Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » [Tavern RP] Thank Gods It's Open!

A breeze would blow through the common room of the establishment as the door once again opened. Swinging wide to reveal a rather strange looking woman. Short, with equally short, messy black hair. Though her height was seemingly excentuated by the double set of antlers sprouting through her Midnight strands of hair. Tucking her double sets of wings and scorpion tail in close to her body, she slipped inside.

She wasted no time by looking around the room and b-lined directly for a booth off to the side, yet near the main counter. She spoke softly with one of the waitstaff when asked for her order. When they walked off to fill said order, she fell silent, oddly colored eyes slowly moving across the room.

"Another black ale! Splendid." As long as he wasn't keen on working his way up the product line, but just to stay where he was at. Getting people drunk and keeping them drinking was their business, and Klaus was a paying customer! Well, that was the hope. Snapping their fingers at the nearest faceless waitstaff, they motioned for a pitcher to be fetched instead. "I'm sure we could work with a few refills instead of one! Enjoy your evening, sirs." The Viera said with a polite bow, before turning to Ilakha as she spoke so vividly about so colourful a life.

They nodded as she spoke, joy reflected by the upturned corners of their lips and how intently they looked at Ilakha as she described her duties, neither interrupting nor questioning. Surely, they'd ask a question, but they watched what Finnegan (Was it Wren? Shrike? Surely it couldn't have been Shrike, too friendly) would do, since they were literally in the middle of a game and Cirhe felt bad to interrupt; perhaps later.

Ah, this was quite the conundrum.

Ilakha was short. Three silvers would have earned her half a single cheese pie, and she got more than that. Surely, that was a modest meal and then some luxuries to go along with it, and while they were usually lenient to tourists, and this one seemed particularly sweet… even sweet ones can ditch a bill at an entire gold piece short.

"You are a gold piece short, madam, but I could put it on a tab if you promise to come back and buy another cheese pie! Nona makes these from scratch. There is a transmutation wizard nearby who does exchange rates." They scribbled onto a napkin and passed it to Ilakha with a calm smile. Oh they would be so mad if someone skips out on another bill. Pelor's thighs, they could burst exactly thirty four entire blood vessels if someone skips out on anoth–

Ilakha's soup bowl came around on the tray of an unseen waiter's hands, and Cirhe took it off their own to place it on an empty space on Ilakha's table.

"Don't let it go cold, now! Luck be in your favour." They wrote into a napkin before, as promised, setting Finnegan's table, before attempting to go back behind the bar… right before a new arrival graced the tavern.

At first, Cirhe's sensitivities to the divine tingled–was it their imagination? Their fingers arched, but they caught themselves at the last moment to turn and face the arrival with the standard, customer service smile. The sight of antlers, a scorpion tail and wings surely was one to behold, but who was a literal rabbit-eared humanoid to judge? People of all kinds walked this star, and this was a safehaven. Cirhe smiled and waved at the woman's direction, thankful that an arcane waiter of smoke and ash had already set a glass of chilled water onto her table for starters.

"Welcome, and thank gods we're open! I see you've made yourself comfortable!

If you're seeking to enjoy the ambience, pray soak in all you like, and the staff will attend to your every whim, or kindly call on me for assistance."

Finn took the water, as if it was exactly what he asked for with a grin and a soft 'thank you', sipping it as Cirhe spoke. His eyes gleemed, though his expression was passive and somewhat concerned. With a little 'tsk' noise, he shook his head at the barkeep's plight. Despite water being free in most places... He glanced over at the nice woman who was talking about bugs, and seemed to slip out a piece of gold from his palm in a quiet, subtle florish. "Well, here's hoping he's found what he's looking for, and feels better for his stroll."

Oh, he's enjoying airing out alright, from what bitter memories he had of the barkeep and their... Inclinations. Still, Finnegan turned to the piece of paper and wrote down on it. The script was not neat-- One could almost say it was carefully childish, but plenty legible.

It read; Hi there, my name is Finnegan. You can call me Finn. I like the Fallen Aces rules. Do you prefer something else?

Though it took him a bit longer than he would have liked to write it, it still got written in the dull-ink pen. He would think a doctor of any sort would have bright inks at the ready, but dull inks were easier on the eyes, and even doctors had to compromise. She and her bug seemed harmless, though...

A grin left him, and he pulled the notepad back to to write more.

I think I only have time for one game. Also what kind of bug are you talking about? Can I see it?

Cirhe wouldn't like that. Yet the barkeep seemed distracted, and Finn followed their line of sight to the newest patron of the tavern, though he did not let his eyes linger long. It'd be rude, of course.

A soft smile graced the beings black lips, parting enough to show a set of fangs. It wasn't threatening an any way, it was just hard to smile without showing them.

"Thank you, Ma'am. I am simply a traveler passing through. I would like a meal, would you have a menu?"

