Would You Like a Job?

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* 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.

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It is *way* too late to be awake, let alone subjecting oneself to the Ox-Strength's 'fare.' And yet here Donna is, because sleep has just been the most elusive quarry yet, and one of the things one can depend on with Oxley beer is, it's kinder on the face than a punch to the jaw, and the tavern is vastly warmer than the biting chill outside.

Thus Donna slouches over a tankard at the bar, gauntlets stacked at her elbow and projecting an air of 'mess with me, and the gloves come *on.*

Delilah is not present tonight; the young sorceress is off somewhere else in the city, though she's due back any time now. Well, maybe not quite yet, but soon at least. When the door to the tavern opens and closes, one might be forgiven for initially thinking it's the golden haired twin returning, but the sound of heavy footfalls would quickly dispell that notion.

Footfalls that, as it turns out, walk right up to Donna, no matter how hostile her immediate surroundings seem to be. "Good evening, Miss Vaelethor," greets one Guard Captain Norrington, with an expression as smug as ever.

And indeed Donna does check over her shoulder, though it may only be perceptible to the particularly eagle-eyed. Thus her back is already turned by the time Norrington approaches, head tilted forward. Donna is, after all, not sure that the look she has to give the Captain would be a criminal offense, but if anyone would be likely to prosecute it...

"Gotta hand it to you, Captain," she says after a moment. "Didn't think it was possible to sour Oxley beer..." She pauses, takes a sip, and nods. "But you got that special talent. Could make a fine side livin', havin' tavernkeeps pay you to go away. I'm guessin' this is a business call?"

Norrington looks at the bartender, and lifts a hand. "I'll have a beer," he demands, "And another one for Miss Vaelethor, hers has gone sour." He tosses a few coins onto the bar, and then turns to lean against it sideways, resting one elbow on it as he regards the woman beside him. "It is," he confirms. "But not that sort of business, not this time. You're not under arrest today, and by some inability of my guards to find anything worthwhile, neither is your sister -- which is why I am here."

"Oh this gotta be good," Donna sighs. "Just on the off chance you're bein' genuine -- an' you better be *real* grateful, considerin' how you been treatin' us -- let's hear it. I'm just tired enough and outta fucks enough that I wanna see where this's goin'."

A pair of beers, big and full and topped with foam, appear on the bar; Norrington picks up one and gulps down a fair portion of it. "Never get tired of a good beer," he pronounces. "You come to this tavern often, then? I'm surprised not to see your sister here, normally the two of you are about as easily seperated as a couple of planks nailed tightly together."

The Knight Captain drums his fingers on the bar, and regards Donna with an unreadable expression for a long moment. "Miss Vaelethor, I'd like to offer you a job."

"Just because we're twins don't mean we ain't people too," Donna notes, poking at the foam head, then scraping it away with a finger. "Only reason we stick so close? Damnedest thing, sometimes there's just some rude, determined bastards determined to separate us for some dastardly reason. You're a bigshot Guard, mebbe you could figure out a reason or two to pick on a couple o' girls just trying to get by."

Finally she sighs, takes hold of the mug, and takes a pull. "This job come with a Guild contract?"

Norrington shakes his head. "No, it's a guard contract. You're well versed in the criminal elements of the city, and you've got a sensible head on your shoulders. THe guard could use someone like you. We'd put you on the payroll as an informant, at least for a while, and move you up to full guard status after you've had time to prove yourself." He takes a sip of his beer, and smiles. "Much more regular pay than the guild, and a lot less dangerous, all things considered. You're much less likely to come homing missing an arm... or a head, or something like that."

At this, Donna snorts so hard she manages to get beer foam up her nose, and thus a moment is spent shoulders quivering, hand slapping the bar... but when her airway clears up the first thing out of her mouth is laughter. "Whose idea was this? I'mma laugh this beer back out if you say you, cos *you* ain't got *no* trust from me, Cap'n. I mean hell, I'd be happy t' pass along stuff as I hear, but I *ain't* puttin' on a shield when *you* ask all sweet."

Barking out a second, short laugh, she shakes her head. "Well yeah now I'm awake. Gods' eyes, you got balls."

