Beer Wizard
Tenebrae - Monday, November 21, 2016, 8:39 AM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A05: Ox-Strength Tavern *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The worst sailors, mercenaries, thugs and dock-workers frequent this place, making it one of the most dangerous bars in the city. Its wooden floors and sturdy furniture are scarred from brawls, and the plaster on the walls is broken away in places from the brick underneath. Tucked against the large, steel diamond-pained windows are a few narrow booths providing a view of the street and all its traffic while letting smoky sunlight stream in and preventing patrons being thrown out through them. Little lamps hang from the cieling beams to provide light when the sun goes down.
At the back is a long bar of pitted, much-polished oak sitting beneath a bay of cuboards. Its here that the owner of the bar can usually be found operating the taps and fiddling with the large copper samovar on one end against the wall when she isn't out serving drinks and basically running the whole bar. There's even a few potted violets behind the bar in the open case where bottles are stored. There's a sign in chalk listing the house specialities, along with whatever will be being served for dinner that night.
The food and drink here is good, despite the clientele's rough and frankly undesirable nature and the smell of pipe tobacco and beer that never seems to come out of the wood; the most popular thing being the curries redolent with spices and the hard ciders, both of which she makes herself in the kitchen. Part of the bar itself, it should be noted, bears the marks of electric damage, with spidery black burn marks radiating out from a charred spot right near the inner edge, where the 'tender stool is located.
Over against one wall is a pot-bellied wood stove, with two much-abused leather chairs facing it. Near to that is a locked door that appears to lead to the owner's apartment above the Ox, while a pair of swinging doors at the end of the bar leads to the kitchen.
Kaj ambles in, a keg of ale under each arm as he makes his way to the bar, ducking to avoid any low hanging lights and beams. (re for Mikilos)
Roselle has arrived.
Kaj ambles in, a keg of ale under each arm as he makes his way to the bar, ducking to avoid any low hanging lights and beams. (re for everyone)
Duthei arrives, leading with an electric smile. Humming lightly to themselves, Duthei steps through the doorway behind Kaj as if strolling into a park. Very pleased with themselves, it would appear - or perhaps they're just a cheerfully vague sort of person.
Mikilos makes his way out of the kitchen just as Kaj walks in, the tall elf (but not quite so tall as the gaintborn) idly wipeing his hands on a cloth. "Stove is fixed. Again. Should be up and going in a few minutes." He eyes the Oxley behind the bar with the sort of look that might remind one wizards truely can kill with a glance. "It -looks- like a rat tried to make it's nest in the pipe. I'm willing to assume that's exactly what happened so long as there doesn't end up being a need to fix it -again- this week." The Oxley- horrible horrible people.
"...VARDAMA'S VARIEGATED TITS OF CLEANSING FIRE, /come back here/ or PIE is not the word I'm going to use for you bloody running parse-bottomed WRECK..." A string of colourfully creative expletives drift through the door in a rasping snarl, savagely punctuated by harsh guttural grunts and growls of even more creative insults in Yrch. A small, long shape darts through the door of the Ox, followed by a bruise-blue swathe of fabric that pounces onto it right before it gets in proper, eliciting a shrill squeak and chittering rage from whatever animal it might have been. Roselle lies there for a moment in a tangle of fabric, arms and legs. A leather bag is clutched in one fist tightly, and her expression is thunderous.
"Ah," Duthei says as they step gracefully aside from the doorway to allow for Roselle to come tumbling in. "Weasels! How delightful."
Mikilos blinks a few times, eyeing the commotion by the door. "A what? 'A sand-spewing' what? I'm not familiar with that term." Ever the scholar, learning new and interesting swears. <yrch-speak>
Roselle arches her torso up with a hiss that bodes no good for whatever it is she's trapped. Duthei's greeting, however, brings her head up, and a bright, glittering smile touches her mouth. "Duthei! Oh you're looking as pretty as - OW STAY DOWN YOU SNAGGLE-TOOTHED BIFURCATED LIMP COCK OF A SODDEN RODENT - ...as many pictures - OWW! Yes, weasels it is!" She dives one hand beneath her stomach cautiously, uncoils herself from her prone position with great care, and lo and behold - she's got a Very Irate Weasel by the scruff of the neck, held very tightly to make sure it won't escape a second time. Mikilos' comment brings her head swivelling around to find the speaker, and a crooked grin twists her mouth as she answers in the same guttural language, "Sand-spewing reprobate bactrian of a renegade gnoll and a lily-livered poodle. It's a bit long, but it works."
