Sugar Cubes of Wisdom

Log Info

• Title: Bier Today, Zonked Tomorrow
• Emitter: Irshya
• Characters: Barclaiigh, Irshya
• Place: the TarRaCe
• Time: Friday, February 19, 2022, 5:00 PM
• Summary: Irshya is hard at work maintaining a workplace and home she can be proud of when Barclaiigh arrives fresh from adventure. The dwarf is looking for a place to catch his breath and refresh and decides to try a second foray into this 'tea' business people seem so interested in. The pool shark offers a guided introduction to the hot, leafy waters of a new kind of brew. Both share information about their pasts and dwell on fond memories of old friends.

The TarRaCe, late evening

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  At a glance around The TarRaCe  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Barclaiigh   4'5"     202 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      A thick tree-trunk of a dwarf. Wavy auburn hair, loose traveling clothes
Irshya       3'0"     35 Lb      Goblin            Female    A small, blue-skinned Goblin in sea-green robes.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The crowd tonight is more reserved than previous nights, with the stage clear for the moment. The cold wind chasing home all but the more dedicated beverage enthusiast.

The resident pool shark is present in the main room, scrubbing at the wooden floor with a brush broom. Every so often, she dunks the broom into a bucket filled with water and suds.

The sounds of her steady cleaning makes for a somewhat satisfying background sound.

Near the bar, a group of three elderly men play cards, and make friendly bets, the money wagered limited to coppers.

Back in his heavy furs and simple traveling clothes, Barclaiigh steps in with a frigid gusting at his back and his spear pulling double-duty as a walking stick. The dwarf's hair and beard are loose, back to being wild-and-frizzy waves of auburn draped before and behind his shoulders. A recent bit of excitement has left the left side of his face swollen and bruised; his ear is a red-purple bit of cauliflower.

"'should spring fer one'a them magic booms that scrubs th'floor fer ya, miss Irshya. 'r make like m'folks'n have a bunch'a kids t'do the simple work." He grins a happy-but-tired grin and waves his sausage fingers before finding a table and plopping down into a chair. In addition to the battlescars his voice is a little raw and he's bags under his eyes here on the punishing end of the Kegger Fest.

"'s that thing people drink iff'n the don't want spirits but more'n water? Has the leaves. Hot..."

The Gobbo peers over her shoulder, and snorts. "Irshya is perfectly capable of cleaning a floor. Using magic for menial tasks is... silly, in her opinion." She sets a small sign over the area most recently cleaned, warning of the wet floor.

She moves to Barclaiigh's table, and peers at him curiously.

"Have you been smashing people's fists with your face again? It looks like you've been waylaid and mugged." Irshya pauses, and blinks at him several times. "It's called tea.", she says with another snort. "Did you want some?"

"Yes'm, please." Bar pauses to look around for a few moments before he admits, "Too much fun at th'Fest'n m'guts ain't doin' too good'n I already drank a lake dry." He fishes around into his pouches and produces a handful of silver and copper coins, stacking them loosely in a pile.

The bashful smile returns and he gingerly prods his swollen ear. "Little flyin' critter done poked me right'n m'face with his scorpion tail. Big girl Andie's stray fella said it was poison but it never got worse'n that." Looking to settle in better, he props his spear against the table and another chair, then stands up to squirm out of his furs. The hefty pile is dropped into the same chair supporting his spear. The dwarf makes an 'ope' noise and takes the time to pull his skirted tunic back down to drape past his hips, having worked it up, too, unintentionally. At least he's not bumping things over.

"Saved a couple'a great cats'n kept the little devils from siccing even worse on folks just mindin' their business."

The Gobbo sidles off and disappears into the kitchen. There are murmured voices and a few sounds of discord, but after several long moments, she returns bearing a silver service. The tray holds a large teapot, a mug and saucer, a small jug of cream, and a small cup filled with sugar cubes. Inside the mug is a teaball.

As she pours hot water from the teapot over the teaball, she explains. "Let this soak for a little while. The water inside the mug will eventually turn orange-red. Take this out...", the Gobbo gestures at the small device holding the tealeaves, "and set it aside. Then you can drink it. Add sugar and cream to your taste."

She cants her head to one side. "Are you with the adventurer's guild then? Irshya did some work with them ages ago."

"I s'pose? Auntie thought it'd be a good thing t'keep busy while she's around doin'r deals'n makin' contacts." The dwarf sits forward in his seat, tilting his head and inspecting the service. He can't help himself and plucks one of the cubes up and into his mouth to suck on it, smiling at the dissolving sweetness. He pushes the little piece to one side and steadies it between his back teeth as he talks. "Auntie did a fair sight'a travelin'n mercenary work before she gave it up'n came back to the family homestead. She doesn't talk about it much... think she ran w'someone special'n lost'r along th'way."

Barclaiigh makes a thoughtful face, pushing out his wide lips a bit as he procures a spoon and turns the teaball curiously. "Why'd you stop yer adventures, miss Irshya? Jus' happy t'have this place'n what it does t'keep you busy?"

