RP: Bumpkin at the Bar
It's Tariday, Quintoos 08 14:05:12 1018. The full moon is up. The tide is high and ebbing. The sky is brilliant blue and cloudless, the sunlight is bright, and a brisk wind blows from the northwest.
A07: Fernwood Pub
Roselle makes her way into the Fernwood, long-legged strides clipped rather impatiently to avoid running into any patrons who might be heading for the exit. Straight for the bar she goes, tossing her head slightly and marking her arrival with yet more of those distinct metallic clinks as her braid swings behind her. Weaponised hair, that. Finding a seat, she drops herself into it with a constrained energy that one might reserve for riding a hurricane.
Ga'Elian, on other hand, follows Roselle to the bar and sits calmly beside her, gesturing a beckon to a server. He says, "Now what did that poor lad do to rile you up so badly?"
Roselle rounds a shoulder, or at least, where her shoulder should be under the swathed bolt of fabric she's wearing. A twist of her mouth, and a dismissive shake of her head. "Something damnably stupid and irrelevant," she answers shortly. That's all she seems to have to say about the matter. The server comes up - a gangly, tall youth with blond hair cropped so short it's a mere fuzz over his scalp, a mild scattering of acne across his cheeks, and a charming, gap-toothed smile. "No weasel pie, Miz Rose," he tells her, obviously on some terms of familiarity.
Somehow that chases away yet another part of Roselle's bad temper, and she grins crookedly back at him. "I'd be disappointed if I didn't already know you hadn't got weasels in the kitchen," she retorts. "Stew, please, if you've got any? Thank you, Rin. And whatever the gentleman wants, I reckon."
Ga'Elian puts a small bag of coins on the counter and says, "Allow me," to Roselle. To Rin he says, "How about that herb-broiled trout with rice pilaf and a glass of the '07 white zinfandel?" He smiles, evidently amused with himself, as it suddenly dawns on Rin that this is the precise order that was just placed by a rich man at a table that Rose and Elian passed on the way in. Turning to Roselle, Elian says, "I don't even know what 'zinfandel' means, or why anyone would want seven of them. I'll pay, if you'll help me figure out these bits of metal," he indicates the coinpurse.
Roselle eyeballs Ga'Elian fixedly for a few seconds. "You're asking /me/ what a 'zinfandel' is?" she says with a snort of amused laughter. "Flaming skeletons of Merkabah, that's rich that is. Sounds like a sneeze in a foreign language, as best as I can tell, ahei. Ask Rin. I'm hardly fashionable, and I'm definitely not sophisticated, and that sounds suspiciously like the sort of thing Sandy would know rather than me."
Rin, who's been trying very hard to still the twitching corners of his mouth, interjects rather unsteadily, "It's a wine, sir. Rather pricy one. The rest of it is just fish and rice, s'all, but with a fancier name. All right sir, I'll go g-get your order, and Miz Rose, I'll get your stew too." He then flees for the kitchen, composure on treacherous ground. Roselle rolls her eyes, mutters something suspiciously like an Infernal string of bad language under her breath, and shakes her head.
Ga'Elian looks around the place, taking note of who's about, when Rin arrives with the orders. He says, "That's 2 shillings sixpence, if you please." Elian looks in his bag and pulls out a pair of silver coins and a half dozen coppers and asks, "Did I get that right?" Then he puts two more silver in front of the young man.
Duthei appears at the bar. From whence did they come? Who can say. Space, probably - if you've seen them in combat, that probably isn't much of a stretch. "What is a shilling? Or sixpence?" Sunny curiosity as they look over Roselle's shoulder, looming pleasantly. "Is that what those are called?"
Familiar voice suddenly behind her shoulder! Roselle stiffens and twists around quickly, and there is Duthei, large as life, twice as natural, and three time as pretty. "Duthei!" she growls softly, a crooked grin twisting her mouth. "Vardama's flaming hells, you scared me." The grin widens. "...All I know of those things are that they're currency, and they certainly seem to have changed in the time since I've been back," she adds wryly. "Come sit down; I'm about to wolf my food and then go deliver some things to someone."
Ga'Elian nods agreement to Roselle's invitation and samples the wine. Rin takes the coins and withdraws to go about his business, likely to return when Dutheimis ready to order. Setting the glass down, Elian says, "Hmm, that has a bit more earthy flavor than others I've tasted--except that stuff at the Khazadi place in the village."
"Mmm?" Duthei stares down at Roselle, beaming that beatific smile. "What are you delivering? Ah, hello, Ga'Elian." Bit less dressy today, our...uh...girl.
Roselle must be hungry. She really is wolfing her food. Inhaling it, almost. Her dark eyes glimmer with amusement as she raises them to meet Duthei's blue-grey ones, but she has the courtesy to finish chewing - and swallowing - first, before she replies. "Well, donuts, for one - Zant likes 'em and since I'm not so fond of 'em after the Bloody Cake Disaster, better they go to him than be wasted since I won't eat 'em for sure. Then I wanted to pick up some sausages." She holds the bowl up. "Do you want to try some?"
Ga'Elian says, "Hi, Duthei. What've you been doing lately?" He smiles before beginning on the food before him, a broiled fish and a small heap of rice.
"...what's a donut?" Duthei squints at Roselle as she holds a bowl up, peering at...food. "No, thank you very much," they say. "I spent my last evening carving up and burning risen corpses - nobody knows how to make a proper human pyre anymore, you know, when you just use bodies instead of logs? At any rate, I want to make sure I did not contract a fever." Oh.
Roselle's spoon pauses midway to her mouth, but only for a fraction of a second. The sheer unholy gleam in her dark eyes is a little unsettling. Chew, swallow. "There's an art to it," she agrees, completely serious. "Vardama's hells, Duthei...I swear, I love you for just that alone - carving up and burning risen corpses, I mean." A brilliant smile is directed at them. She then puts her spoon down, takes the bowl, and tips the contents of it down her throat, rather than piddle about with measely spoonfuls. "Here, if you want, you can have my seat? I've got to go. Ga'Elian, I hope you do enjoy your food - and Duthei, if you have a fever, you'll feel burning hot and aching and unwell."
"We went to a village," Duthei says cheerfully, "And the population had fled. Or were at least partially killed and risen. I expect we'll be back later tonight to continue our investigation. They burned well, though." That said, Duthei gives Ga'Elian a little salute. "I'm going to go with Roselle. Have a good day, Ga'Elian."
Ga'Elian looks at Roselle and smirks, saying, "You've attacked that stew with nearly the ferocity that you scolded that kid outside with, but at least you no longer seem so vexed. Farewell." At the talk of fevers, he pulls back a little and says, "To you, too, then."
Roselle digs a few coin pieces out from somewhere about her fabric-swathed person and places it on the bar counter. "Well, I hadn't eaten since...yesterday afternoon," she explains with a rather malicious little twisted grin. "Oh, that was Merely Annoyed. Not Vexed. Vexed would involve setting things on fire." That said, she gives Duthei a very warm smile. "I'll let you try a donut and you see if you like it," she says, diving her hand into her Surcoat of Holding yet again. "Take care Ga'Elian, aye?" Out comes a donut, which she hands to Duthei, and makes for the doors at a nice clip.