In a and/or Considering Pickle(s)

Log Info

• Title: In a and/or Considering Pickle(s)
• Emitter: Irshya
• Characters: Barclaiigh, Irshya, Shilde
• Place: the TarRaCe
• Time: May 8th, 2022
• Summary: Barclaiigh has returned from his most recent visit to Mictlan wht a fellow druid in tow. Shilde seems less-than-thrilled to be in Alexandria during her off hours. Irshya, ever the most gracious host does her best to make the pair feel welcome. The gobber also aims to help awkward Bar with a bit of matchmaking. Shilde isn't prepared for the revelations granted and things take an uncomfortable turn.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  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.                           
Shilde      4'4"  160 Lb  Khazad-Aul      Female  Tall for a dwarf, long blonde hair in a thick braid, big blue eyes.       
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A gloomy and dreary day cannot stop the Tarrace's appeal, and the place is modestly full despite it all.

The wait staff busy themselves feeding the customers, while a bartender keeps the alcohol flowing.

The resident pool-shark isn't on service duty today, at least, not currently. She is busy scrubbing the back portion of the main room. The wooden floor has been mopped, and scrubbed and mopped again, with several tables having been rearranged as well, for a bit of change. Several hanging plants have been added, hanging from hooks in the ceiling, lending splashes of green and red and yellow to the room.

Irshya pauses then, looking at the rest of the room, but there is nothing to be done further until the place closes.

Speaking of plants! Barclaiigh arrives under his thick, woolen cowl that's soaked from grey to black carrying carrying a small bundle of flowers. He has to sort of crab-walk through the crowds to keep the red-veined, dark green leaves and red-orange flowers from blocking his view. There are an abundance of "dangs," "shoots," "darns," and "'pologies" along the way.

The brilliant colors of the tropical plant aren't entirely out of place in the Tarrace but they probably looked downright alien in the grey gloom outside. Still, the Khazadi wildman is well used to being the weird one and so it hasn't slowed him on his path.

(Porter is spending time with some ursine friends at the Grove, relaxing after yet another trip to the hot and balmy climes of mictlan to observe and encounter the local fauna. The black bear is just happy to be out of the barding.)

The druid continues on his way towards the back, seemingly intent on the baths but with an eye out for familiar faces. His sausage fingers are laced together beneath the tied sack of roots and earth.

Shilde is grumbling. And not assisting with carrying any of Barclaiigh's plants. Having already expressed it as something of a fool's errand, the Stoutbrew dwarf is lucky enough to have convinced the other druid to join him. Rocky.. well.. Rocky waits outside. 'Wait' is probably a generous word. Woe be to any dog catcher that mistakes him as a stray and tries to grab him though.

The little maid grins brightly at seeing Barclaiigh, and sets the mop and scrubbing broom aside. And soon she is hugging at the portly Khazad's waist. "Barclaiigh! There you are! You've been gone for ages. Irshya hopes all things are well?" Little blue hands reach up to tug at his arm, guiding him towards a table that's empty. "Sit sit!"

Irshya peers at Shilde a moment or two, eyes narrowed, before she grins once more. "You must be Shilde. Barbar has said so much about you, it's nice to finally meet you! Please, sit and be comfortable, and let Irshya get you both something to drink. Is there anything you are in the mood for?"

"Miss Irshya!" Barclaiigh greets, laughing bashfully at the enthusiastic and friendly welcome. The dwarf follows along, doing his best to watch where he's going lest he trip over or step on someone/thing. He glances over his shoulder a few times at his fellow Khazad-- right until Irshya spills the beans. Then he's flushing and look everywhere but at Shilde.

"I-- er-- oh, dang. Right! This little fella's fer you, miss Irshya," he gives the flowers a quick lift to indicate them. "Reckon they'd do OK in the baths iff'n you'd like them; they sprout up real good in th'shade'a Mictlan. Little rascals like the warm'n damp." The paddle-shaped leaves has ruffles around the stems, tapering down to refined, bright buds. A sort of tropical lily.

The druid bends and sets them down into a seat for now, dusting his hands against his pants. "Drink'd be real nice... 'n a big meal, please. Missed the city on m' trip," he adds. Yes, he's a weird druid. There's an awkward glance at Shilde and he blushes again, smiling and looking away to the gobber.

"Whatever miss Shilde'd like, too?" He reaches up one hand and rubs the back of his neck. Mustering a bit of courage he grins goofily at the other druid. "M'family's brew gets served here. Stormbrew." Wait. That's not right? "Strangebrew." He blinks and gives an "er...." What's his name again? "Oh!" His fingers snap and he points, "Stoutbrew!"