"That is sadly a consequence of life. You will lose people along the way.", the Gobbo says softly. "My faith has always emphasized that it is the journey, and not the destination, that's important." She smiles as the Khazad pops one of the cubes into his mouth. "Chew on those sparingly, they will make you fat."

A sad expression settles onto her face at Barclaiigh's question. "Irshya was scared of losing people. Was happy that her friends were happy here. Now... this is what she has left."

Barclaiigh pats his substantial stomach and grins at the gobber, his smile fading as she recalls her missing friends. "'ey, dang it. 'didn't mean t'make y'sad, miss Irshya. Miss Cryosanthia will come back after she has'r youngin's, yeah? 'n miss Sabina might, too. They both really loved this place, it was right obvious."

The Khazadi wildman mutters a "(dang it, Bar)" under his breath.

"... y'want some tea?" He scoots back, standing up. "I can go'n fetch you a cup'n we can talk about somethin' else?" There's a shuffle around the table and he's pulling a chair out on his way to the kitchens. "Y'work hard. 'm sure y'deserve a break."

A wee hand stretches out to tug at the Khazad's arm.

"Irshya is okay. Irshya will not be served in her own house. Especially not by a guest and patron." She tugs a little harder. "You sit. Please?"

There's a moment of stubborn Khazadi stone-mindedness before Barclaiigh gives up his quest and returns to his seat with a sigh. A quick glance at the teacup and he squints, wondering if that's the right shade before deciding to give it a little more time.

"We both buy from the other, miss Irshya, remember." He grins and cants his head to one of the Stoutbrew kegs behind the bar. "'n partners're allowed t'help each other." A mild blush and he emphasizes, "Business partners."

Irshya pulls herself into a seat across from Barclaiigh.

"Yes, we are business partners. And Irshya supposes that we're allowed to help one another." She grins brightly, her grin full of teeth.

"But no one serves Irshya in her own house." She lets out a breath. "Irshya takes a break every evening, when she sleeps. And the Tarrace has plenty of staff, that Irshya can come and go as she pleases. She just chooses not to."

"Well. 'certainly won't argue with miss Irshya in her own house," Barclaiigh concedes. "'n any Khazad would be glad t'have yer ethic'n such pride'n their works," he adds with a nod before finally fishing out the teaball and setting it on the saucer. A quick stir of the cup and then he's having his first go of this most-recent brew, swishing it around and letting it pass over, under, and around his tongue. "Mm," he observes, swallowing.

"That's nice. Darn nice, in fact." The dwarf smiles. "'n it's nice knowin yer always here, miss Irshya; the hostess is as much a part'a a good pub as th'walls."

The Gobbo visibly puffs up at the praise. "Aw, it is nice of you to say, Barclaiigh.", she says softly, her cheeks flushing a pale lavender. "It is a good drink. It will wake you up in the morning, but won't keep you up late at night, like kafe can. It's taste is mild, and is easily improved with all manner of flavours. Some prefer to use honey as a sweetener, while others use mead. Some add lemon. Lemon and honey together are good for soothing a sore throat."

The pool shark giggles. "Irshya is not always here, though. But often enough. When Irshya does go, she does her best to go and return quickly. She does not stay away long enough to be missed."

"Aah, 'bet they count th'moments while yer gone, miss Irshya." Barclaiigh grins, watching the tea and nodding as she gives the introductory course. The cup us turned so the handle faces out and he can nestle it between his large hands, enjoying the warmth. His nostrils go wide as he inhales the scent of the brew, eyes closing as he focuses his senses for appraisal.

"Just like a beer. Y'have yer core components'n th'world's there fer discoverin' things t'change'n enhance it." He has another sip and experiences it less-animatedly this time.

"I'll have t'keep'r in mind next time I'm feelin' poorly. Porter'd be happy t'share some honey'n sugar, too."

Irshya shrugs. "Maybe they do. Or maybe they're happy Irshya is not in their hair for a time?"

She giggles lightly, and eyes the Khazad as he appraises the tea. "In a way, it is like soup. Hot. Comforting. Comes in many flavours and textures. Maybe makes you feel a bit like you're home, and your mother is caring for you."

The Gobbo leans back in her seat, glancing upwards at the three statues dedicated to the gods of the Tarrace. "This place is Irshya's home. She hopes that people take comfort of the things she offers. Food. Drink. The baths. It gives her comfort and happiness."

"Well, I told you already this place reminds me of home," Barclaiigh grins, carefully setting down the tea. "Only our operation's a little bigger, servin' as so many differnt things... but the waystop'd be the most like th'Tarrace."