Duthei remains unbothered by the howling of weasels and angry women alike. Instead, they crouch down next to the beast, looks it straight in its tiny black eyes, and begins to...sing. At least, it is...well, it's melodious. Somewhere. On another plane. Musical as Duthei's voice is, and as the song begins, it swiftly becomes a dischordant string of notes, just off-kilter of melody, strange and chilling as it escapes Duthei's painted lips. Weasel singing. Well.
GAME: Duthei rolls handle animal: (16)+7: 23
The poor door of the tavern is abused plenty too, lately. It happens to be that way today, too, when the door is opened with enough force to send it into SLAMMING against the wall.
THis is immediately followed by the stomping entrance of one (1) Aesir warrior covered in various interlocking plates of darkened mithral and framed by a long, flowing black cloak stepping through -- and hauling a giant sword along with him, propped one of his armor-covered shoulders. This does require him to duck considerably, so that the rough, oversized blade doesn't bring the upper frame of the opening along with it.
"The hell kind of noise," the armored swordsman growls out thus, upon passing through the treshold, with his green eyes rising up to scan through the interiors. "Is this noise? That ain't no Oxley swears, that."
Well.
Mikilos sits himself at the bar, long arm reaching across to snag himself a bottle and glass, absently watching the antics by the door. "I'll have to remember that one. Doesn't exactly translate well, however... well, fairly foul in Infernal, but almost everything is foul in that mess of a language. As for length, have you ever seen a formal gnomish insult battle? They recite entire family histories."
Kai has arrived.
The weasel, which was giving a credible performance at being a writhing snake, is mesmerized by Duthei's singing. However discordant, chilling, and otherwise unpleasant the melody it, it's clearly Weasel Nirvana. The angry beady black eyes lose their bloodlust, and become dreamy, as if the animal were being scritched. Scritched and liking it too. Roselle, who's blinked once or twice as the singing started, doesn't seem to mind the off-kilter nature of the song - then again, there's Oruch Opera, which she's probably aware of, given her familiarity with the Yrch language. A pointed ear does twitch though, slightly, in a manner reminiscent of full-blooded elves. "...Vardama's sainted balls." Blink. "I love you Duthei. Thank you!" She opens the bag and drops the now-docile weasel into it. "Come on I'll buy you a dri-- "
And then SLAM goes the door, a huge SWORD followed by an equally tall chunk of armour swings right /past/ her and she leaps to a crouch, startled into a hiss and a string of creative invective in Infernal.
Duthei crouches by the doorway, where Roselle collects an apparently ensorcelled weasel. Duthei has stopped their singing by now, and rises to stand while offering Roselle their hand. That Jokul has arrived with his giant sword and all does not seem to affect them. They remain in the way.
The tall chunk of blackened armor bearing a giant sword in question (JOkul, for all confused) lets out a confused "Eh?" and stops his stomping about just as one of his mithral-plated boots brushes into the half-sil down below. And so sloooowly, he turns his head downward and pushes the billowy cloak around him away from one of his sides to clear the path of vision for his green eyes as they land on... Roselle.
"...What are you doing down there?" Asks the swordsman, thus, and his eyes squint at the half-Sil. "There's chairs for a reason. Away from the door no less."
Mikilos's own ears perk a bit at the new line of oaths, but given that the Infernal tongue is little but swearing of assorted natures, he doesn't seem quite so vested. Instead, the elf pours himself a glass of something red and dark, savoring the aroma a moment before taking a sip.