Shilde's eyes narrow a little further as Irshya betrays Barclaiigh, which is not a generous thing to do to her already grumpy look.. and she manages to catch Barclaiigh's eyes just the one time before she sighs and decides to let it go. For now. She unshoulders her pack and drops it to the floor, the shield strapped to it clunking against the table. "S'pose a drink an'a meal'd sit about right.." she admits, rubbing the side of her nose. "Might's well. Maybe try some've this brew yer always yappin' about."

Irshya's eyes light up at the gift, and she carefully clutches the plant to her once Barclaiigh's set them down. "Irshya will go and plant them right now. She has a perfect spot for them. Then she will get drinks."

True to her word, the Goblin scuttles off, disappearing into the baths. She only a few minutes before returning, heading to the bar. When she returns, she's laden with two steins, which she carefully struggles to set upon the table. "Two Stoutbrews, compliments of the house. So, today our special is hydra steaks. If you do not know, miss Shilde, we have the world's best cooks here, and their specialty is monster meals. The adventurer's guild always seems to have some recently dead monster, and our chefs cook them up proper.

She pauses to take a breath. "So as Irshya says, hydra steaks. So... so many hydra steaks. Almost too many." The Gobbo shrugs. "It comes with copious amounts of sweet potato mash, with carrots and peas as a side, and fresh baked bread and whipped butter. As well, our enduring monster specials come with a free Stoutbrew..."

The pool-shark pauses to wink obviously at Barclaiigh. "So you both can have a free refill if you get the special."

Another long breath is had, while she looks hopefully at the two Khazad.

"I ain't never had no hydra before, miss Irshya." Barclaiigh admits, more than a little pleased with her reception of his gift; he'd been trying to think of something nice to do for awhile now. "A special fer me, then, please." He bends his sausage fingers into claws and combs at his great, bushy beard before turning to grin at Shilde.

"I'm sure you'll like this batch, miss Shilde. Auntie says the winter was good'n mild at th'farm'n the hands kept the crop healthy through it. My kin in the brewery proper'r take no more pride'n anyhtin' else'n th'world than what work they do there." He grins and nods again.

Shilde immediately lifts the stein to her lips and drinks. And drinks. And drinks. When she pulls it away, wiping at her lips with the back of her free hand, she nods, dropping herself into a chair at the table. "Aye, well, Irshya. S'pose its worth a try. Might order another fer me puppers if it's as good as y'say." She settles the Vessel of Beer upon the table. "Seems th'Stoubrews know their work."

"It is a little... hmm... spicy. It needs to be soaked in a special bath, which leeches out the natural toxins the hydra has in its body. Then it is slowly cooked, because if you cook it too quickly, it will spoil. It's not terribly spicy, mind you. Irshya thinks it's about the same as uh... those red peppers? Sweet peppers, Irshya thinks they are called. So just a little tingle. Pleasantly so."

The Gobbo hmmmmms. "Irshya not know if it is a good idea for doggos to have. Irshya can supply a regular steak, instead. Raw even, if that is what your puppers would enjoy? If not, something else can be arranged. You sit tight, Irshya will get your food started and then bring a couple more Stoutbrews."

"Yes, ma'am," Barclaiigh accepts the compliment with a smile fit to split his face. He takes up his mug and leans forward, setting it back down in front of the Khazadi woman. "Yer thirsty. Please. I don't mind waitin' none." He glances at his tattooed fingers and hand and flinches subtly, pulling it back and settling with both hands folded in his lap.

"Y'know my auntie tells this joke..." he sniffs and his tiny eyes dart to the floor to bounce around as he remembers it. "Oh! Right." He looks up and grins his goofy grin. "'Him what cookis carrots'n peas in the same pot ain't sanitary,'" he offers with an awkward little laugh.

The portly Stoutbrew shifts a bit in the chair and does his best to ignore how the whole place seems to've gone quiet all of a sudden.

Shilde considers, her face scrunching up as she considers. "On one hand.. stupid dog eats anything. On the other.. he sure likes t'complain when he's feelin' blue. Better not risk it, aya. He'll be good wi' whatever he finds in the alleys." Then she looks at the remnants in her mug, swishing them around before draining them. Burping. She certainly doesn't complain when Barclaiigh passes her his. Then she stares at him and his joke.

And guffaws. First it's a snort, then a belly laugh. Either at the joke, or the temerity (or naiveity?) in telling it in a place such as this. "Ahaha.. pees in th'same pot!"

Irshya ows as her eyes roll back, leaving just the whites for a few moments, before she rolls them forward again. "Irshya almost went blind.", she complains. Shaking her head, she heads off to the kitchen as planned. It is very obvious that their order is placed, because she practically yells it. With the Tarrace recovering from a terrible joke, the Gobbo is easily heard.

