Poor Holiday Tidings

Emir: The world has become a dark and dreary place. Yule is not the glitter-and-be-gay holiday I had thought it was: it is a ramshackle monstrosity of greed and gluttony. Though the spirits that were slain were false, with them fell my dreams into a shattered mess. There is no Yule. There is only the remnants of a broken man. ... And also a mouthy little bird. I do believe I must be hallucinating.

Drunk.

Emir is very, very, /very/ drunk. And for once, he's not cheerful about it. For once, he's not swinging stories and stupid songs around. He's not glittering or glamoring, he's not sparkling with the best of the Colgate smiles.

No, he's /moping/. Sitting at a corner table in the dankest of Goblintown taverns, he nurses his umpteenth mug, staring into oblivion. Aka: the horrifically stained and terribly unsanitary table surface. His eyes, which have been doing a strange sort of thing lately, morphing in color from a nice olive to a stranger, glitterier purple, are heavy with drink. "...nother," he mutters, before he shakes himself and waves at the waitress, his festive hat askew. "NOTHER," he calls louder. "P...please."

Zalara is a bit worried about Emir after the mission and she goes to find him. She didn't expect to find him in hear and she makes sure she has her hand on her dragonspitter as she moves in. She hmms softly, "Hello Emir." She says as she moves over to him.

Emir stares into his mug for a moment, then looks up at Zalara. "...I dun' wanna talk to you," he mopes. "You...ferrtold the death of Yule an' I...am vurry sad. I think I'm jus' gonna...gonna...drink through th'holliday. Yus. A good idea." He sways.

Zalara looks at Emir, "Those were artifice they weren't real Emir. The real Yule lives in your heart and it lives there all year round, as long as you keep the spirit of Yule in your heart there is nothing that can kill it."

All this shouting gets the attention of one particular gnome, who's busy riding his wolf down the street, enjoying some cotton candy. Donk pauses mid bite, a clump of pink sticking out of his beard (and sticking TO it in many places, as well), glancing over to where... is that Emir? Nooo... wait, yes, it IS Emir sitting at that table. Drunk? Depressed? That's odd... Oh hey, there's that bitch who almost screwed up the job for everybody.

The Donk frowns and sucks in the rest of his pink treat as he wanders over that way, ear turned towards the pair, curiously. Catching the end of Zalara's comment, he snorts loudly.

"Yule is deeeeeeeeeeadddddddddd," Emir moans, head thunking on the table before jerking up as he remembers how dirty it must be. (He's drunk and depressed, but he's certainly still Emir.) "It was constructs /all alongggg/. All dead. Like...dead things. No more heart, no more....spirits."

Zalara frowns, "Yule is not dead Emir. They were just representations." She frowns over at Donk as he snorts at her, "Come to rub it in how Yule is dead?"

A little grey and brown bird flits into the tavern, and up into the rafters, tilting his head this way and that.

"No. The Donk came for cotton candy." He salutes Zalara with his pile of pink fluff, before pulling off a piece and offering it out to Emir.

The bartender, who has elected not to feed Emir's sorrows with more booze, instead sends along a water. Maybe with a little alcohol smeared along the rim of the glass. Not like he can tell the difference by now. "Reprezzuntashuns of...the Yule in my heart," he says, clumsily patting his chest. "An' like the glittering candles an'...cimmanon scented incense in my soul, they were snuffed out. Poof. Like...like..."

"Like dumb speakybard. Shut up, no more drink."

Emir blinks blearily, and looks over at Donk. "Wha'd you say?"

Zalara nods her thanks to the Bartender, and she looks to Emir, "By a girl with daddy's issues artifice trying to get her daddy's attention. Emir they were fakes and illusions. They weren't the real Yule spirits. I'm sorry that your faith was shaken, but you know in your heart that Yule isn't dead."

Donk shrugs and shoves the puff of cotton candy into his mouth, if Emir won't take it. He frowns at Emir's question to him. "Say what?" The gnome gives Zalara an exasperated look. "Have some heart, wench. The poor guy is going through a crisis of faith. Don't build him up when he's just going to have his delusions shattered again." Donk pats Emir's head, and goes to steal a drink of Emir's "vodka".