Roselle exhales long and slow, and takes Duthei's offered hand so she can rise to her feet. The bag of ensorcelled weasel is, miraculously, undropped - she's holding it in an iron fist probably so she /doesn't/ drop it and start the entire cycle of weasel-chasing again. Once she's upright, she tips her chin up about three inches to meet Jokul's eyes, a twisted half-grin flashing. "I had to chase a weasel," she explains sagely in a sandpaper-honey rasp of a voice. "Before it got in here and caused even worse trouble. You walked in right after I bagged it again. Thank you for not stepping on me. I might have bitten you." She shakes the bag gently, but the weasel is still in its Duthei-induced dreamland. "Duthei! Pick something to drink and I'll get it for you by way of thanks."
"I'm not terribly thirsty yet, thank you," says Duthei, who draws Roselle to her feet and steps aside. "I'm just going to have a seat. Do join me when you're done, eh?" And that said, they go off to find a table.
Both wooden barrels/kegs are placed and plugged where instructed, Kaj somehow assuming Mikilos is in charge, so deferring to him.
"Well, that was thirsty work," he says, "And my ears are bleeding..." he adds, mock-horrified at the Weasel instults. "Orderly queue, you sons and daughters of whores!" he offers, preparing to serve ale. Err, Kaj: you don't work here.
This is the Ox. The people who are supposed to work here (the Oxley) do as little work as they can possibly get away with. And typically, less than that, and they don't get away with it. Others stepping up to the task is pretty par for the course.
"Really," says Jokul in complete deadpan to Roselle's retroactive warning -- and for just a few seconds there, he remains standing where he is, to study the half-sil. Then he wrinkles his nose. "*Probably* preferable over most things that have bit me." With *that* deadpan statement, he decides his original point of attention is something he wants to focus on now, and returns to his stomping path for the bar. Like he'd said *nothing weird at all*.
Roselle 's twisted grin flashes at Jokul's reply. "Why thank you 'most to death, kind sir - that's definitely a compliment," she says sunnily, her dark eyes alight with mischief. "Though I don't think calling you 'good sir' all over the place is conducive to proper identification. I'm Roselle, Mistress of Weasels." As he completes his study of her - probably several yards of fabric swathed around one slender, five-foot-eleven form, bulking it out slightly - she slings the Weasel-Bag over her shoulder and makes tracks for Duthei's table. But first, she calls to Mikilos, with obscene cheerfulness and a little gurgle of laughter that sounds exactly like a geyser just coughed, "Gnomish insult battles? Ohhhh, this I want to hear. Do tell, kind sir!"
And then Kaj is calling for orderly queues and talking about bleeding ears, and she trills another gurgle of laughter. "I'll happily plug your ears for you, but I don't think I can reach that far, 'less I stand on the bar and /even then/ I might need to stand on a chair ON the bar."
Mikilos chuckles, and offers a hand to Duthei as they pass. "I don't believe we've been introduced. Mikilostravia Abrioudelanarchie Mithralla, Builder Arcane. Or just 'Mikilos' casually."
Duthei pauses in their progress, and turns to address Mikilos - who, of course, is so kind as to offer them his hand. "Ah! We have not," they say, smiling prettily his way. So many white teeth. "I am Duthei. Are you a beer wizard?"
Kaj laughs, "We're all Transmutators when it comes to beer!" he replies, destroying the word AND the stein's contents in one go.
"When ever has there been such a thing as an 'orderly line' in a place like this?" Growls Jokul's voice during his continued approach for the way of the barrels of ale. "That's the wonderful part about this place. No need for such little things." ... Still, he does stop his stomping before he tramples on anyone -- even if he does grumble about having to wait for his share of ALE! In the meantime, his eyes twitch towards Roselle. "They call me 'Jokul'," he claims, before one thick eyebrow arches upwards. "And I only said 'probably'. Jury will be out until proof given."
Wait. WAIT. His eyes snap suddenly over to Duthei upon hearing a very certain set of words, and then they move on over to Mikilos. "Beer wizard," he repeats. "That sounds about ten a hundred times better than most wizards I know. And I know a bloody *lot* of wizards I've had to punch."
