A Glittering Storm (Lenne)

[Skaramoosh]

Business was slow.

Dark eyes chased the swirl of dusty motes lit by light spilling through the foggy windows, painfully bright despite the coloured glass. A cavernous yawn cracked, fingers scrubbing at his eyes. Still cooler than the heat outside, not that he'd encourage the custom. Wasn't like the beer was anything to shout about anyway. Maybe he should turn the place into a proper inn...could use the spare rooms upstairs...would be good to get some life and noise into this place...

...If he didn't feel as lazy as a cat sunning itself.

Too much effort.

Besides! The place was good enough for now, fresh rushes on the floor, new oil in the lamps and the beat-up tables had been polished til the wood positively glowed. Maybe it wasn't the grandest establishment but damned if it wasn't the cleanest this side of the palace.

Kale lifted his head off his arms as the door whinged, bringing in the light and busy chatter of the street outside, squinted at the newcomer with some suspicion. Aside from the old man nursing his drink in one dingy corner, there wasn't anyone else. Might be he should stop serving the old drunk but if he wanted to piss away his days in a drunken haze, well, who was he to tell him different? Didn't cause no harm. The girls weren't set to arrive til a couple bells from the present, after all, what was the point in showing if you had no customers? They'd do the cleaning and then he'd look a fool with naught to do.

He propped his chin in the palm of one hand, scratching idly at his beard and still squinting at the silhouette, a thoughtful bass rumbling in his throat.
"Hrmm..."

[Gaze]

The ghost of a woman floated between the busy streets, sweeping in her dark green cloak. Beneath her hood, eyes peeled for her destination. A hand floated, languidly with her steady pace, but her other hand, that one clasped a heart-shaped locket on a string around her neck. The golden thing held a portrait, of One not spoken of. Fate had dealt a hand as it typically did on her birthdays, possibly all thirty of them; the usual cruel hand. Some curse, one might say. One that would have been shockingly terrible if she had not come to expect it ages ago. Surely as the Sun rises in the East every day. Yes, a day reserved for joy, inundated, by urgent missives and a relentless doorbell, with none being congratulatory in nature. Her lips thinned at the memory. Dark circles had not left her eyes, and her black hair now showed white, all in the space of months. She expected the following months to continue such trends.

A place to get away. She simply must find one, out of sight, out of people who knew her and harangued her, out of the compass of relentless ravens sending more parchments of dread. By the gods, no. In a single motion her hand found the handle, her feet taking her into the establishment of one Siren's Song. The overhead bell rang as the door swung inward. The inside was dark, made even darker since her eyes was used to brighter scenes. Was there any reason for light, in this too early hour? She did not know. Light filtered in through the sources that were the windows. The forest cloth that clad her had moulded her into a woman, for now, like an actor that had fallen into his act when he looked in the mirror and saw his costume shape his identity. The tomboy that Lenne was, was kept at bay but now swiftly returned. A quick glance around the establishment and she brushed her hood off, taking a seat before the bar. The hood gathered around her neck, making her head appear smaller than it was.

There was one other customer at the place. He was alone, save for the imposing figure of one bartender surveying her entrance, and one that now followed her to the seat. One she would invite to her bed tonight? The idea rolled in her mind like yarn patted on by a kitten. She rubbed her ear, then leaned in, bringing her frame near the bartender. Bright white hair a sunburst in the black met him, glimmering in the windowlight. She raised her head, the sunken shadows of her eyes revealed themselves to the man. Man?

"I heard those coladas of yours are rad. Although you could, sell me anything." Her body swayed, shrugging, as her shoulders attempted to loosen up. She looked to the drunkard. "Fun crowd ye have here, eh? Surely the nights would be ... livelier. Full of ladies, aye?" An inadvertent snort escaped. The index finger's joint nudged her lower lip now."

[Skaramoosh]

For a long moment he just stood there, dark eyes locked with hers, burning coals in the dimness. Then he laughed, a sudden harsh boom that made the old man jump, beer slopping over the rim of his mug.

"Ahhh, das a good wun gyal!"
Still chuckling, he straightened up, pushing the old stool aside with his foot and tucking it back under the bar. Hard face, like most of 'em what trundled through the door, maybe a bit easier on the eyes though. Didn't look like a building site with hair, anyway.
"'Ow many yuh tink come in 'ere ta drink in di aftanoon, uh?" Still chuckling, he shook his head and flicked the neck of a bottle, setting it to rolling lazily on its base, loud in the otherwise empty space.