She asked politely.

Ilakha wilted when she was told the exact price.

"Um, of course! I can get the gil transferred to gold coins. I think I have enough!" She almost fumbled over her words. "I will even tip you extra much for the trouble. I-"

Matching the color of the golden coin, Ilakha's eyes caught a glimpse of the exchange. Her eyes widened when Edgar looked away, but she said nothing. She glanced warily to Cirhe, as though seeking some sort of approval before she even tucked into her food. Instead, she kept her focus on the book and the writings within. She slid it over and diligently traced a dark claw along the words as she read.

"Nice to meet you, Finn. I am Ilakha. You like Fallen Ace? I see! How about Fallen Ace and Descension?" A mischievous smirk grew on her features, though it is muted compared to beforehand. "Have you ever played with those together before? If you win, then I will show you my Gigas beetle. It is half-male and half-female!"

And if he lost. . . well, she'd probably still show him the beetle.

Cirhe blinked, at first looking around to make sure that it was them that was addressed to. Ma'am? Them? Then, they let out a short giggle. Surely, not one to help the case. "Such a kind thing to say! I am truly flattered. Not to make a whole deal while I'm on the clock, but I assure you, Miss, I am the farthest thing from a woman. Well, not too far, but somewhere detached from the equation and where most would consider incomprehensible before giving up, though that is neither here nor there."

They smiled and with a snap of their fingers, slipped a menu on to the table. "Here's the menu you asked. Peruse it to your liking and do call any of us over at your leisure."

"No need, ma'am. Please, enjoy the food." Cirhe politely refused with a smile and bowed away, leaving them both to their game. Surely they told what they need to, to the operative; what they made of it was their prerogrative.

So they returned to lean on the bar as the arcane waiters took over, wiping away at the tankards.

"It's a good evening."

Ilakha managed to put together what Cirhe said as she read their lips. To them, she grinned, her smile full of utmost relief.

"Oh, bless you! Bless both of you!"

Picking up a wooden spoon, she tucked into her stew. Initially, she leaned back a bit from it after bringing the spoon to her lips, surprised by how hot it was. Then, she went for a proper mouthful, her eyes going wide.

"Mmm!!" She swallowed what she took and licked her pink lips. "It is yummy! The flavor profile is very complex. It is savory and bold, but not too spicy. I love it! You said Nona made this, no?"

Briefly, she glanced over her collection of napkins that was accumulating by her dishes. Time to backtrack!

"Please tell Nona I say the stew is delicious. I wish I had more so I could tip her. . . oh, do you take tips? Do they go to the single person or are they divided between everyone?" A pause. Then, a loud whisper. ". . . Is it illegal to ask a business that?"

"Ah, I see. Please, forgive any offensei may have caused in such a statement."

Bell asked with a shy smile. Her paper white cheeks turning a slight shade of red in embarrassment. Upon the appearance of the menu, she took it in hand and glanced it over, but before putting much more thought to it, she looked back up to the being who ran the tavern.

"If I may ask, how should I address you?"

Asuka slowly creaks open a door, poking her one good eye inside and glancing place to place. These people seem tolerable enough ^Rude, at least compared to what she usually had to put up with. The redhead fully swings the door open and stands tall in the doorway, hands on her hips, facing forward with a wide grin on her face. Oh, shoot, her-- Her bangs were completely covering her face. She's been slacking on taking care of that lately. The Second Child blows the stray hair out of her face, before making her presence ^{even more} known. "Guten abend, freundinnen!"

Outside of the tavern, a newcomer appeared quite suddenly. With a soft crackling noise, the tiniest spark of light, and then.. a rather undignified "thumph" and splash as the heavily bundled but exceedingly short creature dropped from seemingly thin air into the deepest puddle available.
A brief but chilly breeze laden with a handful of fat snowflakes swirled through and was gone as soon as it had come. The new being seemed to be breathing quite heavily, and took a moment to compose themselves before picking themselves off of the sodden ground.
With a sigh, it tugged off the thick, sopping wet mittens. Pulling back the snow-crusted hood from its face revealed a too-pale woman with thick, equally pale hair. Wide pink eyes, too large for her face, cast about her surroundings with an air of confusion and worry. Slowly, a pair of long, slender ears rose from their pinned position still inside the fur-lined hood.
Slowly she turned towards the tavern, hesitating before making her way towards the door. Her pink-tinged nose twitched. It smelled of ale, mead, and strangers... but a tavern was a tavern, no?
The woman reached out a small, shaking hand and opened the heavy door, peeking inside for just a moment before seeming to decide that it would be safe after all.
She shed her dripping coat and instantly lost half her body size, hanging the offending garment over her arm before it could dirty the floors. Making her way to the bar, she peered over the top, long rabbit ears on a constant swivel.
"Err.. e-excuse.. excuse me, please...?"

