16th of Autumn, 518. 18th Bell.
Orange swirled with an encroaching darkness as Syna and Leth reunited in the skies of Sunberth. Of course, autumn within Sunberth was turning out to be somewhat of a shit show. The winds within Sunberth picked up tremendously the past couple of days, and it was their tempestuous nature that kept Azcan out all night, helping with closing up the Bolt hole. They also kept him in all day, the skies were gray and unwelcoming but nonethless, there was always the allure of alcohol to distract from the intensity of the storm. However, Azcan grumbled, the depths of his slumber carried him through the entire day, with dusk at last easing his sore eyes and replenishing his exhausted body. Azcan's senses recovered from his indulgences, and there was the briefest flecks of white powder along his nostrils. Light brown eyes were suffused with the reddish tint, showing the good time that Azcan had at work the night prior. Of course, good times were often followed up with bitter mornings. Azcan, knowing this slept through the day. But that wasn't enough to appease the body. His head spun, clouds of sensory detail brandished by the light of a lantern in the hallway that spilled under his room's door. Azcan stepped out of bed, the sleep in his eyes in a thin crust.
The drummer brushed that sleep away, banishing it into the nothing as the pounding of his head distracted him next. Of course, the drummer needed water to appease the beast of thirst, and food to satisfy his gullet, but those could wait... There was one solution to the hangover that the drummer knew best, and it was the creature itself. Azcan swept up his shirt, throwing it over his shoulders but making no effort to pull the garment down. The Illusionist's back and abdomen was on full display, a sputtering cough escaping his lips as his red eyes looked through the Drunken Fish, curious of what he'd find tonight. Of course, it was still rather early and the Fish was hardly the busiest bar around. With its location in Baroque Bay, it was for some out of the way, but perhaps the drummer liked a bit of privacy to smooth out his days.
Azcan traversed the flight of stairs easily, stepping into the tavern proper and approaching the bar. A yawn escaped his lips as he tapped on the bar twice, to alert the proprietor, a man known as Father Manowar, of his presence. Of course, Manowar wasn't stupid and the gesture was seen by the older man as rude. A rap on the head had Azcan's attention, blood coursing through him and causing his vision to pop in an array of lights.
Well, that's one way to fucking do it... he thought to himself, cursing both out loud and in his head as Father Manowar poured a glass of ale from the tap. He'd squeeze a lemon into the froth, pushing it towards Azcan in a friendly gesture.
"Ye just waking up, lad? I'd think you were some skulking monster if I didn't know what ye did for a livin'," he bellowed out, laughter frothing within his tone. Azcan offered a smile, laden with both gratitude and surprise. Manowar knew who he was? Azcan didn't advertise that he... oh wait, yes he did. Azcan made it plain and clear to the world who he was, the tattood 'Boy Wonder' on his back and the drums he often, though not right now, carried with him the ever-present reminder that he was one and the same with the newest drummer working at the Bolt Hole. Azcan carried himself differently than Desden, more like Dee in the fact that his presence insisted on enrolling others. He loved people, he loved attention, but moreover, he loved himself and wanted to share the presence that he was with the world.
Was that really so bad? The drummer didn't think so, and most scarcely seemed to mind. Azcan raised the ale to his lips, grinning at Manowar as the elderly man brought him a half loaf of bread and a salmon grilled from the Drunken Fish's kitchen. Such hospitality was a rare delight, but one he'd quickly grow used to if it persisted. Azcan grinned at Manowar before he said,
"Father, you've been so good to me. Say the word and I'll play sometimes for you," he told the man. Manowar nodded, a chuckle escaping his lips as he clasped the younger man's shoulder and answered, "I'll take ye up on that, boy. If ye offer again. But fer now, eat, drink, I bet yer head's poundin' like a set -"
"Of drums," he finished, getting the pun. He laughed about it, but in reality, such jokes got old very quickly and his head was still amiss with the hangover Manowar mentioned. Some ale brought it down, some salmon shrank it further. By the time he completed his meal, he felt lighter and would certainly extend his offer to Manowar a second time... Except he vanished. He was on the other side of the bar when Azcan looked back up, making lighthearted banter with yet another customer.
What a boss. This guy knows how to run a business, the drummer mused, continuing to scarf down his meal.