"Suh...whu' yuh wan'? Sumtin' ta whet dat whissle...orrrrr..." he rolled the end of the word, a sibilant purr as he worked to a stop at the other end of the bar, then turned sharply, lips pursed; "Sumtin' else?"
Kale grinned, sharp, perhaps a touch unnerving. He wasn't dressed differently from any other you might see on the street, simple close-fitting garments in the local style, complete with myriad seams and leather strapwork. The colours were nothing garish to draw attention, a workman's dusty brown, a hint of off-white shirt peeping at the sleeves of his coat, at his collarbone where the high neck had been left unbuttoned. The only bright colour was a faded green scarf tied across his head, richly embroidered in coppery thread and embellished with a small string of beads. Good for concealing features which the general public might have something to say about, not to speak of the tail stuffed down the back of his pants.
Wasn't worth wandering the place in your good clothes, unless there was going to be an important visitor...course, you could slum around moving crates and checking stock while being well dressed but if you came back picking cobwebs out of your hair, people might get the wrong idea.

"Got some good floc in just dis week...or mebbe a hard scotch?" He tried to guess what sort of drink she might enjoy just from the look of her, but it was a hard read. "Hrmm...or mebbe yuh jus' wan' a cool cordial ta clear di dust?"

[Gaze]

Not expecting his loud roar of a laughter, she jumped off her chair as the drunkard did. The booming, the laughter, the coal-like eyes, the straightening of his posture which caused him to loom over her surely gave her a moment's pause. She stood erect. Then, an eyebrow quirked on her left eye, resting in the air in a raised position, and her lips were a straight line, though the curved edges revealed a hint of amusement. And her dark eyes glittered.

The question begged her open desire, a drink. The purr begged a more, primal one. She returned the man's grin openly now. Suavely, she spun the chair around, her butt catching itself mid-swing on the flat before planting itself down in a smooth motion.

"Yes, and yes," she evaded, but the glitter never left her eyes. Comfort returned to her jittered frame. In a tactile moment, she pawed, from her low position, his belt, before the hand drifted off to finger her chin. "Maybe just a scorch. Or maybe you could give me ...." A hint of mischief played in her eyes now. "... whatever drink's got that man over there sleepin' his days away." She glanced aside to the slobbering man, her chin half pointed in his direction, as her hands clasped in intertwined fingers on the counter. "Why'd he drink anyway? To forget his troubles, perhaps? Or himself? Did he lose a lover? Was he a wizard once, perhaps, fallen from grace?"

The Wyrdwood Academy's blazon was on his faded scarf, tied around the man's waist, peeking from under the table. Dangling, like some common belt. Oh, now she needed the drink. Or a wretch in her arms.

[Skaramoosh]

Aha! A smile there, just the barest hint, but he'd damn well caught it! Better than nothing, for sure. For a second there he'd thought she'd be another of these cold, hard, mercenary types that had misplaced their sense of humor. Honestly the closed expressions had him going for a moment, uncertain if the playful words were in good merriment or a flat jibe.

Well whatever, he'd take it. Little enough going on right now.

Her devious grin was enough to tip the balance and he smiled in genuine amusement at her chair trick, halfway to uncorking a bottle he'd just taken from beneath the bar.
"Nuh, yuh dun wan' whu' he drinkin'. Special Sheep Liniment, will put di 'air on yuh chest...or so di locals say. I tried it once or twice...personally, I tink it's mostly turpentine."
His brows lifted as she pawed at his belt, dark chuckle rolling from his lips as he unsheathed the claw on his thumb and dug it into the cork, twisted it loose with a low pop! She probably wasn't that local then, unless she was a loose farm girl, or possibly someone's desperate wife. Not that he minded either...what with the expectations of women to be so chaste, it was all like some giant game here. Thus far she was being...very forward.

Actually it was sort of refreshing.

"A t'irsty kitten, uh? Too bad we dun keep milk..."
Ruddy red fingers plucked a glass from the shelf beneath the bar, twisting it in the light to double check it was clean. The scotch followed, a generous shot pushed across the bar on his fingertips. He leaned forward, kohl-rimmed eyes watching her intently for a long uncomfortable moment. He grinned, a bright flash of teeth in his dark face, hint of cinnamon on his breath. "Don't ask, don't tell...but...dis is a speakeasy. Suh...Ah reckon..." he thumbed his beard thoughtfully, glancing at the old sot 'neath heavy-lidded eyes; "Him got nuhwhere ta go, mebbe his old lady kicked him out fah sellin' di family cow fah a handful ov beans. Den he gave dem beans ta a church knight...and di knight, 'e become a giant goose, suh now 'e drinks an' 'ides from di church.."
His shoulders shook a little with suppressed laughter, and he straightened again, eyes sparking with mirth.