"You should reconsider," Norrington replies, not missing a beat after watching Donna snort beer up her nose. "You really, really should. Afterall, you love your sister, do you not? And you *are* inseperable. You see, the prison has a level where only guards are ever allowed to visit the prisoners, and sooner or later, I have absolutely no doubt that a person like your sister is going to end up there. if you were a guard, well, you could be assigned there, and the two of you wouldn't have to be seperated. ...Otherwise..." he snaps his fingers.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Captain," Donna says, all trace of amusement leaving her voice quickly enough that one would expect a 'pop' as air rushed back into its place, "but I think I heard somewhere 'bout extortion bein' illegal."

Her head slowly turns, blue eyes staring bleak menace at the Captain. "But if I'm bein' kind thinkin' that, an' you already got her? You best think reeeeeeeal hard if that's the way you want to do this. Cos' you given me *more* than enough practice at the legal system fightin' bullshit charges."

Leaning back in her stool, she edges her half-drunk beer away with a finger. "That said. Guard's havin' trouble, wants eyes an' ears? No contract needed. But until you gimme a reason to *like* you, I'm reportin' to another district. Because, simply put? *Fuck you.*"

Norrington shrugs his shoulders. "Report a conversation about a job offer with a Knight Captain, and claim it was an attempt at extortion? Go ahead. You've got..." he scans the bar, "No witnesses, so your word against mine which already gives me the upper hand, and, oh yes; I'm a Knight Captain, and you're riff-raff with prior convictions for impersonating the nobility -- your sister's idea I think that was -- and assaulting that poor boy in the Guild hall. Good luck."

The door to the tavern opens again, and this time, it really is Delilah making an entrance; she stops dead, of course, when she sees Norrington standing beside her sister. Norrington, however, just drains the last of his beer in one go before setting the mug back down. "Your sister has returned. You should really think about the offer; have a pleasant evening."

"Keep thinking that," Donna says. "Truth outs, Cap'n. Truth always outs. Think real hard 'bout that, y'self."

She checks back over her shoulder when the door opens again, and flips a lazy salute -- Three fingers, right hand beside her eye instead of her brow. 'No trouble yet.' "Sup, D."

Norrington smiles. "Yes, they do," he replies, "And I'm sure the truth about your sister will out soon enough. Goodnight." He walks towards the door, walking past Delilah (who skirts around him while trying -- and failing -- to make it look like she isn't).

Delilah comes to a stop beside Donna, just as Norrington is busy leaving the building. "What was that all about?" she asks. "Norrington being himself again?"

"Siddown," Donna says, raising her hand to signal for two more beers. "You're gonna want a drink for this."

When her order arrives, Donna pushes a mug at Delilah, and waits for her to take a pull. When her sister finally does drink, Donna waits for the mug to be horizontal. "He was tryin' to recruit me as an informant, an' eventually join the Guard."

Delilah picks up the beer, looks at Donna, looks at the beer, looks at Donna again, and shrugs. "Okay," she replies, and puts the mug to her lips. She has a couple of gulps; and then Donna tells her what happened. There's a loud SPFFFFKRRRGHT sound as she tries to laugh into the beer. The result, naturally, is beer pretty much flies out of the mug; when she sets it back down on the countertop, she's doing her best not to choke and has beer dripping down her chin.

"...Okay," she gasps, thumping herself on the chest. "Okay. That was a good one. What was he /really/ here for?"

"Serious as a hostage rescue," Donna says. "'There's a level in the prisons where only the guards can go, oooh, your sister's gonna get locked up an' bunged down in there, if you're *good an' sweet* you can still visit 'er...'" Lashes are fluttered, and then she makes a noise that jumps way past 'rude.' "What a knob."

Delilah's eyebrow goes up. Like all the way up. "Wait... what? Serious? He wants to lock me in the underground clink or something and lemme guess, he wanted you to help him put me there?" Delilah looks at her beer, then looks back at Donna. "I mean... I dunno, am I supposed to be amused or terrified? I feel like both could be appropriate right about now."

"Search me," Donna says, blowing out a breath. "But I meant what I said; we know folk in th' Temples, an' we can get quick access to truth spells. He tries anything, I will drag his ass to a magistrate an' get him knocked out the Guard."

Delilah phews softly. "I hope so," she replies. "I wouldn't put it past him to have already thought of a way out of that, though. I mean, it can't be *that* easy after all this time, can it? I can't believe it's that easy." She shakes her head, and picks up her beer to down half of what's left. (Well, left in the mug, anyway.) "But I mean... what's he playing at? Seriously?"