[Location] The Kelp Bar

[Vyktoria Rivor]

Vyktoria sits quietly watching the crowd and slowly sketching the scene, mostly keeping to herself. As she's looking down at her book, a pale man grabs a seat and sits across from her. Raising an eyebrow, she looks up at the man as he waves at the bartender.
"I had intended to sit alone, but you seem to be comfortable." As she talks, she continues drawing.

[Yurick]

Fall 29th, 513 AV, very early morning:

Finally as the night had fallen and it was very late (or rather very early) Yurick made his way into the bar, feeling stares as he did so. He could smell the fishy smell of the Kelp Beer all around, and heard laughing and talking. He could also sense an uneasiness upon his presence, and therefore the joy within the are felt distracted, forced, somehow not as real. He preferred not to be the focus of attention, but rather not to be noticed at all, existing peaceful in all the laughter and noise, observing and being a part of the scenery. Hopefully they get caught up in their drunken state and forget about me and get back to their nonsense, he thought, but was unsure of. Regardless, his presence would likely be known the whole night.

He sat at the bar and looked at the sign. It seemed all they sold was the nearly overpowering-smelling beer. He thought about it shortly and decided to buy a mug full. He paid the bartender a gold miza and received the change with a look of suspicion. Perhaps for the amount of money passed to her to order something worth so much less, or perhaps because he was a stranger to this city, likely both, he thought.

He pulled out his journal and quill, and proceeded to write, hearing and feeling the full mug put down beside him on the counter. As he started to write, he suddenly had a feeling of loneliness, wishing another was here accompanying him, even if in silence, but just to have a presence. He pushed the feeling down. He could not grow attached, he could not desire to grow attached. Maybe wanting someone around, or even a brief encounter, wouldn't lead to attachment. But it was still too dangerous a chance, he had to remain true to himself. Only himself. He couldn't bring himself to need another.

So he pushed the feeling down inside, and took a large gulp of the drink, the taste hitting him hard, but the alcohol already making his stomach tingle slightly. He continued writing, conscious of the space around him because of its consciousnesses on him, but managed to enjoy his peace and write fully about his thoughts. He would likely leave here in the morning as the sun began to rise, and then find a place to sleep.

[Shoshana Re Menehat]

26 Summer 514 AV

Perhaps she had not chosen wisely. The man with the cloak had moved with such confidence in his direction that Shoshana had been sure he would lead her well, somewhere. He entered the heap of driftwood that a simple sign declared to be The Kelp Bar, and her stomach went unsoothed. Indeed it was difficult to tell whether the smell of fish was worse within the building or without. Maybe it would be warm.

Again, Shoshana clutched the fabric of her cloak, shifted her pack nervously. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, she was about to trade a pitching heap of wood on the ocean for a precariously stacked heap of wood on the docks. Never having interacting with people in a city setting before, she did not quite understand that such shabbiness was to be expected of a point where dockworkers and sailors congregated, she assumed the entire city would be much of the same.

It was then she realized the cloaked man she'd followed had already entered, and she was in the way of foot traffic where she stood debating. Well, if all of the humans insisted on huddling beneath a shanty, was one not as good as the others?

And so she entered, immediately aware of the lack of light, then the stench of rotten fish slapped her in the face. Don't vomit. There were eyes on her as she lowered the hood of her cloak, revealing the silky brown strands, the thick black paint outlining her eyes, which were painted today in shades of emerald and deep blue. Shoshana attributed such attention to her beauty, not her outlandishness. Well, then what?

The one she'd followed seemed to have journeyed to the bar. So she did as well. It required more effort to understand what was being said in the noise around her, she realized she had not had much use for Common Speech.

"Ah-," she was flustered by the worn woman's questioning glare, if a glare could be questioning. "Something to eat?" Yes, there was only one thing on the sign, but that one thing was not what she wanted. She wanted it even less when the flat, green beverage was placed before her. Shoshana immediately felt the urge to vomit, but choked it back once more. Though she was of the opinion that she should be praised for accepting such a thing without great insult, the woman was paid for her...brew. Shoshana shuffled off and found a seat as she had seen others do by now.

The vile water sloshed as it was set upon the table, the former desert dweller retracted her hand to avoid having it touch her skin, and gagged once more. Oh, the smell! Who would present such a thing to a visitor? What she wouldn't have done in that moment for a glass of wine. The stalemate between herself and the beverage continued. She could just not drink it, she could just leave. But everyone else seemed to be....well, enjoying was not exactly the word. Tolerating it. Perhaps, if she held her breath?

She inhaled and quickly took a sip, then promptly doubled over and spilled the contents of her stomach under the table.

[Shoshana Re Menehat]

It was a blessing, at least, that she had not gotten vomit on her robes, or her sandals. Sandals and sick were not meant to be mixed. A moment was spent in that guarded position- hunched over, head bowed, right hand upon the table as she leaned as far from her own body as possible. One day she might realize how lucky she was that her vomit had not splattered onto anyone ELSE'S robes or sandals (or equivalents).

Cursed. The whole city was cursed, she calmly wiped her face with the back of her hand. It could take its cursed sludge and its weak sun and its stench of rotten fish, and roll them all together in order to create more putrid rotten fish smelling, gag-reflex tickling evil in liquid form for all she cared. Someone had to have noticed her little...well, could it have been called an outburst, so many had been watching. But none made a move to confront her either way. It was obviously a common occurrence, she would be sure to watch where she stepped on the way out. And back into the cursed streets, where she would see if there was anywhere in the whole cosmos where a person could find shelter outside her beloved desert city. So far, she was not feeling confident on her decision to leave, this was not the reward for faith that she had been expecting.