Open Quenching the Thirst

Drunken Fish

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

Quenching the Thirst

Postby Guri Burak on July 14th, 2018, 3:52 am

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2nd day of Summer, 518av

Guri walked into the Drunken fish, with its main expanse of the first floor being the communal drinking pit for the patrons. His nose was assaulted by the familiar aroma of old ale, pipe smoke and unwashed bodies along with the more savory smells of the local dishes being cooked and served up. For those use to the finer things in life this bar was not on that list, but for Guri this was home. Every smell, noise, patron and the unpredictable going ons was what pulled Guri back to the Drunken Fish.

"GURI!!!" A familiar gruff voice erupted from the bar. The old man looked excited to see him and Guri gave a soft smile back knowing full well why he was. "Where is that whore mother of yours? Please tell me she is coming right behind ya lad!"

The place went silent, most if not all knew who Guri's mother was. She was a well liked bar wench and whore to this establishment. Favored by many of the sea dogs of the day. So when this man yelled across at him in such a fashion, an insult in any other civilized world, he took it as not. "Bill, she passed away over the winter. You know that, you were here for the wake and stood by my side as we sprinkled her ashes just outside these very doors!"

It had been long time suspected that Bill had the disease of the mind. This was not the first time he had asked of Guri's mother, nor was it the tenth since her passing. He asks every-time. A sad affair to have to break the news to one of his mother's favorite customers and friend. The look on his face was heartbreaking and all that Guri could do, like he had done so many times was nod to the bartender who would fill the old man's tankard fresh.

Guri would pat the man on the shoulder as he walked by and taking up his usual roost close to the north east facing window. He could see the ocean from there while he enjoyed his drink, a puff on the pipe and watching the bustling off all that went around him. He grew up in this bar, from a wee baby to the man he is now. This was more home than his mother's apartment or the Dragoon barracks. He looked to the floor, reminiscing on how many times he had washed them, piss, shit, spelt alcohol, blood and many other elements that make up for mess.

It certainly built character, or that is what Father Manowar would motivate him with each time the bucket and scrub was dropped at his feet. Guri would lean back into his chair, taking his wooden pipe out from his simple garb's pocket and lighting the smokeleaf with in the bowl. A soft eastern breeze breached through the window and brush through his soft brown hair, bringing in the scent of the ocean with it.
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Last edited by Guri Burak on July 14th, 2018, 11:37 pm, edited 5 times in total.
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Quenching the Thirst (Open)

Postby Faylon Kwanda on July 14th, 2018, 4:41 am

The Drunken Fish. Whether or not it was the closest tavern it was the one that he came upon first. He'd had to walk all the way through the Slums of Sunberth suffering the looks of the downtrodden who saw him as a wretch, someone worse off than any of them. To anyone without a keen eye for the more subtle movements he made Faylon Kwanda was a wretch from the Tent City that was even looked down upon by those lowly and destitute folk. He hadn't bathed in a season, maybe longer and that stink followed him all the way to the tavern where an outstretched arm pressed the door wide and afforded him entry.

Wasting little time Faylon had went to the bar and sat on a bench. He was dressed in the rags of a beggar, a tunic that barely held itself together with some trace of crimson having stained it though it was impossible to tell how old it was. His hair was long and greasy now, hanging down over his brow dipping over his eyes so that he had to look through it unless he brushed it aside and his beard was ragged and unkept. There was only one thing that looked taken care of in his possession. The Longsword found a sheath over his left hip, the hilt cocked forward slightly and the pommel telling the tale of the blade that was hidden from view by the protective leather it had sunk itself into. It was an unremarkable sword, probably average craftsmanship but on a wretch it seemed out of place.

Rolling a pair of coins between his fingers as the Bartender approached him Faylon would toss them onto the bar and look up to regard the man before asking plainly...

"How much for a room for the night and a bath? I'll take one of your girls too. Need a haircut and a shave."

...he wasn't interested in conversation, he had a few coins left over from his previous adventures which he'd squirreled away until he could use them again. Other than ask about lodging all he said was...

"Ale."

...and when it was provided to him in a tankard after the transaction was complete he'd take the frothy beverage, lift it to his mouth and begin to tip it back slowly while he drank so that he could enjoy the first taste of something like this he'd had in awhile. It spilled past his lips, running through his beard and down his chin in the process but Faylon hadn't a mind to care about that. In his peripheral he caught the silhouette of some of the men moving around the bar but he paid them little attention. If his manner of dress wasn't offensive his smell certainly was but he had coin and would pay and so the Bartender wouldn't turn him away. At least not yet.
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Quenching the Thirst

Postby Nellie Hawkins on July 16th, 2018, 3:14 am

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Nellie stood, leaning against the bar in a comfortable pose that spoke of longstanding habit. The Drunken Fish was doing a brisk business today, and the bartender'd had little chance to talk; she didn't mind. A mug of ale, a hunk of mostly mold-free cheese, and people to watch in a place she felt relatively safe were enough to keep her busy. Many of the patrons were familiar to her, by sight, if not by name and, whether they knew it or not, they were as close to family as she had anymore. Well, they and the patron's of the Pig's Foot, and any place else she could silently sit and mind her own business in a crowd. She had very little interest in speaking to any of them, however, preferring to nurse her small purchase and watch the varying degrees of foolishness unfold around her.

