harm to this man rose. But he would not take such radical actions just yet. He would continue to goad him. He hadn't snapped yet.This meant he had sense. He wasn't one who was easily manipulated or provoked. Maybe he was just suppressing the urge to punch him in the face? It didn't matter. It met he had some semblance of self control. This would simply not do. He would have to make him snap somehow. He doubted another round of the guessing game probably wouldn't do anything. This would require a bit of thought, or lack of thought. Annerito had a craving. For what? He wasn't entirely sure himself. He just knew it could only be appeased with some form of discontent and suffering. Physical or emotional, it did not matter. His first method of provocation didn't work, so it seemed he would have to resort to something a little more barbaric. It was also something that was far more enjoyable in Annerito's opinion. Violence. Preferably followed by a quick dash for home before the authorities showed up and started stabbing things. Despite being a city governed by the black sun there was till some semblance of order. The hypocrisy of such a notion made him chuckle. Order in a city who's patron deity was the god of chaos. How fun. He was happy he hadn't resorted to more violent methods. The conversation between the barmaid and the brooding alcoholic brought about a new avenue to antagonize. "You two are very friendly. Are you sure this isn't a whore house trying to pass itself off as a tavern? Be careful of the seducer. My friend." The last word had a particularly nasty sounding tone that was loaded with a mix of contempt and disgust. The barb was directed at the barmaid for the most part, but if the brooding one took offense to it as well that would do just fine. "Let me take a guess. Half a CM? Less? Probably less." Annerito was good at being a complete and utter jerk. He believed he excelled at it. Most of the people he spoke with probably thought the same as well. He tended to have that effect on people.

[Cassandra Coven]

Upon hearing the man utter her name, Cassandra lowered her lashes demurely. He actually remembered! Flattered and her interest in him only growing by the second, the dark-haired barmaid drifted closer, silently indicating to the man - Keating, he said his name was - that while she was not openly accepting his very suggestive invitation, she was not opposed to it either. He was an attractive one after all, tall and muscled. She had never consummated such an act out of feelings of attraction - yet! - but Cassandra thought that the man looked like he knew how to please a woman. Still, while flirting with the customers were not frowned upon (if it made them stay in the tavern longer to buy drinks, such acts must be good for business), Cassandra was unsure if accepting such offers were allowed. She smiled coyly, baiting him, and was about to lean in and suggest that they talk more after her shift but the masked man behind her spoke first. The words, dripping with malice and scorn, came to her like a physical blow, rocking her on her heels. The man all but called her a prostitute, and a cheap one at that! Cassandra's cheeks burned at the insult and she could only look at Keating in embarrassment. She was sure he heard the man's words as well, though she had no idea how he'd take to it. Perhaps it was a mean-spirited joke shared between them while she had been getting his drink and he was laughing at her inside already, but she didn't think Keating was like that. For her initial observation of the man told her there was kindness hidden beneath his gruff exterior. At least, she thought so. But she knew she should not assume, so wordlessly she turned from him slowly to face the masked man. "We-we don't... There are others establishments for... I'm not-I don't..." she stammered, trying to explain and protest at the same time, causing her words to come out in a jumble. Cassandra stopped, knowing she would just embarrass herself further. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before clearing her throat. "If that is all, sir, I hope you enjoy your drink. Have a pleasant evening." Turning once more, forgetting that Keating's table was there, Cassandra almost spilled the pitcher of Silver Sliver over the man's lap before her practiced hand reached over to steady the vessel. Her eyes met the man's dark eyes but immediately lowered hers, still flustered at the masked man's words. "If you need anything Sir...Kea...Keating, just wave me over," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be...I'll just be cleaning tables." Her other hand had already reached in her apron's pocket, clutching tightly at the dry rag inside. She left the man's side relieved, able to catch her breath now and regain her composure from the embarrassment the masked man had caused her.