85th of Summer, 517AV
Orin had woken up that morning with a strange energy buzzing within him. Maybe it had something to do with it being The Day of the Dance, a citywide festival. While he normally wasn't much of a dancer, he felt a fire filling his veins, urging him to get out and party. Not knowing how to place it, he had gotten up and gotten dressed, then stopped, staring at his work clothing. No. No this won’t do at all. He felt faintly disgusted at how boring his wardrobe was, how drab his entire life was really. His lips pulled back in a sneer, thinking about how pointless his work was, how he was throwing it all away on such useless pursuits. The chef, which was a pathetic profession, but the only one he had, was going to make a few changes in his life. And his first stop was going to be the market for some new and more fashionable attire.
For now, the cook sheathed his daggers at either hip. Those, at least, could stay and Orin smiled coldly at the thought that he might get the opportunity to use them later. The Akalaks were a rather physical race, after all, and if Orin hung out in some of the more disreputable parts of town, a fight just might break out. It would be quite satisfying; Orin was more than tired of being looked down upon, both literally and metaphorically, by the dark-skinned giants who populated the city. He wouldn’t hurt any of them that made the mistake of challenging him – much that is – but he could at least make them think twice about looking at a human funny again. It brought a giddy joy to him and a spring to his step.
Orin stopped by the Zhongjie Warren first. It didn’t take him long to find a clothing merchant there. As he perused the shockingly redheaded woman’s wares, the chef sniffed, not impressed by her selection. “Isn’t there anything here worth my time?” His voice was haughty and cruel, but it was true her goods didn’t impress him. Beyond that, he knew that belittling the product could be an effective marketing technique, as long as he played his cards right.
Sure enough, she bristled, and spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “I’ll have you know that my wares are considered to be some of the finest in the city,” she responded angrily, but Orin wasn’t listening. He’d spotted two pieces of clothing that seemed passable, a navy blue silk tunic, and a pair of black silk pants. Holding both pieces up, the chef was pleased to see they’d fit him like a glove. Still, he couldn’t let any of that show.
“I guess these might do. But I couldn’t possibly pay full price. Look at these wrinkles, you’d think they’d been used!” The redheaded tailor narrowed her eyes, and what followed was a sharp haggling session. In the end, Orin was sure he’d gotten the better end of the deal, but he did walk away with two excellent pieces that he actually could be seen it. He returned to his apartment, changed into them, and then set off again, this time with a different destination in mind, one he’d never been to before. But, as he made his way through Riverfall’s streets, Orin frankly buzzed with anticipation. He was about to get some very different pieces, and these would take his look from sophisticated to sophisticated and slightly dangerous, a combination he imagined was alluring to quite a few people.
Orin entered into the incredibly well kept store that was Loads of Leather. There were a few other people browsing, and Orin started to do so as well. Soon though he grew bored, and yawned. This process was getting tedious, and the chef wanted to get to the fun already. An Akalak shopkeeper noticed, and hurried over to the human chef. “Hello, how can I help you?”
Orin narrowed his eyes at the Akalak, before picking up a piece of studded leather armor and trying it on. It didn’t fit perfectly, and the chef groaned. “Can you have this adjusted to fit me properly? And are there pants for this? In the meantime, I suppose I’ll just have look over the rest of what’s out here.” This slow and incompetent worker nodded, getting out some chalk, and making a few marks, before bringing Orin the pants as requested. Orin shimmied into them, pleased to see that these, at least fit. “I’ll take them both, post alteration of course.” Flinging both pieces at the rather beleaguered worker, Orin turned away from the dark skinned Akalak contemptuously. Making his way around the tables, Orin found a leather vest that he quite liked. Left unlaced with the rest of his look made him look rather dashing he felt.
The worker returned eventually, and Orin paid for all of his purchases. Once again the chef returned home, putting the armor away, finally able to do what he actually wanted to do. He was headed for what was probably the most notorious tavern in the town, The Blue Bull. Orin almost never went out, for reasons he wasn’t quite sure of. Now, though, he realized how straitlaced he was all the time, and how stupid a way of life that was. He didn’t need work when there were pleasures waiting for him. Having wasted half the day running errands rankled, but Orin spared a thought for the chaos that his absence must have plunged The Almond Blossom in. Serves them right for always taking me for granted, the chef thought sullenly.
Finally, he arrived, the sounds of music and debauchery floating out of the stone building. Orin pushed open the blue door, and a wave of heat and scents washed over him, making him grin. This was going to be good. As he made his way through the tavern, Orin had to push through the dance floor. Unfortunately, the crowd was resisting, and so Orin found himself dancing awkwardly and gracelessly with a crowd of Akalaks, who apparently had been unable to attract a woman. If Orin kept dancing for much longer, his flailing limbs wouldn’t impress anyone either, so he eventually extracted himself and made his way to the bar. Now he’d have to be charming, which he was more than happy to do.
As he finally got to the bar, he slid himself in between an Akalak and another human. The bartender, a human woman with brown hair and pretty hazel eyes eventually came around to him. “What can I get you,” she asked in a perfectly friendly tone.
Orin smiled at her it what he hoped was a lascivious but not creepy way. He didn’t have much practice being flirtatious and seductive, but he’d give it his all. “Surprise me. I’m sure anything of yours will taste good.” He winked for good measure. The woman nodded, seeming to ignore the double meaning of his words, and Orin deflated, somewhat. Still, he perked up again when she put a large mug of something in front of him before darting off to help another customer. Orin turned his back to the bar, so he could watch the room at large and pick out his next form of entertainment. He took a sip, the alcohol burning down his throat, with a taste of lemon, ginger, and something powerful that he couldn’t identify, not being nearly well versed enough in drinks to know. Hopefully somehting
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