His words were soft, so soft that it was hard to tell whether he was talking to anyone at all, but it seemed that the bartender, who was busily cleaning the inside of the same glass over and over again, was more than content to listen to his words. The speaker’s hair was so blond it was almost gold, as if the sun was shining directly on top of him.
“I never actually drink. I buy drinks, as you can tell.”
His coin pouch was a few coins lighter than it had been when he first walked in, and in his right hand Jason swirled a half-full cup of brandy; anyone could tell by the look in his eyes that he was all but captivated by the elliptical waves that he caused in the cup.
“I don’t appreciate the taste. It…stings my nostrils and burns my throat, and it feels all greasy and strange when it finally reaches my stomach. I don’t know who anyone can really appreciate the stuff, but I’ve seen men who couldn’t live without it.”
Jason swirled the glass a bit faster, until it seemed that the alcohol would spill over the lip of the glass, and set it down suddenly; with lazy eyes, he watched calmly as the liquor inside of the glass reached equilibrium. He plopped his left elbow on the table and pressed his cheek against his palm, slumping over the counter; the hilt of his sword pressed gently against the counter itself, and his right hand drummed impatiently against the counter top.
“Isn’t that amazing? Ten of these little glasses could turn a king into a fool and a priest into a murderer. It’s mind boggling, if you really stop and appreciate. What do you think?”
Deep, dark, ocean blue eyes stared out from behind blond bangs and locked cleanly onto the tender’s eyes. Neither of them had anything else to say.
Sam swings off his horse, his legs are cramped and sore from the endless riding to make it this far.
This meeting better be worth my time, he thinks angerly yanking off his leather gloves. Tossing back his a side of his cloak to expose the well polished sword at his side.
Stepping into the tavern, his frown deepens green eyes flicker over the customers drowning their sorrows, the tarverns always draws the same sort of lot to it. Tucking his gloves into his belt, his boot heels click against the wooden floor. His green eyes flickered from face to face trying to figure out who had set up this meeting.
"Ale." he orders the emotionless bar keeper. Sam looks at the youth nursing some brandy leaning against the counter.
Now he would just have to wait, until his host appears.
Jason let his head fall to the desk with a gentle thud, occasionally rolling it around as if he were in a drunken stupor and fighting gravity to merely get his head back up. He was fighting a best, don’t merely assume that he was the kind of man especially taken to feigning, but this was a beast of boredom, not of drink. He had been waiting in this tavern, at this stool, for nearing an hour now and was entertaining the notion of simply leaving when…
A man, with a definitive purpose in his gait, came and stood nearby. The glint of the torch light as it bounced off the stranger’s well polished sword was enough to catch Jason’s eyes and rouse his spirits. All at once, as if energy surged through his very veins, Jason stood up and covered the distance between he and the other in one stride.
“Wow! Now that’s a fine blade you got yourself there mister!”
Soon, as if to punctuate Jason’s words, there came the sound of a sword sliding firmly against its sheathe; the other, nameless, stranger would soon find that a weight had been lifted from his hip, and that his sword now lay in Jason’s outstretched arm.
“Well polished, clean; pristine, even.”
Jason turned it this way and that, the cloak he wore finally coming to settle down against the back of his legs, tired from having to catch up to its wearer.
“Have you even used your sword?!”
Narrowing his eyes, he stood enraged at this bold stranger who held his sword. “Give that back!” he shouts, a little girlish sounding. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, hoping no one really noticed. Glancing around before squaring his shoulders, his leather armour rubbed together noisely in as the tension filled air. All eyes settle upon the pair, waiting to see if bolting to the nearest door would be the in order. No one seem to be aware of his slip of the tongue.
He should have brought his men, but they were otherwise occupied. A slight evil grin played on the corners of his lips for a moment. His eyes focus on the man before him waving his sword around judging it’s weight and balance. He had no time for this, not when all his hard work is about to pay off. To bring him closer to the entity that wishes to harm the Princess.
“Return my property, Stranger. While you still have breath in your lungs to do so.” he growls.
The bar tender leans on the old abused counter, his beady eyes shifting from one to the other. “Fight if you must, but not in my tavern.” he announces darkly.
Sitting on a chair that was leaning back, propped up by the wall behind it, Tsak had a coin dancing on his knuckles. His crowd giggled and clapped excitedly, the children completely mystified by the long haired, native man. Suddenly he threw his hands in the air and the coin vanished completely. He stood up, the chair landing on the floor with a thud and bowed slowly, the boys and girls looking around dumbfounded.