"Das a ha'penny, Kitten. Suh, if yuh was a drink...whu' would yuh be?"

[Gaze]

A new group had started to come in now, jingling at the doorbell and, for a moment, the ruckus of the streets came through. She saw a group, teenagers, make themselves at home, but for now, paid them no mind.

This bartender entertained, he surely did. She watched intently the ember liquid cascade down to the glass like a tumbling waterfall, swirling and gurgling as they hit the bottom. As he raised the bottle, she saw the motes of dust dance in the filtered ember halo around his green headscarf, the brightest thing of wear he had on him. What was under this cloth, she thought, before he handed her the glass.

Lenne laughed at his 'thirsty kitten' comment. "This kitten appreciates this drink," said the woman, raising the glass in a toast. A hand automatically plucked a silver coin off her pouch and placed it on the counter. "My name is Lenne. No last name. Just Lenne."

As she sipped, her eyes ever played on him, returning his prolonged gaze. She had not quite placed what he was.

What drink would she be.

"Fascinating. See, I'm an alchemist." Fingers of her free hand tapped the counter in a staccato rhythm. "So, when you ask me that question, a bunch of stuff comes to my mind, see? Compounds, alcohol mixtures, acid, a Molotov cocktail even though, thank the gods, I'm not that, yet. A better question would be: if you were a vessel, what would you be?"

When she whispered, leaning in, his face was close enough for her to smell cinnamon breath from those pearly teeth. An intoxicating haze. Her broken smile foreshadowed her next words.

"My colleague, Reimu, gave me this one gift, once. A shattered bowl, held together by a precious metal. It had rivers that split into streaming deltas of gold flowing down the cracks, filling them in a glimmering light that glow from the granite grey as it caught the light. At once, the workmanship fixed the bowl, and at once made it far more beautiful than the plain bowl it used to be."

She allowed herself to lean back, taking a second sip, drawing a deep breath. Her hand clasped the whole, unbroken, cup.

"Imperfection, mister. The craft treats breakage and repair as a part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise." She was rambling, she knew. "I am so very flawed and broken as that bowl, but I hope who I have become is better than who I was. Because I was an arrogant woman. Breaking wiped most of it away, I reckon. Don't laugh."

Ah, but the rot lingered.

She indicated to the drunk. "That man. He has a scarf on his belt. A Wyrdwood Academy blazon. A fallen student, perhaps, he was once? A scholar disillusioned by the grandeur? Or what he found in his books as he wrote his papers?" A snort left her lips. She found herself drawing her next draught of the strong liquid.

"And what drink might you be? How come you to starting this speakeasy? Ever thought of making it into a brothel?"

[Skaramoosh]

Kale nodded easily as the group of youths strolled in, the tarnished bell chiming dully. Wasn't his idea, Caunwen's actually. That way, he'd know if someone trotted in and he was in the back. Clever lady had even had it rigged to another smaller one in the kitchen, so he'd not have to strain his ears too hard.

"Well den, thank yuh Lenne. Both fah di patronage, an' di company."
He paused as he spoke, one fingertip pinning the silver coin in place, then winked and drew it across the bar. Into the belt pouch it went, and he counted out a number of small coins before setting them down one at a time before her on the bar, a neat line from largest to smallest. Or smallest to largest, depending how you looked at it.
"Mi name is Kale. One last name. Sinestra."
He grinned again, mirroring her curious pattern. Perhaps she was one of those that felt they had to 'earn' a name. He could respect that, kinda wished he'd gone that route before himself, but no, he just had his old family name, like most people. Or perhaps...she had one and cast it off.

"Alchemist, uh? Dangerous game..."
He nodded along to her story, fingers searching under the bar for the jar as she leaned back. His prize withdrawn, he stuck the end of the sugared cinnamon stick in his mouth, then grudgingly offered one to Lenne.
"Seems ta mi yuh got a better deal outta breakin' di t'ing. Still tho...beautiful as a vessel may be...it can still hold di most deadly poison...cinnamon stick? Mebbe if I spent mi coin on improvin' dis place an' not small luxuries, it might be busier...but a man gotta 'ave 'is vices. Just a liddle flaw..besides, mi dottr said I smelled like an old lady fart passin' tru an onion, an' if yuh don't like cloves, or mint..."
He shook his head, replacing the jar under the counter.
"Don't 'ave children, dey undermine yuh confidence somet'in fierce."