"The Yule in my heart is...a twisted, rotten husk." Emir watches Donk take the cotton candy back, not really quite catching on to what's going on since he's smashed eight sheets to the wind by now. The tiny bird from above, however, wings down to land on Emir's head, who looks up and tries clumsily to swat at it.

"Hey! Hey!" Is that the bird? It is. "Stoppit! Dumb bard. Dumb dumb. I try to help. I help. I say: stupid bard. Done drinking. Go bed. You smell."

Emir blinks at it, and thuds, face down on the table for real this time. "I have drunk...too much."

Zalara looks over at Donk, "Call me a name again and you'll regret it. I don't care who you think you are, I have a name, it's Zalara I am a fellow adventurer. Treat me with respect or you will regret it." She looks to Emir. "I'm sorry that happened Emir, but that wasn't the real Yule spirts."

Donk's even LESS interested in Zalara now than he was before. In fact, he is staring at the bird that's giving Emir a verbal beatdown. "Huh... Friend of yours, bard?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at Emir.

"I'll tell...I'll tell you where the Yule is," Emir starts to Zalara. "There I was, tryin'...tryin' to tell people about the /magic/... The magic of Yule. And everyone... everyone wants to kill the spirits! It never mattered that they were mechanical. Erryone wanted to kill 'em from the beginning. And I knew. I knew in my heart they were.../real/." Again, Emir pats his chest. "But then... then they weren't. They weren't at all. An' then it was apparent: Yule is jus'... jus' a sham, jus' like those spirits. Don' exist. All there is, is selfish...greedy...murderpeople. Errywhere. No joy or...giving. Jus'...murder."

Peck! The bird catches him on his nose, making him yelp and grab for it. "Mope mope mope! All you do, mope mope! Up, bardy, up!"

To Donk, Emir looks at the gnome, now-totally-violet eyes watering. "N..never met him before in my life."

"Sure you have! Dummy."

The hollow metal echo of someone coming down steps made of battered, salvaged, and half-rusted scrap announce Remy-- who occupies himself with an elaborately pieced-together box of junk (or junk-like non-junk) in a rectangular shape. A lever makes a 'ping' sound as it's released and he presses a button curiously, his lips pursed. A violent spark of flame arrives with an audible pop and departs in a foul-smelling cloud of noxious smoke. "Huh," is his thorough appraisal of the device in his hands. Shortly thereafter, silken rope begins spilling out of the other end. "Huh," he reiterates.

Zalara frowns a bit, "Now that isn't true Emir. I didn't want to just kill the spirits that we saw, in fact I think we should have just let them do their job. I was wrong and Professor Fizzlefuzz should have gotten to experience the spirits. I was able to see through their illusions and I was afraid that they were trying to hurt him that's why I attacked them. I'm sure that Yule spirits do exist, just like the Gods exist. You can't see the gods, but you can feel their influence in the world and you can see the Yule spirit." She looks around here, "Maybe not here, but in other places. Even tonight, Sparkwire went to all that trouble because she loved her father and wanted to spend time with him. That is what Yule is about, reflecting and being thankful for what we have. It's not about spirirts or gods or toys or money, it's about love and being at peace with your fellow man."

Donk laughs as Emir and the Donk have their back and forth. "THe Donk likes this little birdy! He has little birdy cojones! Destroyer! Come say hello!" The wolf stops trying to chew the gum off the bottom of the table, and lifts his huge head up over the ledge. Immediately, his ears go up and he sniffs eagerly at the bird. Something to eat??

As Zalara launches into her monologue, Donk rolls his eyes and makes a "yap yap yap" motion with his hand that's not currently holding his cotton candy. His mockery stops mid "yap" however, at the pop from the stairs. For the second time tonight, the gnome boggles at someone. "Hey boy!" he calls to Rem, "You're leaking!"

With a heavy sigh, Emir just lays his cheek back on the table. "I recognize the value of your words, but I am experiencing...a heavy darkness of the soul." Apparently depressed bards wax /obnoxious/ when drunk! Who knew? (Answer: probably everyone.) "And I'd remmeber if I ever met a talky...stupid bird before."

"I'm your soul, you idiot," the bird says, with slightly more coherence than its had so far. "You're a verydumb stupidhuman."

"My soul's a trash-talking rat with wings?" he asks morosely.