"If you're looking for that coin, chaps, it's beneath you." Tsak walked through the crowd as they all stood up and cheered. There was a single coin on the floor under each of them.
Just as he was walking for the door, the commotion between the two strangers broke out. He stood in the sparse circle of patrons that was surrounding them and watched.
Tsak was dressed in a long sleeve, tan tunic with a brown jacket over his shoulders and brown pants. In his hair were blue and purple feathers, braided into his long hair. His face had soft features, thin eye lashes and an overall jovial appeal. He was skinny and tall and generally didn't appear like he would put up much of a fight. He had a mandolin strapped to his back and a row of pipes sticking out of his pocket.
He turned to the man next to him, who he didn't know of course, and said, "This kind of thing always happens."
The man next to Tsak was a small man, maybe 5 foot and no taller. He had dark red hair, tied back in a neat pony-tail. He wore an odd assortment of clothing articles, nothing matching, but still managing to look decent. He giggled as the commotion began, and started eagerly watching the two men and their sharp toys.
When the man next to him spoke, he jumped, then turned a lazy eye towards Tsak.
"Well, if you ask me, good sir, the ripe would indeeeeeed be a GREAT target for a strawberry mucker such as that!"
He continued to stare at Tsak, with a happy little face.
Jason’s eyes widened in the most mocking expression of fear that he could drag from the very core of his person; his arm trembled in a forced manner, clearly meant as an ersatz imitation of genuine fear, and he dropped the sword to the ground in a clatter.
“Not the breath from my lungs! Please, take anything but that!”
The façade was suddenly dropped, Jason expression of anxiety immediately overtaken by a solid mask of contempt; oh how irritating such threats were. The other man would have had much more success had he merely asked for his blade back then trying the hackneyed strong-arm technique; for the most part, the feminine pitched that once spiked the man’s voice was dutifully overlooked.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to fight. I’m not anyway, I don’t know what this guy’ll do.”
Jason locked eyes directly with the tender as he spoke before allowing his disdainful glance to level back onto the man; bullies, the world would be better off without them. He was just trying to compliment the man’s sword!
Jason patronage soon sloughed off of him in the same manner that a snake peeled off its skin and, to make himself all the more solid, crossed sinewy arms across a strong chest.
“Anyway, you came here to meet me. Not directly, but we both have the same contact. You’re the guy with a princess to save, right? Well, for all intents and purposes, I’m the hero. How do you do?”
Without turning to view the two men, Jason became increasingly aware of their presence. It was hard to describe why his recognition of them augmented, but it was a subconscious mechanism. It wasn’t size or stature or power that separated them from the rest of the crowd, but something that lay beneath the surface. It was if they were all in a book or a story of sorts, and those two just went from background noise to surface characters.
“What’s your name, pal?”
The small man giggled again, seeing the way the blonde man reacted to the obvious soldier. This had to turn out good, it just couldn't turn out anyway but good. He stepped slightly closer to the two men, making sure not to miss a miniscule moment of this wonderful meeting.
As the blonde spoke more words, and suddenly got very serious, the small man's grin grew ever wider. Suddenly, he noticed the man's expression change, and the small man knew that something drastic had just happened.
Hmm, strange, he recognized my presence here. Most people just blow me off, as the peon they see me to be. Pity. In the sea. I have to pee. Yippee...
The small man's eyes began to glaze over, as the rhyme tangent within his own head began to play with his attention.
Sam scoops up his sword clumsily sliding it in the sheathe. Looking over the man before him with slight disappointment. How could this man save the Princess? He is appeared more mad than anything else, he just lacked the foam about the mouth.
“I am Sam Cannon of the Royal Guard. Who might you be hero?” he demands, preparing not to be impressed with anything that would pass the others lips.
Taking note of the other two who seemed a little to interested in their conversation. Could they be the vile creatures that plot against their fair Lady?
The small man snickered not so quietly and mumbled under his breath. He scanned the room, to look at all the other patrons, then began to laugh to himself about their shocked and stupid faces. Then, he turned back to the two men.
Hmm, a hero, and a guard. This could be a good duo to follow. Yes, joy for me, tee hee ha ha do-do dum dum doo.
He shifted his weight to his left foot, and lifted his right foot to scratch the back of his left leg.