Kale leaned on his elbows, peering past this strange woman to the group of youths still chattering in the corner, and the figure of a small pale woman moving to enter the bar. He dropped his voice to a bass murmur, rolling the stick from one side of his mouth to the other; "If'n yuh ask mi, yuh nuh seem dat flawed dan any udder person around 'ere. But yuh'd know best..sometimes yuh gotta turn yuh world on it's 'ead tuh clear di dust from yuh eyes."

He raised a lazy hand as the woman approached the bar, flashing a brief nervous smile and passing through the small door that lead to the back rooms. She reappeared a moment later tying an apron around herself, then headed for the table across the room.
"A mage, uh? Fancy dat. Yuh gonna fetch di church on 'im?"
His mouth smiled faintly, but his eyes took on a somewhat guarded aspect, cooling a little. He'd no intention of mentioning the charm wrapping this place snugly with demonic magics like a fine lady's silken scarf, smothering the disturbance that magic caused, alerting others to its presence. Some people had no place they could go to feel safe, and no real means of escape either. Neither could he precisely tell her why he'd started this place, since the two things were tied together.

"Mebbe coffee, uh? Smooth an' dark, bitter an' snappy." He snorted, arching a brow at Lenne. "It used ta be a brothel, actually. Was in a sorry state, di walls peelin' an' rotten wid smoke an' tar, husk suckers lyin' about like corpses...nuh much ov a business. Di owner was pretty badly dug in debt, an' I found miself needin' a more..permanent residence. Suh, I kept di name, cleaned it up..an' 'ere we are. Clean, but nuh really pretty enuf ta be a den ov sin."

[Gaze]

A mouthful more and her head had gotten nice and foggy.

She sniped the cinnamon stick from Kale's proffering fingers and set to chewing it obnoxiously. Her eyes had started to glaze over from the drink in her blood. Her brow raised at his mention of a daughter. Wait, where did the wife go? There, she added the questions to the stack of his collective mystery. That sharp mind of hers had gotten fuzzy, and her words slurred.

She never liked children much, remembering her days at the Academy with horror. "I don't mean ter pry, but where did yer wife git ter? Who's raisin the kid?" The cinnamon bobbed between her teeth.

"I get ye. Some children can be cruel. Worl ne'er taught em better yet. Takes a village to raise a child, an all. I dunno where me mom went to. My dad raised me. Hell if he knew what ter do with me. Left me to my own devices, ye know? Provided for me, aye, he did. But there's something missin, somewhat, that I can't put my finger on. Feels like I been an orphan all me life."

"Kids get all they want? Congrats, ye ruined em'. Kids don't get nuff affection? Congrats, ye ruined em'. Kids fall in with the wrong crowd? Congrats again. O'er a dozen ways to screw up dis child-rearin' business, nay?"

She handwaved his 'flawed' comment. "Ye flatter me." The drunkard had not moved, having it seemed, fallen asleep with a hand still grasping his tankard. "Nay, let em' sleeping dogs lie. Di church can look after itself." She needn't tell the nice man she could warg into animals, a sorcery by all counts. Her upper lip raised, exposing gummy teeth. 

"Covfefe... Coffee," she corrected, the laughed at the description he tagged on himself. "Aye, coffee's a close second fer me." She thought for a moment, worried. "Not dat I get dark much. Is the place shabby, now? I ain't noticing."

Eyes followed the pretty barmaid now. And not just Lenne's own. She pulled the cinnamon stick out, waving at the students who begun paying her attention. "See, the thing people notice about what's in their pants, is what's in their pants, and the woman, the pleasure the woman promises. Not so much the premises, see?"

She drowned another swig of the drink before popping the cinnamon stick back. The crowd has broken into two groups now, and a boy seemingly headed each group.

The dark-haired boy had an aura of "coolness"; his attention never lingered on the one speaking to him overly long, forcing his conversationer to grapple for his attention. "That one elevated himself," noted the alchemist.

The other boy had light hair. He patted another boy in the group, seeming to laugh in a good-natured way as praises heaped at him. "That one is self-deprecating," contrasted the alchemist.

"Both popular, both liked. A charismatic individual, ye find, pull people in who is like one of these boys, nay? Where d'yeh lean? Hard second?" She noted the stack of coins on the bar, piled neatly by size, on a table surface so squeaky clean she could see their reflections as doubles.