WC: 882
Orange swirled with an encroaching darkness as Syna and Leth reunited in the skies of Sunberth. Of course, autumn within Sunberth was turning out to be somewhat of a shit show. The winds within Sunberth picked up tremendously the past couple of days, and it was their tempestuous nature that kept Azcan out all night, helping with closing up the Bolt hole. They also kept him in all day, the skies were gray and unwelcoming but nonethless, there was always the allure of alcohol to distract from the intensity of the storm. However, Azcan grumbled, the depths of his slumber carried him through the entire day, with dusk at last easing his sore eyes and replenishing his exhausted body. Azcan's senses recovered from his indulgences, and there was the briefest flecks of white powder along his nostrils. Light brown eyes were suffused with the reddish tint, showing the good time that Azcan had at work the night prior. Of course, good times were often followed up with bitter mornings. Azcan, knowing this slept through the day. But that wasn't enough to appease the body. His head spun, clouds of sensory detail brandished by the light of a lantern in the hallway that spilled under his room's door. Azcan stepped out of bed, the sleep in his eyes in a thin crust.
The drummer brushed that sleep away, banishing it into the nothing as the pounding of his head distracted him next. Of course, the drummer needed water to appease the beast of thirst, and food to satisfy his gullet, but those could wait... There was one solution to the hangover that the drummer knew best, and it was the creature itself. Azcan swept up his shirt, throwing it over his shoulders but making no effort to pull the garment down. The Illusionist's back and abdomen was on full display, a sputtering cough escaping his lips as his red eyes looked through the Drunken Fish, curious of what he'd find tonight. Of course, it was still rather early and the Fish was hardly the busiest bar around. With its location in Baroque Bay, it was for some out of the way, but perhaps the drummer liked a bit of privacy to smooth out his days.
Azcan traversed the flight of stairs easily, stepping into the tavern proper and approaching the bar. A yawn escaped his lips as he tapped on the bar twice, to alert the proprietor, a man known as Father Manowar, of his presence. Of course, Manowar wasn't stupid and the gesture was seen by the older man as rude. A rap on the head had Azcan's attention, blood coursing through him and causing his vision to pop in an array of lights.
Well, that's one way to fucking do it... he thought to himself, cursing both out loud and in his head as Father Manowar poured a glass of ale from the tap. He'd squeeze a lemon into the froth, pushing it towards Azcan in a friendly gesture.
"Ye just waking up, lad? I'd think you were some skulking monster if I didn't know what ye did for a livin'," he bellowed out, laughter frothing within his tone. Azcan offered a smile, laden with both gratitude and surprise. Manowar knew who he was? Azcan didn't advertise that he... oh wait, yes he did. Azcan made it plain and clear to the world who he was, the tattood 'Boy Wonder' on his back and the drums he often, though not right now, carried with him the ever-present reminder that he was one and the same with the newest drummer working at the Bolt Hole. Azcan carried himself differently than Desden, more like Dee in the fact that his presence insisted on enrolling others. He loved people, he loved attention, but moreover, he loved himself and wanted to share the presence that he was with the world.
Was that really so bad? The drummer didn't think so, and most scarcely seemed to mind. Azcan raised the ale to his lips, grinning at Manowar as the elderly man brought him a half loaf of bread and a salmon grilled from the Drunken Fish's kitchen. Such hospitality was a rare delight, but one he'd quickly grow used to if it persisted. Azcan grinned at Manowar before he said,
"Father, you've been so good to me. Say the word and I'll play sometimes for you," he told the man. Manowar nodded, a chuckle escaping his lips as he clasped the younger man's shoulder and answered, "I'll take ye up on that, boy. If ye offer again. But fer now, eat, drink, I bet yer head's poundin' like a set -"
"Of drums," he finished, getting the pun. He laughed about it, but in reality, such jokes got old very quickly and his head was still amiss with the hangover Manowar mentioned. Some ale brought it down, some salmon shrank it further. By the time he completed his meal, he felt lighter and would certainly extend his offer to Manowar a second time... Except he vanished. He was on the other side of the bar when Azcan looked back up, making lighthearted banter with yet another customer.
What a boss. This guy knows how to run a business, the drummer mused, continuing to scarf down his meal.
WC: 882