Ilakha was busy stuffing her face by the time Amulette had entered. It was a methodical order she used to fuel herself; a spoonful of stew, a spoonful of cheese pie, a sip of cranberry cider, repeat. Every so often, she placed a hand to her cheek and closed her eyes in sheer enjoyment of the flavors. What a meal that reminded her of home! The spices weren't all that unlike those on the Azim Steppe. Such nostalgia made the flavors even more intense, in her opinion.

When she opened her eyes, she caught movement in her peripheral vision. Swallowing, she looked to her left to see who the newcomer was to-

"Oh my GODS, you are so CUTE!"

Unintentionally and potentially condescending to Amulette, Ilakha clasped her hands together with her spoon still held. A smattering of stew probably landed somewhere on the counter.

"Are you a Viera? No, too short. . . half-Viera, then! Or something else foreign? Ooh, how did you get your hair so fluffy? What is your secret? Do you use any shampoo? I wish my hair was that fluffy. It is all thin and sad-looking. I also shed every First Umbral Moon. It is terrible! Do you shed? What is your secret to good hair? Tell me, tell me!"

She started bouncing in her seat, though she was careful not to disturb the jars on her hip. Just then, as if she was hit with something, she paused and her expression froze along with it.

"Oh, um, also. . . I am deaf! Would you like a napkin to write to me? To tell me your hair care secrets? Please do!"

Amulette caught the girl at her side looking her way half a moment before she exploded with adoration, but she still jumped about a foot in the air. Her ears flattened back, and she let out a short, shrill yelp.
The tiny rabbit woman was already flushed by the time she landed, her nearly translucent skin reddened by her surprise and embarrassment... she straightened herself a bit and gave a weak, nervous chuckle.

" A.. vee-rahh? N-no, I.."

She visibly paused, blinking over at the other woman. No, that wouldn't do if she were deaf... Amulette considered, and then drummed her fingertips on the countertop, a cross between the "plunk-dunk" sound of finger pads and the click of small, blunt claws.
A small whisp of powdery, chestnut-scented smoke rose from her fingers, and twisted itself into words that flowed slowly into being before dissipating again to replaced by the next set.

"Well met. Apologies, I am not sure what a veera is. I am half Harengon."

The smoke curled in on itself until it showed an image of what appeared to be a person, and next to it a bipedal rabbit, about knee-high to the human. Perhaps not too short after all... the letters continued after a moment:

"I do moult about twice per year, when the weather changes. Mostly I take dust baths, as it takes a very long time to dry."

Another brief pause, her long ears half-cocked in confusion before the smoke suddenly swirled into place.

"Pray, who are the Napp kin?"

Rather than read the words to absorb the information, Ilakha read the words and was promptly mesmerized by how she was able to read them in the first place. She blinked owlishly at the smoke, her pink lips forming a small 'o'.

And when she spoke, there was suddenly no such thing as an 'indoor voice' for her.

"OHMYGOSHhowdidyouDOTHATthatwasSOCOOL!!"

Without even a prompt for it, Ilakha started applauding the Harengon, a bright smile on her features.

"You MUST teach me that sometime! I mean, I have my notepad and quill and everything, but maybe if I meet someone who cannot hear and cannot sign, I can use this! Oh, but then the notepad is a moot point, no? And I need that for myself to understand. . ."

Her expression became fretful, but only for a second.

". . . What were we talking about again?" A beat passed. "Oh. You said you molt? I molt, too. I will not molt until spring, though. Then all my scales will come off- er, I do not have many. But they come off in a little sheet and then are super smooth and soft underneath." In a loud whisper, she added, "Do you know in my tribe, we let babies eat their molt? It saves on calcium!"

This time, Amulette was prepared for the excitable outburst, watching Ilalha's features carefully. Despite her best efforts and mental preparations, the sheer volume made her flinch. The other woman's demeanor was infectious though, and Amulette gave her a small, warm smile beneath a blush.

She paused for a moment before motioning toward the bar, repeating the drumming with her fingertips against the countertop. She went as slowly as she dared, and this time as the letters appeared, they seemed just a bit thinner and not quite as clean as the first sets.

"Do you know any cantrips? I would be happy to teach it if it would be of some use to you!"

Her nose crinkled a bit and she frowned in thought, the letters beginning to dissipate a bit before she began a new string of them.

"I do have a fair amount of fur, though not quite as much as a full Harengon. I have heard of many traditions such as your tribe's... many Harengon mothers still pull out tufts to line their nests!"

She gave another small smile, and cocked her head curiously. Images curled into smoky existence, scales similar to the handful she could see on Ilakha. They shifted into a Naga-esque form, a snake, and then a small wyvern.

"If it is not rude, are you descended of serpents? Dragonborn, or.. yuan-ti?"

The last word, though it made no sound, felt hesitant and somewhat guarded. Perhaps she was afraid of offending?