The barmaid gave Lenne a shy smile. The latter lit up. "There's a third kind, aye, which I am," she gave Kale a sideways smile, her eyes affixed to the pale woman.

[Skaramoosh]

Awful forward, these foreigners. But then technically, technically he was a foreigner himself.

His hands came up from where he'd been leaning upon them, fingers waggling as he showed off first his sanguine palms, then the bare backs of his hands.
"Nuh wife. Never married, an' she changed 'er mind when our dottr was born. Some people just ent cut out for bein' a parent."
He licked at the notch in his lip, hint of tooth visible beneath, the skin stretching with a stiff smile. He'd worried a bit about that, that Meridia would grow up missing...something, but when all was said and done, he'd sworn he'd do the best he could. Maybe on another path, in another place, she had two parents and was better off for it, but this was now. Besides, he'd basically had none for all the neglect he'd had growing up, he figured she was already doing better than her parents. That was all he really wanted for her, that and happiness.

Surprisingly honest, for a man who made a routine of smuggling illegal goods and people.

"True enuf. Tis like most t'ings, a hundred an' one ways ta balls it up, an' only a couple ta get it right. I pay a good woman ta mind 'er when I 'ave ta attend ta business, an' learn 'er ta read an' write, an' do 'er numbahs." He smiled faintly, proud of that. Might be that she'd be better off learning in a few more years but who knew what the future held? He could afford to do that much for her now, so he did. If he died in a couple of years, at least she'd get a head start. She was a smart cookie, a survivor like her mother. Not that he expected to just suddenly up and keel over, but the gods had a funny way of twisting things sometimes.

"Sure, sure, but yuh won't see a posh tit go walkin' inta a brothel if di outside is mired in shite, an' di place stinks ov humanity. Nuhbody wan's ta see di rest of di clientele if dey can 'elp it...an' a flea bitten place in di slums? Probably riddled wid filth, both in an out of dem pants."
He rolled the stick to the other side of his mouth, sucking speculatively on it and frowning at the clientele as they eyed the woman. One drink and she was already halfway to soused, unless she'd been drinking before she got there, but he didn't smell it on her...oh well, talkative patrons were fine, long as they didn't start trouble.

Kale blinked slowly, registering the question and brushing it aside with a light smile. "nuh quite sure whu' yuh mean, gyal. Mira, dis is Lenne, no last name. Lenne, dis is Mira, 'elps me run di bar in di evenin's. 'Er, an' Anri. Tis a liddle bit south side ov bein' fresh, but at least it's clean...maybe di bank would give mi a loan ta do it up...but Ah kinda like it as is."
"Old?" Mira shot him her innocent smile and he leered back;
"Rustic."
"Dusty."
"It 'as character."
"It's a little quiet."
"It's di aftanoon! ...An' Ah burned out cleanin' dis mornin'...a nice relaxed aftanoon neva 'urt nuhbody, right Lenne?"

[Gaze]

There, the thin line of worry on his lips, a father's worries for his little baby. Lenne poured them both glasses, then raised an empathetic toast. "One for yer daughter," said she. There was, untold undertone in this man's disposition, or perhaps she was projecting on him her own mood, but a veil of sorrow hovered in the air. Memories, perhaps, was in the man's momentarily distant gaze. Before a proud smile returned at the mention of Meridia's minder.

The alchemist shut her eyes. "A lovin father. Never mind the numbers, never minded. There be a large family in my neighbour's place. Full o' laughter, o' cheer. Old man and woman loved their kids, gave em' hugs, cuddles, fed em' full o' pies. Comforted em' when they hurt. Encouraged em' ter do good without threats." And then there was me, living alone.

Her father promised her affection for good work, and how she had toiled into the night, trawling through library books, disregarded her own needs as a child for play. The longing to earn just an ounce of the affection other kids received kept her burning the midnight oil. When she gave him what he asked, the scroll of an Apprentice Alchemist proudly in her palms... that was not good enough. It was all a sham; Father never delivered. Mother never loved her much, when she was there. Her thoughts returned to the adored kids and she seethed with jealousy. 'They never had to work for it, Love, they got all for free.' She drowned the fluid, and resisted the powerful urge to smash the glass, remembering Kale as a friend.

A friend, if you didn't ask for too much. That was the rule.

"What did she like? Yer dottir? What if she loved art? Dat be disappointin to yeh?" She shook her head. "Yer minder ain't no substitute for a Father's..." A gag caught her tongue. Choking, she looked away, pretending there were dust in her eyes. "Drink does at' ter me. Don't be fer carin'. Sum be sad drunks, eh, Mira?"