The chair trumpets as he stands and leaves over the table to whisper, "... but't ain't this nice." He leans back and plops down, steadying the teacup in case he bumps the table. Tired as he is he's moving a little slower and, oddly, is less of a mobile disaster for it. "Basic rooms fer travelin' folk'n an open place fer meals. Baths're a couple private rooms with wood basins big enough fer most folk. Main house's nicer, 'course, but y'start gettin' work at th'waystop soon's you can walk, most times."

"Brewery'n the fields're there when y'get older, dependin' on where yer interests lie." He grins fondly at the memory, reaching up to scratch at his beard. "Or you can burn th'whole darned system down'n hear the 'Word callin' ya right afore y'start apprenticin' serious-like in the brewery."

Irshya grins. "Well, Irshya supposes that a family run business is going to be bigger over time. Since a familiy grows, yes? You can probably recall numerous generations of your family working there.

The Gobbo strokes an invisible beard. "Irshya does wonder how much coin she could make running a bigger place and operation. It's probably easier to make a nicer place than a bigger one. Still, one could not complain about your accommodations, since they do cover all the basics a body could need."

She giggles lightly. "So what did you do, then, before the road called you? Before uhm your difficulties?"

"Stoutbrews are all over, yah, but most're on the family holdings s'true." Barclaiigh agrees with a nod. "Great-grandfathers'n -grandmothers'n so on. Auntie is actually great-aunt Deirdre. Got cousins'n second-cousins'n second-cousins, twice-removed enough t'trip over 'til the end'a time." He gestures increments with one hand, segmenting them off one after another as he speaks.

"Was goin' t'be a master brewer. Like m'pa. Got pretty good at it but was still helpin' all over before I got called away; fields, waystop'n so on." He holds up his palms and wiggles his fingers to show off his callouses. "Got good'n strong workin' that land."

"Truffles was a workin' pig. Came with me t'my first Grove fer trainin'. Met all kinds'a folk there."

The Gobbo giggles brightly. "A working pig? That is an amusing thought. Did he find truffles, then, for you? Herd sheep or something?" She reaches out suddenly, her hand snagging hold of one of his. Her eyes critically inspect the calluses. "Your hand speaks greatly to the amount of work you have done.", is her soft reply, letting the hand go.

Irshya ponders her own hands. "Irshya's are not nearly as rough."

"Truffles found truffles in truffle season. A truffling pig unbeaten." Barclaiigh recites the old children's rhyme he shared with his kin, laughing and blinking teary eyes at the happy memory. "Also made manure'n when y'weren't keepin'm hungry'n could pull a plow in a pinch." He sighs, mutters a 'damn' and drags his sleeve across his eyes without stopping his smiling.

"'n, yes, miss Irshya's hands're softer, surely'n they don't seem t'go prune-y'n the water, neither." He collects the teacup and drains the rest down, sighing contentedly at the warmth. His ear still looks horrible but it doesn't seem to be bothering the Khazadi shaman overmuch.

"Keep meanin' t'see iff'n we have other kin'n the city but don't know how t'go about lookin'. Imagine auntie would have better luck, any roads."

Again, the Gobbo reaches out, this time to pat at one of his hands. "It's hard losing a friend and trusted companion.", she says softly. "But this proves you are a kind soul. You care."

She giggles then, and shakes her head. "No, Irshya doesn't get all wrinkly when she's been in the pool for long periods of time. Though, she starts to dry out when she does not keep herself damp."

Irshya hmms and rubs her chin. "Irshya can ask around! She sees many Khazad in the city. They forge good weapons and tools, and they frequent the bars here. Irshya will help!"

"Yer busy, miss Irshya... 'n you've already done so much," Barclaiigh shakes his head. "'n y'won't let me do nothin' t'repay yer kindness. 'm not a fan'a not feelin' like I pull m'weight."

The wildman stops and thinks, scratcing again at his beard and frowning. He mulls for a few minutes and shrugs. "Maybe let me do somethin' fer you? Somethin' from th'wilds fer yer kitchen? Or'n errand through th'city?"

Her expression is good humoured, but her eyes speak of mischief. She chuckles lightly, and shakes her head.

"Clay, you shouldn't rush to repay a kindness. Irshya does not feel that you owe her anything. If you see someone who needs help, who needs a kindness, do what needs to be done. Then they, too, can pass that kindness around. That is how you repay Irshya."

"Iff'n y'say so, miss Irshya," Bar responds, his fond-but-curious smile lingering a little overlong. The dwarf catches himself and clears his throat rubbing his belly and sitting back. "Think I'm ready fer supper. What's good t'night?" Huh? (Type “help” for help.)

"Pour yourself some more hot water and stick the leaves back in. It should be good for several cups worth.", Irshya says as she hops down from her seat. "We've sold out the main dinner. But there is still some hearty beef stew. Fresh carrots and peas from places south, and well soaked potatoes. A bit of spice for extra savory flavour. Fresh baked rye bread, and as much butter as you need." She laughs. "Some ale, too, Irshya supposes."

Barclaiigh looks up from fiddling with the teaball and a spoon, his face falling at the mention of more ale.