Bill, a harmless old man with a weak mind, shouted something across the room that caused those around him to fall silent for a chime. Nellie hadn't caught the words, but she tensed just the same - tetched though he may be, he was a decent enough sort. She hoped that whatever he'd said didn't get him thrown out, beaten, or worse. But the man he'd spoken to seemed unaffected, friendly even, and the regular chatter soon picked up again.

Looks familiar, Nellie thought, nibbling at a corner of her cheese. She didn't know him, she was sure of that, but he'd been in the bar often enough for her to recognize his face. She was glad he seemed to be a decent sort, too. Not that she would have done a thing if he'd slugged ol' Bill, but it would have been sad to witness. Nellie wasn't in the habit of sticking up for people, though, she had nothing to offer in a fight of any kind and tried very hard to avoid them.

Suddenly a rank odor attacked her nose, and Nellie wrinkled it in disgust as she looked around for the source, dismayed to find it emanating in waves off of the man who'd walked up next to her. She passed a hand in front of her face a few times, hoping to dissipate the smell as the man made his inquiries of the 'tender. An eyebrow raised as she heard him ask about Manowar's girls, a hair cut and a shave.

Oh, sweet Ovek, Dira, and whoever the patron of bathing is... He's gonna need more than a shave and a haircut, she thought as she took in the man's appearance. She felt an immediate and strong twinge of sympathy for whichever unfortunate woman ended up servicing the aromatic man, and hoped he'd take himself off somewhere else immediately. Unfortunately, he seemed comfortable where he was, dribbling beer and making the air unbreathable for every nose in the vicinity.

Before she could stop herself, she caught the man's eye and said, very clearly, "You. Stink."

Not bothering to disguise the distaste on her face, Nellie nodded to the man tending bar and made her way past the cause of the stench to an open window across the tavern. Winding through the crowds on her way, she took several deep breaths to clear her lungs, catching the newly lit scent of pipeweed coming from the man in front of the window. Bill's friend, or at least not his attacker. Knowing the stuff would further chase the clinging smell away, Nellie sat down nearby, nodding at the man in silent thanks. He may not know it, but her nose was currently his biggest fan.

tab- 1sm, 4cm

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Quenching the Thirst

Postby Guri Burak on July 19th, 2018, 8:32 pm

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Guri's watchful gaze took notice of the stranger that had entered the Tavern. He had the look that was common to this city, the look of of one that is dangerous. He looked to be athletic and his face showed signs of old physical abuse, a face that is use to taking a hit. Far more grizzled then the facial features that Guri portrayed, that's for sure.

The Sunbertherian would watch him intently as he made his way to the bar and make words with the bartender. Guri was to far away to eavesdrop on the conversation but his eyes did not miss the disgruntled look of the female patron that sat closest to him. Her lips moved with what only he could assume was some form of sharp tongue and then she retreated.

The olive skinned woman then made her way in Guri's direction, taking a seat close to him and giving him a nod of unnoticed appreciation."Well lass,!" Guri was unhesitating in speaking up "Don't be shy, join me for a round or two!"
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Quenching the Thirst

Postby Nellie Hawkins on July 26th, 2018, 2:48 am

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Nellie narrowed her eyes a bit at the friendly greeting; the man may have been decent with Bill, but trust was hardwon in her eyes and it took more than one possibly coincidental incident to grant it. She shifted her gaze to the aromatic individual at the bar; having gained some distance and aired her nose a bit, there was time for second thoughts to creep in and she wondered if he'd be the type to take offense or ignore her remark. Might be better to be sitting with someone, if that's the case, she reasoned.

On the basis of that logic, Nellie extended a small thread of trust, opting to join the man by the window. After all, he'd already saved her once, even if it was unwittingly. Seating herself across the table, she offered the man a polite smile - if it was also a bit guarded, well... It was Sunberth, after all. Even if he seemed pleasant enough, Nellie wasn't willing to discount the fact that there might be ulterior motives to his interest and invitation. Joining him for 'a round or two' would probably mean nursing no more than two very watery beverages, and keeping a wary eye on things.

"Hello, and thanks," she tilted her head toward the man still standing at the bar before explaining, "that man smells like he bathed in sewage and broken dreams. Your pipeweed saved my nose just now."

Dark eyes studied her new companion; he was tall, even seated he had several inches on her, and thankfully looked more than passingly familiar with soap and water - at least his beard wasn't storing the previous days' food. He had an air of easy confidence, and Nellie wondered if that was due to the surroundings or if the man was just that comfortable in Sunberth. The latter thought made her nervous; she didn't know of many reasons one could claim that level of security in the 'Berth. Most residents wore their watchfulness like skin. Nellie knew she did, even in the relative safety of her own shack.

"I'm Nellie," no hand was extended with the introduction, but she attempted more small talk to make up for the lack. "Ah, you a friend of Bill's?" It was a weak subject, but Nellie wasn't accustomed to casual conversation with strangers. Though she enjoyed spending her time people watching in the various taverns around the city, it was the 'watching' part that she was best at. Sitting quietly by herself, avoiding conflict, confrontation and contact as much as possible was her preferred way to pass the time.

Oddly, the taverns were places she could relax. If she wasn't causing trouble and was spending a few mizas here and there, she could generally count on the owners and their security staff to keep things relatively safe. Raising her mug, she took a small sip, withholding a grimace out of habit. Safety could make up for a lot of ills, not the least of which was the bitter and watery stuff that sometimes passed for ale.

oocSorry for skipping your turn, but with his "charm," Faylon should be able to slip in at any point. :)

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