The alchemist watched the banter between them. Personally, she did not think the speakeasy needed changing. "Ol' places got an appeal to em' I say." She liked weathered rocks, an old house overgrown with plants it looked like almost a park.

"Tony, add a Sex on the Beach for me, please," called a voice before the dark-haired youth was jostled to the barmaid. Tony, for that was his name, rattled the group's orders, several of which trailed in rather special requests, of which Tony recited in a rather pompous manner. "Take your time, sweetheart. We'll have all night to PARTY." He had turned to the group, had raised his arms to collect his applause, and they did cheer.

He clearly had his followers in tow, they thought him the coolest guy in the room. Lenne was unimpressed.

[Skaramoosh]

The big man peered at the drink as she poured it, a little uncomfortable to be placed into the conundrum. On the one hand, it'd be rude to turn down her toast, to throw this tradition out of the door...but on the other, he knew full well he had a drinking problem. Or had had a serious drinking problem a couple of years ago. Sometimes he still woke in the night sweating and shivering and dreaming of the burn, the blissful oblivion of drunkenness.

Carefully his fingers closed around the glass, a war dancing brief upon his face.
"Ta Meridia..."
He lifted the glass, threw the shot back and slammed it down with finality on the bar, the caustic warmth clawing its way down his innards. Gods damn the fool that invented tradition.

Clearly Lenne had her own hangups with family by the way she spoke, a wistful note in the cadence of her voice. An unhappy family, perhaps, or a lacking one? He could respect that...his own father hadn't wanted him either, but he'd always been a coward. Happy to dance around the fire, but never through it when it mattered. His wife had rejected the babe too, not hers she said, they all knew it. Part of the family, but not really..just a tolerated anomaly.
But that was the world over, tangle with the demonic and you usually ended up biting off more than you could chew. There was a reason it was..reviled, after all.

"If she does, den she does. Ah'll do whu' Ah can ta get 'er ta 'er goals. At di moment...all she wan's is ta play cards, ride ponies an' take far too much int'rest in mi business. Ah fear di day when she becomes a woman."
He chuckled softly, turning the glass in his fingers, then abruptly pushed it away as if it had bitten him. No more.
"Yuh a sad drunk, uh? Know a few like dat...tis di sad, angry ones ta watch. Dem 'as whu' got a bone ta pick."

Mira glanced at Kale, rolling his tongue around his mouth. Savoring or trying to get the taste gone, perhaps both. He simply shrugged back at her, no bloody idea what the lad was on about.
"Boi d'yuh see a beach aroun' 'ere? Yuh dun wanna get sand all up in yer nethers...coarse..annoyin', an' it gets evrawhere. Take it from me...Essyrn is full ov di stuff. Ah could be an expert."
He just hoped these party animals weren't intending to make trouble. It was rare he lost his temper, but not unheard of, and with the souring mood in here he preferred to make light of things.

[Gaze]

She felt his discomfort before descending into a deeper drunken stupor, nearly missing his subtle slam of his cup. The woman peered at the puzzling man; was a simple drink, naught more. Lenne's dark orbs were dazed as they eyed the ember line of her own upraised glass. A 'hic' escaped her. The wretched alchemist felt twisted enjoyment in the shared camaraderie of an unhappy family with him. Had she been in a soberer state she would have poured him more, talked her heart out, drunk her livers off. But here, the train of thought chugged and whistled past her head; she could scarcely think straight.

The thought of Meridia on a pony made her erupt in a hoarse laughter. This was adorable. "How ol' was the kid? Seven? Wunderbar. Aye, me Ma always compared me to the other kids, never made her proud, I dinae. Me Da ..." Her stare turned aside, her voice softened. "He was one o' those angry drunks. No bone ter pick, just a fine ol' leather belt. Left me scarred bottoms, ee did." The wounds to her child's heart cut deeper. "Can't be helped. Ah woz a bad kid."

She would have gone on. Except...

Trouble.

In her inebriated state, the sense of a mounting Something was so palpable it broke through the haze.

She guessed she always had that self-protective streak. The escalating of emotions around her was loud as a waterfall. The coward she had always been, told her to scram. Years of hiding in her room from beatings, from pursuing school bullies, the instinct do not fade in mere years.

The barkeep's exchange with the kids left her glaring at the latter, but the coward in her held back. Her hand pushed, her feet backpedalling from the exchange. Wimp. Flailing, she oozed off the counter.