"Thrush!" it corrects trilly, "And...sortanotreally. Magic flows through you!"

"Music flows through me. You're jus'... a bird. Shut up and let me drink in peac--" Pop. He squints up in confusion in Rem's direction. "...'s a rope," he says helpfully.

Much like the artifice-engineer corporal attempting to push the aetheric conductor grease back into its tube, Remethaer has that moment where he tries to push the rope back into the contraption. In complete defiance, the rope continues to tumble out of the device with a quiet 'whirr-rr-rr-rr-rr-rr.' "Try as I might..." he looks up an over at Donk, lips pressed towards the right side of his face in consternation, "I have no talent for technologies." He takes up a section of rope and lifts it and the device to either side in a drooping shrug. "In these moments I became my father confronted with airships." He sighs and loops the rope behind his neck, then starts curling it around and around his shoulder-- like a mountain climber having conquered his ascent.

(while, in fact, Remethaer has conquered nothing and-- to be painfully honest-- in the arena of life, he's prone and unconscious while the device stands triumphant, arms raised heavenwards.)

"The Donk gave up on technologies quite a while ago," Donk says sympathetically, nodding to Remethaer. "He found he got a better result by hitting machines rather than trying to fix them."

Destroyer is VERY interested in that birdie, and tries to crawl up on the table, nearly upending it in his attempt to get his nose (and maybe mouth) on the tiny bird.

Zalara nods to Emir, "Well if you need any help I'd be happy to help." She hmms, "Do you need some help with that? I'm good with artifice devices I might be able to help you."

"My dark...apparently chattery soul will have its respite. Mebbe tomorrow I will be more willing to... close my eyes to the dread, miserable world and recall my youthlike wonder," is what Emir says to Zalara. Wordy, this one. Meanwhile, the bird erupts into flapping as it flutters up to escape from Destroyer. "Watchit, Pooch!" Emir reaches up and grasps at the bird, and it settles on his shoulder, poofing irritably. "You reallydumb. I explain later."

As for Remy, Emir gives a somewhat sympathetic look as well. "Artifice can be...ridonculous and confusing. But th' more you try with them the better you get! ... Supposedly."

"Oh, gods, please." Remethaer doesn't quite literally jump at the offer of help-- but he might've skipped to close the distance between the begoggled female and himself. It's certainly the sort of thing you don't want people to witness if you plan on pulling later. He hesitates a moment, nose wrinkling, "er, well. Not to imply anything... but if you play me for a fool and make off with this one of my sisters won't get a Yule gift... and the other will-- and I'm quite certain Alexandria isn't ready for yet another cataclysm so soon." He then re-offers the convoluted goblin kit to Zalara. "And I thought about giving it a good knock against the wall to make it stop... but I was worried it might shoot glitter or grease at me," he admits to Donk.

"You should have your gran make you some tea," Remy then asides to Emir. "Whenever my soul is fallen into the deepest whatsis of despair... and the like... my gran makes me tea and it cheers me right up."

Destroyer snaps at the air and whines, only to be silenced as Donk punches him in the top of the head. "Down! Down, Destroyer! You already ate that cat three blocks down, how can you be hungry again?"

"Glitter? Well, if you get it to do that, can you have it shoot it at the bard?" Donk points to Emir. "He needs a recharge, and Donk needs him feeling well enough to herald The Donk's mighty deeds!"

"Pleasure to meet you, Harold the Donk." Remy smiles at Donk and nods.

"... eh? What now?" Donk stares at Remy, baffled.

"Sorry?" Remethaer blinks.

"Huh?" Donk blinks back at him.

Zalara hmmms as she takes the kit, "Oh I know this this is easy just give me a moment." She reaches into her side pouch and she takes out some of her tools. She sets the kit on the bar and she starts to work on it. She nods to Emir as she works, "I do hope that you feel better." Zalara goes back to working and she soon gets the piece of artifice working again. The gets the rope to retract back into the knife and she tightens up some of the other functions. "There you go all set."