Not too much time goes by before two more mugs of Stoutbrew are hefted up onto the table by the diminutive Gobbo. "Your order is on the way. And Irshya has no trouble giving you a doggo bag for your puppers. We can do proper leftovers, yes? Or specially made, freshly cooked meal. Make him feel special, yes?"

The relief when Shilde finally laughs is a palpable thing spilling out of Barclaiigh. He'd realized shortly after sharing the joke that talk of making water probably isn't what proper folk do at the dinner table. But she laughed! He joins her, presently, and covers his mouth and battered, bulbous nose when he snorts in spite of himself. Irshya rolling her eyes goes unobserved.

"My auntie knows all kinds'a bellyshakers; been pickin'm up her whole life walkin' from here t'there'n back 'gain." The auburn-bearded dwarf takes up the new mug and finally samples it, pausing to suck the head from his caterpillar mustache before setting it down. He grins when Irshya returns and bobs his head at the gobbo. "Deirdre. I'd say y'all should meet'r but she's on a trip with onn'a her friends. Takin' a break from business now we done got all our work handled."

"Reckon that's why I've been pokin' my head on over int' th'jungle. Gotta see new critters'n learn about other pieces'a Gaea." He glances from hostess to drinking partner and shrugs, "Big ol' worlds got more to it'n Alexandros, reckon. Right?"

"Aha. Aha.." Shilde's laughter dies down, and she takes another swig of the the ale before she aquiesces to Irshya's suggestion. "Damn puppers already things he's special enough, but figure it couldn't hurt." She eyes the goblin for a moment in consideration, stroking her chin with broad fingers (not quite the sausages that Barclaiigh sports), then shrugs. "Leftover's be find. Dummy dives in th'garbage when I'm not watchin' him close."

Shilde settles back in her chair. "Yer auntie sounds a'right, for sure. "

"Irshya will be sure to let the cooks know to keep the peas and carrots separate in future.", she says solemnly. "Leftovers it is for puppers. We'll have it ready for when you're good to leave." The Gobbo grins toothily at Barclaiigh. "So did you ask her out?", she faux whispers, winking obviously at the male Khazad.

Things were going so well! Barclaiigh was starting to settle into the familiar, calm streams of small talk as they idled waiting for the food. Then Irshya sells him out for the second time in the same day.

The dwarf chokes on his drink, quietly, and all-but freezes in place with the mug up over his mouth and busted nose. His little eyes slowly pivot down to the gobber without the rest of his head turning. He's going as red as a Veyshanti-born Cerenzan.

When he speaks he forgets to put the cup down. So he's talking into his drink and the hollow space above it. He's probably trying to say 'I don't know what you're talking about' but it comes out as

"Mmburble glug blip burbling bout."

Shilde had just been reaching for her mug. The hand stops. Twitches. Then is joined by the other one as her fingers link together and rest upon the table's surface. "Ask me out," she says, flatly. "Do. Tell. Barclaiigh. I feel like folks 'round here know a surprisin' 'mount 'bout me bein' this is m'first time here, aye?"

Irshya cants her head slightly to one side, and then the other. She reaches up to pat Barclaiigh's hand, before she speaks. "He is really bashful.", the Gobbo says, quietly. "But he has talked about you, to me. Little things, details of adventure here and there, and how he feels about certain things. Irshya has tried to coax him into telling you, Shilde. Gently."

She looks Barclaiigh in the eyes, "I am sorry if I have spoiled things for you. I was just excited to see that you'd brought her here. Irshya is happy for you."

The sound of a heavy exhale through big nostrils echoes out from the cup. Then Barclaiigh decides to drain the contents just a bit faster than he manages to swallow. Thankfully, his big beard sponges up most of the spilt beer before its running down the front of his shirt. He sets the cup down and wipes his face, eyes darting between the two women.

"er..." the Stoutbrew has faced death by extraplanar and unknowable monstrosities but he's having trouble meeting Shilde's inquisitive glare. "That is... I reckon..." He wipes his face again and allows Irshya time to say her piece.

"... just said yer handsome's all..." he finally manages, feeling as if his face is on fire. "'n brave'n clever'n fantastic..." He starts digging his thumbnail into the edge of the table as he mumbles.

Shilde continues to look at Barclaiigh. She'd call it a somewhat neutral, if flat expression. It's possible it comes across as something else entirely. "Beggin yer pardon, miss Irshya. This'n might be a conversation e'd best have with me'n private t'somepoint." She watches the struggling druid for a moment longer before deciding to let him off the hook, shaking her head and looking at the goblin. "T'ever he might've said, he's a mite confused right now I'm thinking. Spoutin' some nonsense, he is. Probably got heat stroke from that cursed jungle 'an fried his brain."

