Common | Vani | Others | 7th Winter, 514AV
She pulled at her clothes and tightened the bindings of her shoes.
Altaira had heard story and tale again of the so called 'Kelp Bar.' Men and women and sailor alike with their drunken slurs and breath of salt and ale. The case was almost the same each time, Altaira's duties unchanging to the point where she was near prepared for each evening with her teas and tonics for the need to arise. Someone said something and then got hit. Then they tried to hit back and things got bloody - she needed to prepare teas to curb the pain and ease the symptons of a common hangover, and salves to clean and cover cuts and gashes. It's been over a season since she'd allowed herself the pleasure of drink and outings, and with an evening off and Morwen's grasp beginning to truly take hold, she felt that perhaps it was time she lent herself to discover the truth behind 'The Kelp Bar.'
She'd not be so daft as to wear one of her summer or spring dresses to the occasion, her own embroidered blouse and trousers worn, with a further jacket and low boots for good measure. 'Warm and covered. Easy to move.' It was an absent thought with which she rubbed her sides. No dagger, no weapons. She was always better with her fists, though having spent the last seasons as she did, to go out into the evening with not a weapon on hand left her feel, to simply put it, strange. Relaxed, perhaps.
As her walk continued along the dim lit road, and Syna's light made itself all the more scarce, the aged and weathered building was soon within the woman's gaze. 'Drunks are good at directions.' She let the slightest giggle leave her lips-she'd spent her journey recalling what she was told by a patient in particular who persistantly invited her back to the Kelp Bar for drinks, claiming himself 'all better' before proving himself in giving she and the nurse direction. Then, he threw up on the nurse's shoes. And then she threw up in basin.
What a splendid evening that one was.
She rolled her shoulders and worked her wrists, giving the sign to the establishment a hard glare before taking stride inside, keeping her gaze low as she made for the bar. She wouldn't draw attention by feigning the search of friend, nor would be she look around in a strange kind of disgusted curiosity.
She made her way to the bar- or rather, the aged boards and counters which she assumed to such - and bit her lip as she took note of the wondrous variety open to her. Kelp beer, kelp beer, or, if she was really feeling adventurous - kelp beer. "Kelp Beer?" she said, expression apparently so quizzical as to make the man behind the counter chortle.
"Aye," his breath was short and cheeks red, a smile pressed as he went about his work. Was he expecting something? Was there some joke that she'd yet been told?
She narrowed her gaze at the man as she accepted the most vile brew, departing with her coin with perhaps too much caution for her to be confident with her decision, thought she quite quickly rectified her mistake. She wet her lips and slide towards the farthermost side of the bar, taking a single seat and slowing her breath as she gave a lazy look around the room, attempting to look as casual as she could manage taking the first sip of rotten brine.
Her eyes widened and jaws clenched, the taste so very much worse than the smell could have ever warned for, and she leapt from the stool perhaps too hastily. Every wish to slip in, observe, and slip out, was quite quickly ruined, the buckle to her shoes catching and her rise to her feet less than graceful. With a catching and bitter word, prompted by the sight of a too amused bartender, and Altaira felt her own back slam into another body, and her blood ran cold.
"I beg my pardon, sir..." Her voice trailed and her fists clenched. She'd heard the tales from patrons themselves. Fights had started in the bar over less.
'Dira.'
oocSorry, was kind of beginning to give up at the end there! Apologies on the wait - and as always, the man she bumps into doesn't have to Harrier
Altaira had heard story and tale again of the so called 'Kelp Bar.' Men and women and sailor alike with their drunken slurs and breath of salt and ale. The case was almost the same each time, Altaira's duties unchanging to the point where she was near prepared for each evening with her teas and tonics for the need to arise. Someone said something and then got hit. Then they tried to hit back and things got bloody - she needed to prepare teas to curb the pain and ease the symptons of a common hangover, and salves to clean and cover cuts and gashes. It's been over a season since she'd allowed herself the pleasure of drink and outings, and with an evening off and Morwen's grasp beginning to truly take hold, she felt that perhaps it was time she lent herself to discover the truth behind 'The Kelp Bar.'
She'd not be so daft as to wear one of her summer or spring dresses to the occasion, her own embroidered blouse and trousers worn, with a further jacket and low boots for good measure. 'Warm and covered. Easy to move.' It was an absent thought with which she rubbed her sides. No dagger, no weapons. She was always better with her fists, though having spent the last seasons as she did, to go out into the evening with not a weapon on hand left her feel, to simply put it, strange. Relaxed, perhaps.
As her walk continued along the dim lit road, and Syna's light made itself all the more scarce, the aged and weathered building was soon within the woman's gaze. 'Drunks are good at directions.' She let the slightest giggle leave her lips-she'd spent her journey recalling what she was told by a patient in particular who persistantly invited her back to the Kelp Bar for drinks, claiming himself 'all better' before proving himself in giving she and the nurse direction. Then, he threw up on the nurse's shoes. And then she threw up in basin.
What a splendid evening that one was.
She rolled her shoulders and worked her wrists, giving the sign to the establishment a hard glare before taking stride inside, keeping her gaze low as she made for the bar. She wouldn't draw attention by feigning the search of friend, nor would be she look around in a strange kind of disgusted curiosity.
She made her way to the bar- or rather, the aged boards and counters which she assumed to such - and bit her lip as she took note of the wondrous variety open to her. Kelp beer, kelp beer, or, if she was really feeling adventurous - kelp beer. "Kelp Beer?" she said, expression apparently so quizzical as to make the man behind the counter chortle.
"Aye," his breath was short and cheeks red, a smile pressed as he went about his work. Was he expecting something? Was there some joke that she'd yet been told?
She narrowed her gaze at the man as she accepted the most vile brew, departing with her coin with perhaps too much caution for her to be confident with her decision, thought she quite quickly rectified her mistake. She wet her lips and slide towards the farthermost side of the bar, taking a single seat and slowing her breath as she gave a lazy look around the room, attempting to look as casual as she could manage taking the first sip of rotten brine.
Her eyes widened and jaws clenched, the taste so very much worse than the smell could have ever warned for, and she leapt from the stool perhaps too hastily. Every wish to slip in, observe, and slip out, was quite quickly ruined, the buckle to her shoes catching and her rise to her feet less than graceful. With a catching and bitter word, prompted by the sight of a too amused bartender, and Altaira felt her own back slam into another body, and her blood ran cold.
"I beg my pardon, sir..." Her voice trailed and her fists clenched. She'd heard the tales from patrons themselves. Fights had started in the bar over less.
'Dira.'
oocSorry, was kind of beginning to give up at the end there! Apologies on the wait - and as always, the man she bumps into doesn't have to Harrier