The movement caught someone's sigh, and a hand shot out from the group to grab the front of her robe. The hand's owner was one burly-looking kid. "Where are you going to, Lady? The party's just getting started."

Lenne gasped. What was she to say?
Take this outside: No, she was not a fighter, or a brawler. She could not challenge them.
Let me go: Resistance tended to invite violence.
She went with a gulp.
Her pale face looked frantically at the barkeep. Don't antagonize them!

But Tony's voice hiked an octave, and he sidled over the counter to the barkeep. "Hey, have you ever had sex at a beach? I've tried on a knarr, a royal garden, a barn, my mansion, never tried a beach though I'm sure you could talk me into joining this cute lady over here at my vacation spot. It just so happens we mean the cocktail. Sex on the Beach, no? Fine, get me something on your menu, whatever goes at this place."

The others laughed at Kale. Choice words were dropped. A badger pounded a hammer at Lenne's head. He obviously meant the barmaid, right?

[Skaramoosh]

"Sorry ta 'ear that. Mine didn' wan' nuffin ta do wid mi. Probably better dat way, Ah found mi freedom." He smiled ruefully, skating his thoughts away from the 'home.' Might have been better off staying at sea, honestly, but here they were. You learned to make the most of what you had. There was only forwards.

He froze as one of the kids pawed at Lenne, preventing her from leaving as she tried to pass him. Didn't like that at all, nope. Imperceptibly he shifted from one foot to the other, straightening up. Could see Mira's hand creeping towards the 'Peacemaker' under the bar, maybe for comfort, maybe because she'd use the damned thing and clobber some sense into them. Hopefully it wouldn't have to come to that.

Cocktails for cocks.

His lips twisted in distaste, gaze sweeping the group to take them in. The insults were water off a duck's back as far as he cared, but he'd not have them manhandling his staff, or his guests.
"Yuh in di wrong place for pansy-ass drinks like dat, son. Ahm sure if di ladies take a fancy ta yuh, dey'll let yuh know, but dat's deir choice."
He turned his attention with infuriating calm to finish cleaning the glass that he'd emptied, then set it down, the rag gripped loose in his free hand as he rounded the bar. Lenne looked for all the world like a startled deer, and it would have been funny were the setting different. His sanguine hand wrapped around the boy's wrist, gentle but firm.
"Ah'll nuh 'ave yuh hasslin' mi clients, boi. Yuh got two options...yuh play nice, or yuh leave. Let 'er go."

He smiled jovially with all the warmth he'd greeted Lenne earlier. A customer was a customer and deserved a measure of respect...but whether that stayed in place depended on their behaviour, like anyone else.

[Gaze]

"Let her go, Harvey," echoed a blonde boy, sounding brave. He had the firm voice of a hero. Harvey wore a sneer as he looked from Lenne, to the barkeep, to the burly hand on his wrist, then back to Lenne. His eyes landed on a glint on the lapel of her cloak, then released the robe. At once, the alchemist skedaddled, putting distance between the boys and herself. Enough distance giving herself time to scram if they attempted a fast one again. Nerves lingering, she arranged her robe.

Harvey was not done. "Guys, did you see what she had on her shirt? She's one of those Wargs."

Tony froze, surveying the woman with interest, and the group took cue, squinting at the woman's dress. He pressed forward, and Lenne backed a step. The boy shifted his round glasses down, surveying her directly. "A Warg, in the middle of a speakeasy. Ever been in the ring? I don't believe I've seen you before."

"I, I dinnae partake," mumbled the alchemist. Tony looked away, seemingly bored. He began paying attention to a speck of dirt his necktie while still speaking. "Shame. I know great alchemists if you needed. Judy's brilliant, though Robin's been making breakthrough homunculi lately. I would add that Bruce is still top." His attention snapped to the group. "Alright, show's over. Barkeep's not serving today. Steve, we could hit your place tonight." He dropped the necktie, sliding off his stool and making to walk out.

The blonde boy watched his friends depart, but he turned aside to the woman. His voice was sincere, though with a slight pompousness. "Hope Harvey didn't rough you up too much. I apologize for his behaviour." His lips pursed, a disapproving scowl marring his features. "We should do a better job keeping him in check." With a wink, he, too, left. The bell tinkled as the door opened a second time.

Lenne slumped on the chair. Relief? Yes, that was it. She looked to the innkeeper. "You're very brave." Awkward, she sipped from her old cup, trying to calm her rattled nerves. "Thank ee, fer standing up fer...." People did not do that. Her hand reached to tousle her hair, a frown imprinted itself on her face. The big man had been calm the whole exchange. Perhaps, he had the ability to keep lividness hidden under a still disposition. An innate righteousness.