Roselle grins at Jokul's departing back. "Jokul. I can remember that. And...we can arrange for the 'probably', if you want proof bad enough!" Oh the innocence. NOT. She pokes a tongue into her cheek thoughtfully as she comes up behind Duthei, and catches Mikilos' formal introduction. "...I'm not even going to attempt to mangle that," she states handsomely. "It's only going to come out sounding like an entire colony of squashed weasels and several bactrians had a few too many bad beers and tried to recite a Revered History of Oruch Opera In Elegant And Elegiac Flailings. Mikilos it is then." A pause, and a sudden unrestrained smile sweeps over her severe, rather sharp features. "BEER WIZARD. /Are/ you a beer wizard? That's the nicest thing I've heard all day." As Jokul weighs in, she turns to grin at him. "And I thought I was the only one who wanted to punch wizards! This makes me SO HAPPY."
Kaj raises his hand. "I punch wizards!" he adds, thinking it's some kind of game. He drinks another stein-full while he ponders what the rules might be, starting at Mikilos the whole time.
Mikilos laughs and shakes his head. "No, nothing quite so interesting. I do focus upon the creation of magical things, but not really on brew. Blades, if anything, are my area of focus. Though I -have- brewed up a number of beers. Nothing particularly magical or interesting about them. A few casks served here, still have a couple up at the manor for Yule." He raises up his current glass of red liquid. "This is a more recent work. Pepper wine, though honestly it's closer to a vodka." Blinking a few times, the part of his mind that listens to other people gets a say at the front. "....not to suggest anything, but I have fireballed this tavern before, and am willing to do so again."
"So you are a beer engineer," Duthei muses. "Well, it is good to meet you, sir. Do you own this place, or...?"
Kaj points at Mikilos. "He's quite good, he made a few things for me, including this," he adds, tapping his haversack, "Can probably fit about a thousand weasels in here...?" he says, clearly thinking that's a great suggestion and could start with the current weasel 'problem'.
Duthei has disconnected.
"Careful now," murmurs Jokul in a warning tone, and the glance he sends over his shoulder towards Roselle indicates who he's directing that particular statement to. "My skin might be too tough for your teeth." IS that supposed to be a warning or... a challenge? It's hard to tell with Jokul sometimes, honestly. Either way, his attention continues to settle on Mikilos right after once more, and his head tips sidewards slowly while he considers *his* warning. "I'm sure," he elects to begin saying then, in complete deadpan. "That Myrana would be *ecstatic* about that. Yes?"
Roselle's smile grows even wider at Duthei's comment. "Beer /engineer/. That sounds better than brew master, or even beer master." She has to look aaaaall the way uuuup to look at Kaj properly, of course, but she's definitely amused. "I wouldn't care to be any wizard you punched," she states solemnly. "I wouldn't even need half a punch to be completely flattened. And..." She peers at the aforementioned haversack. "I don't know about a /thousand/, but it'll hold a lot of weasels, for sure. It looks very sturdy --Fireballs?" There's a sudden spark - pun intentional - of interest in her expression.
And as for Jokul..."I wouldn't bite you unless I was /asked/ to, you know. It's not polite."
Mikilos laughs again, and once more shakes his head. "No, Miss Myrana Jn'Rajh is the owner, I'm just a long time regular." He grins, and nods to Jokul. "To be fair, I've always repaired the damage I've done. To the bar, if not to whatever monster or demon was inside at the time. I keep telling her to let me remake this place in fireproof grante, but she keeps insisting on wood."
Mikilos blinks and sits upright, listening a moment, before frowning. "I need to go. Feel free to try the Pepper Wine, but I recommend a small sip." Grasping the amulet at his neck, the wizard is suddenly gone. No poof of smoke, no flash of light, just... gone.
For those daring enough to try the Pepper Wine, imagine a glass half full of vodka, the other half tobasco sauce. That's nothing like this, but if it sounds appealing, this might be your sort of drink. It's spicy and strong and rough and bites like an irrate weasel. With all due respect to weasels, of course.