The Gobbo-shark tsks. "No, he is not spouting nonsense, miss Shilde. Though Irshya agrees that it is a conversation you two best have alone. Irshya will not pry. But she will encourage Barclaiigh to be confident and say what needs saying."

There's a ringing sound from somewhere in the back, and Irshya's ears perk up. "Oh, the order is ready!" She scampers off to the back.

There's yet another deep breath that sounds more than a little shakey when Barclaiigh purses his lips an blows it out slowly, trying to keep his heart down in his chest. He glances at the gobbo's back and blinks, both relieved to have one less audience member and terrified to be alone. This is a pickle. He could go for a pickle right now. Pickles are delicious and you don't have to tell them how you feel.

The druid grinds his teeth in a grimace, aware that he shouldn't be distracting himself.

When he finally finds his nerve to look across the table at Shilde his expression is almost pained. It's as if he's bracing for a wound he know'll come. "I ain't never seen no one like me before you, miss Shilde." He glances down and takes hold of his fetish, lifting the Yggdrasil token she'd enchanted for him and then dropping it. "'n you done all this t'help me'n Porter." He's back to inspecting the woodgrain on the table, only glancing up for the briefest moments. "I-- er... I reckon I think about y'all... all th'time. 'n..." He sighs and rushes through this last part: "an' iff'n I had me a dragon's hoard I'd keep thinkin'a things you could make fer me just t'have an excuse t'come visit."

Shilde doesn't say anything right away, working her mouth a little bit. Perhaps trying to work something from between her teeth with her tongue as she weighs Barclaiigh's words. Her fingers are still laced, though the top fingers uncurl and start tapping against each other. "Barclaiigh. Yer a fine dwarf. A good'un, doin' things for folks, not askin' for much. An' I can't say I don't like that." She glances sideways to see how much time she has before Irshya returns, then looks back at the other dwarf. "I think maybe we'll talk 'bout this another time, aye? Not so.." her fingers unlace as she gestures to the restaurant. "Get some things straight."

"I didn't mean to--" Barclaiigh cuts himself off and looks around, waving a hand in an imitation of Shilde's gesture. "This weren't meant to be no ambush'r nothin', I mean..." He's rubbing the back of his neck again.

"Really did just mean t'grab a bite'n talk shop a bit. Sometimes I'm doin' what I'm doin' cuz I know it's 'xpected'a me but..." He looks at the back of his hands and then holds them up to display the druidic runes defacing nearly every inch of his skin. "... ain't no one I know got Word script all over'm. Keep thinkin' I woke up'n someone switched m'dingers out." He sighs and folds his arms, tucking his hands out of sight.

"Miss Irshya's a force... 'n she's tryin'a help's all." The caterpillar mustache dips, obscuring his mouth as he chews his upper lip for a bit. "Reckon we can let that... other thing rest, yeah? Just be two Khazad'n two shaman'a th'Word fer now? Just so's I know it ain't only me goin' a bit crazy. Again."

"Aye," Shilde responds. "Two Khazad who're out've their place tryin' some hydra meat... sandstone.. who was thinkin' /that/ was a good idea?" She snorts. She puts her hand down, forefinger pressing down on the table. "We'll talk again 'bout this. Later. Fer now we'll just let it be."

The Gobbo returns then with a large silver platter. Two plates are set in the middle, a large steak on each and surrounded by peas, carrots and sweet potato mash. An even drizzle of gravy has been showered over the meal, though there are two bowls full of the stuff, should more be desired. The slices of bread are thick, and crusty.

"Irshya hopes your evening is going well." She manages to get the platter onto the table without much trouble, "Did you want more ale?"

There's a decisive nod from Barclaiigh and a brief smile that lacks his usual enthusiasm as Shilde's decision. He sits up a bit straighter when the hostess returns, eyes going wide at the platters as his troubles are-- at least for the moment-- forgotten and the quiet awkwardness dashed aside.

"Oh, miss Irshya, this looks amazin'." His stomach chimes in, grumbling greedily in agreement. He grins with the warmth spilling up into his eyes this time and nods. "Please, yeah, more'a th'same," he adds on the topic of drinks.

The chair squawk as he scoots forward, taking up the flatware. "How fast y'reckon we have t'eat this afore it starts growin' back?" His attempt to lighten the mood is as awkward as it is transparent but he's doing his best.

Shilde watches Barclaiigh doubtfully for a few moments, then nods though she is somewhat subdued now as well. Her examination of the delivered meal is somewhat more skeptical than Barclaiigh's, but that doesn't stop her from sliding forward and wielding the flatware as well. "Not till it's in yer stomache, I'm thinkin'" she tells him. Though she does have to admit, it smells pretty good. "Figure if anyone can make it edible, yer people can," Shilde tells Irshya.