"Yer ever get troublesome folks like this?"

Mira looked ready to leap. Lenne rubbed her ear. Remind me never to cross that one.

"Pursuin this bar. It alwai been yer passion?"

[Skaramoosh]

Kale stayed where he was for a moment, the smile fixed in place, then let go of the boy's wrist. He didn't relax as they spoke freely of magic...even if it was a speakeasy, some folks got real antsy about magic in these parts. One of these days he figured it was gonna get him in real trouble, or straight up get him killed.

A little of the tension bled out of his stance as the bell tinkled merrily, signalling their departure, left him feeling a little drained to be honest, and not a little disappointed. He'd almost been willing the boy to lash out at him, but that was the problem. He wasn't meant to be angling for that anymore, not unless he wanted to take the girl to his family back in Essyrn and leave her there. Couldn't risk creating an unsafe environment for her sake.

"Mmm? Again' a pup like dat? Nuh, just a slow boil."
He realized he was holding the rag in a white-knuckle grip and forced himself to relax, move back to his customary position somewhat sheepishly.
"Ahm sorry dey hassled yuh. 'Ere, di next drink is on mi."
He refilled her glass, frowning at the door as if they'd be able to feel the heat of his gaze when they were likely half a street away already. people like that made waves, made it easier to find themselves. Wouldn't be hard, if he wanted to...but where was the point anyway, they were young and hot headed. Not liable to make more trouble, unless they wrecked his bar...then he might have a reason to take a debt from them.

But there he went again, trying to make trouble for himself. Quiet was good. Quiet was safe.

Quiet was boring.

"Sometimes. Ever since I tru a bloke tru di winda...well, nuh suh much anymore."
He flashed that wicked grin at her, winked at Mira as she put the peacemaker back under the bar and clasped her hands tightly before her. All would be well.
"Nuh, dere was a time when I just lived from port ta port, seekin' and writin' down stories ov di people Ah met, an' walked wid. Den I got...distracted, by di devious wiles ov a woman." He chuckled dryly, resting on his elbows atop the bar. "Chased her halfway across di worl', an' ended up 'ere. Whu' about yuh, uh? Dis warg business...dat true?"

[Gaze]

Her hand drifted down from her tousled hair, resting on a chin as she slumped again. An ear perked at his offer of more drinks; her bottle being half empty now. Momentarily, she toyed with the idea. Did he have cider? She loved those. If he had no cocktail on the menu, though... The swimming head and the engorging tummy begged her stop, though her need for more drowning persisted. "Prolly not. Am cool, yea. Tho ya could elp me finish mine ere'."

"Wummun be fickle, nay? Ne'er knew how ter deal wit one meself."

She nodded. "An boys, boys be rowdy. Men too." She looked apologetically at the innkeeper. "Phaps alwai a part o' human nature ter wanna fight. Gladiatorial arena, beheadins, kangaroo courts. See, people's need for bloodlust awai dere, alwai exceedin a fighter's bility ter provide. Fighters git bloodied up, tired. Lose dere ability to fight well halfways through a match.

That boy spoke of a 'ring', illegal mind ya. The laws alwai make leeway for this sorta thing. Looks the other way. Cuz it keeps folks satisfied an they dun go lookin for trouble, see? Mayor bans it, ee's not elected mayor nemore. Now they have em' fighters that dun tire like living things used ter: homunculus, artificial life. Alchemists make em'. Bloody bastards be goo, jelly. Dey don't tire, dun feel pain, dun injure, an if sliced, they melt back together inna jiffy. Forgers make em' armours, weapuns. An Wargs control em'. All comes down to dem few people's skills. People place em' bets, pay tickets. Tis a lucrative business, aye.

"And dis un." She pointed to herself. "Is an alchemist and Warg both. I ne'er woulda needed his pals' services. Ne'er fought neither. Nah, me be brewin' my potions, keepin my head low."

Lenne remembered her homunculi. Daenis poked his short sword at the back of her head. The skeletal lifeform with a pulsing jelly innards, a nefarious grin on the small golemite. Hotaru screeched, its birdlike form crackling with lightning on its plumage. The trippy dream vanished in a second, and she found herself back in the dreary speakeasy. "A battle be an eye opener, if yeh haven't seen un' before." More drink poured into her lips. The bell tinkled once more.