"Oh, my gran was terrible at tea, or anything in the kitchen really," Emir frowns. "But our servants were crackerjack at it." A wistful look crosses his face there, his cheek thunking back down into the dirty, terrifyingly unsanitary wood. "I miss having servants. This adventuring life is dreadfully hard... No cozy baths, no lolling about reading stories. Always muck and sorrow and murder and Ceinara knows how I do it." Sigh. Siiiiigh. Life is haaaard. "Perhaps I should invest in a servant. That might be nice. Then they could make me tea during the dark nights of the soul. ... Oh, but I suppose slavery isn't legal outside of Veyshan. How bothersome." Life is sooooooooo haaaaaaaaaaaard.

"Idiot," mutters the bird.

"..." Remethaer just watches Donk for a moment-- as if waiting for something to give. He turns to look back at Emir, though, when the man resumes his lamentations. "You could pop round the shop during proper hours tomorrow for some tea if you like-- just up north a ways near the western market; Zhao Textile Imports." The Alexandrian gives a shrug, "It's Yuletime, after all, and what's a bit of tea if not for sharing? Your friends could come, too-- but no animals inside." He glances at Donk and Destroyer, then the bird, "Be they heroic, virtuous or... talking."

"Ahhhh... the life of having servants." Donk finishes whapping Destroyer into submission and sits back, smiling wide. "That was the life. Those 72 lusty virgins certainly knew how to treat the Donk right. Foot rubs every single day... grapes directly from their palms... If Donk needed shade, they would create a sexy, naked human pyramid just to block out the sun. Good times, good times."

"Zhao Textile Imports," Emir repeats, looking blearily up from his cheekrest. "I think I will. I like tea. An' I won' have the bird anymore so it's a moot point."

"Soul!" the bird says heatedly. "Your /soul/! No throwbye your /soul/!" It ruffles in irritation.

"My soul's /right here/ thank you. An' I'm not even sure you're not jus'... a particularly potent... hallucination anyway."

"Stupid sorcerer featherface," it mutters irritably.

"Bard," Emir corrects, looking over at Donk. "Lusty virgins... Never had none of those. Lotsa half-naked guys, though. ... Mom usually bought the slaves."

Zalara rolls her eyes and snorts a little bit, "Disgusting both of you." She eyes Emir and Donk, "Slaves and naked girls. Neither of you think that those people might have feelings and don't just exist for your pleasure." She frowns, "And here I was feeling sorry for you Emir."

"Mister Moghadam met his wife when he bought her as a slave." Remethaer says as he looks between Emir and Zalara. "When he left Tashraan for Alexandria he had to free her, of course, but they're verymuch in love these days. You meet all kinds in this city and not all of us share the same customs," he offers a little smile to Zalara and Emir, both. "And if you prefer the posh life you might still have servants in the city, sir. Suffer your humble beginnings now and you might be wealthy enough to put yourself up in a palace and employ an army of folk to look after you."

Emir's eyes roll back up to Zalara. "Being a slave's better'n bein' poor in Veyshan. Food, roof, protection. An' we were good masters. Gave vacations'n everything. An' the servants were awesome. So there."

As for Remethaer's response, Emir smiles wistfully (and more than a little drunkenly) into the table. Is he drooling a bit? Maybe. "Yeah... I'll be rich again. An' read aaaaall the books I want. And have the best tea."

Donk stares at Zalara blankly for a bit, like he's inspecting an odd specimen of mouse. "You don't get invited to many parties, do you?"

Donk smiles at Emir's description nodding. "Not to mention that the slaves have the privilege of feeding grapes to the most handsome beings in the kingdom. Not many women can boast that illustrious honor."

Zalara frowns, "Golden chains and bars are still a prison. They aren't free and freedom is more precious then anything. People fight and die to be free." She looks over at Donk, "I get invited to plenty of parties, it's not my fault your manners are lacking."

Remethaer was raised not to push his nose into these sorts of conversations-- especially not in public! He smiles (a bit nervously, perhaps) and pats the coat pocket he's dropped the fixed contraption into, "My thanks, again. A happy Yule to you all-- and I'll look for you tomorrow at the shop. Chin up," he taps a loose fist to his chest and sidles towards the door-- then stops, realizing that's the kitchen, and goes towards the OTHER door.

"Yule is a lie they tell to children to insmrmble mmfmfmzzzkkgggt." Emir trails off into a dreadful snore as he passes right out on the table. The bird just tilts its head and squints at him. "Happy Yule," it replies to Remethaer with a sigh.