@Chris488

Fiona stroked her beard absentmindedly as she listened to the woman’s reply. She roared with laughter as she heard her reply. "I do not drink. The results would be ruinous here." Fiona thought that was one of the funniest things she had ever heard. Drinking could certainly lead one down a disastrous path but it was a self-imposed one. Once she managed to contain herself to the odd chuckle or two she finally responded. “Drinking can lead to tragic or disastrous consequences anywhere. There are of course locations where drinking would be more ill-advised than in a tavern.” She grinned and couldn’t contain her amusement.

Fiona carefully climbed back over the bar. She dropped back to the other side losing her footing. “Opps!” She laughed as she landed on her bottom on the floor instead of her feet. She tilted precariously to one side as she attempted to climb back onto her barstool. She finally made it back onto her stool. She pulled the dusty black bottle towards her. She uncorked the bottle and took a deep swig. She grimaced at the flavor. The strong liquor felt like acid going down her throat. Blech! That is horrible! I don’t think I have ever tasted a libation quite so foul.” Her tongue felt fuzzy after that drink. She re-corked the bottle with a sigh.

Fiona found the woman very strange. She had met a lot of interesting people in her travels. This woman was by far one of her strangest encounters. She topped the old man who treated his goats like his grandkids and tried to put clothes on them. The woman was not insulting or annoying, just very odd compared to Fiona’s norm. Fiona turned to regard the woman who was now a bit blurry. She closed one eye as she looked at her to see if that helped. It didn’t really help any. Her stomach began to churn as that last drink hit bottom. She began to look a little green even as she swayed a little more on her stool. "Do you believe being drunk will show you the way home?"

Fiona shook her head at the stranger’s question. With a soft smile, she replied. “No, getting drunk will not show me the way home. Breanne is a goddess of plenty, the goddess of fertility, and the hearth. Alcohol is made from the grains she blesses to grow. Drinking alcohol in celebration is a way to honor my goddess and thank her for her blessings. I am celebrating that I found a tavern. A place to stop and rest before resuming my travels. The tavern has alcohol so I am raising a glass and imbibing for her.” Fiona shrugged as she really didn’t care if the woman understood or not. She didn’t really understand much about the woman and her people either. She was so tired. She leaned over on to rest her head on her arms on the bar top. “I’m so tired. I think I will take a nap.” She closed her eyes and was soon snoring loudly. Her beard and mustache moved slightly in the breeze caused by her snoring.

The lullaby of his heartbeat, a liquid-sounding lub-dub, lub-dub, lud-dub, was quick to change and was her first indication that things were likely to take a turn for the worse. At least humans had that about them -- their tender hearts often gave them away, their fear, their excitement, their anger. And while she did not assume to know which of these emotions gripped him, she relied on the knowledge that whatever mood had suddenly bloomed at the core of his chest it was likely not to be anything welcome or pleasant. But really, was she expecting anything different?

Maybe…

Possibly…

Through the darkness and the space that separated them, she saw the tension in his body as his back straightened and the muscles in his neck tightened. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather cutting a glare straight across the lake to some distant point. Perhaps, he was trying to hear her. She made sure not to move a muscle and not to take a breath -- not even a sip of air. But that did not mean that the wind did not blow and that her hair did not shift, and that the breeze did not carry her smell, the perfume of orange blossom and bloody tears.

“Actually, I’ve got a couple of problems with you already.”

To the best of her abilities, she had tried to be unassuming -- to be small, to be quiet, to be meek. She had stayed out of the way. And like a coward, she had turned tail and escaped into the night rather than face the ghosts that haunted her and those that sought to harass her. But surely this was fate testing her patience. She could not be expected to continue to bow her head and ‘suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’ What problems could this stranger possibly have -- what harm could she possibly have done to him? Her small hands had already curled into fists -- tight, white-knuckled, and ice-cold fists with glass-like fingernails that dug into her pale palms.

“First of all, you say you didn’t want to startle me. But you did.”

Not my fault you didn’t examine your surroundings, imbecile. She thought to herself.

“Third, said you seen me coming. Said this is your spot, you got here first. If that were the case, then why didn’t you move on? Leave me be instead of bothering---sorry---interrupting me.”

“Pardon me?” she said, speaking up just as he turned to face her, interrupting him -- and surely not for the first time. “That’s some audacity you have there. For someone who doesn’t even bother to look around his surroundings before dropping all of his belongings, you sure do like to wag your finger at strangers. Maybe, you just shouldn’t be so careless.”

Her knees, which had been pressed to her chest, dropped open so that she was sitting crisscross, and her fisted hands settled in the small gap between them, sinking into the moist sand. For the most part, her heavy cloak fell over her small form, hiding the dainty figure. Her hood still covered the majority of her head, and a shadow still fell across her face. Only the tip of her nose was visible, and her heart-shaped lips, which were pressed into a tight little frown.

The man didn’t seem to care a bit about what she said, as he went on to explain what other problems he had with her -- mostly being that she didn’t seem to know the first thing about falcons. That was true enough. Falconry was not a sport that she ever took to, and perhaps her advice had given away her ignorance. But was that any excuse for being so rude? She was already so confused and lost, and utterly put off by this new world and experience, but finding out that everyone here was just absolutely awful was beginning to take its toll.

She was desperate for a way out.

A way back to a familiar place.

“So what is this really then?”

He pulled her back to the present.

She pinched her brows in confusion, but he couldn’t see the expression.

“You could have left me alone. What is this really about.”

She realized the way he was holding the falcon -- it hardly seemed natural or healthy. However, the small bird seemed at ease, although that didn’t much convince her that he wasn’t two seconds from ripping the poor thing's head off. Horrified, she shifted, suddenly, standing on her own two feet, and moving with a speed that any human would find utterly unnerving. She hoped it frightened him -- intimidated him into backing off.

“How about you leave me alone? How about you pack all your little things back up and you just keep walking and find your own dark little corner of hell to sit and rot in -- and you can leave me alone.”

He listened as she finally spoke up against him. Scolding him for not surveying his surroundings. He ignored her and continued. He would get annoyed by people giving this kind of advice to him. He could presume against anyone that he had the most experience outdoors. He had that confidence. He would shrug off most of the advice, even if they were right.

He had not checked his surroundings well enough. She was correct. He recognized that the anxiety crumpling his chest with the concern for Rhae pushed him to complacency. His teeth tightly hugged as his jaw clenched upon realizing the cost of his decisions.

Rhae continued to look all around, un-knowingly grateful that Czeslc clenched his teeth and not his fists.

His final question seemed to be her push over the edge. Standing in his place to look at strong and confident as a boulder, his breath caught when she was instantly standing up right where she was and facing him down.

Czelsc cautiously considered his next words. He tried hard to keep his face as still as it were before she did this. Partly due also to the fact that he had little time to adjust or react to her actions. He concentrated as he balanced his straight, stern face with what to say.

"...Okay. So. You're not normal." He began his first moves in this game that she decided to join. His voice was flat as he stated the obvious, though it was noticeable that his throat had tightened a little. His voice was not as low and grainy any more.

"Well, I'm normal." It almost would have seemed like a tease. "That means my body ain't as good anymore like yours is. I've been beat up, blown up, and shot up. I ain't gonna' be hearing something like you." His use of "something" was not appropriate for him to call her. He had not used this intentionally but meant it as a general "something" such as animals, some activity of sorts or similar. Regardless, saying this could easily be conveyed as inconsiderate, demeaning.

He growled internally as she threatened him with his own front; for the intruder to get out of here.

He stared her down to take as much time he could to determine how to play this out.

She did not initially seem to be a fighter. She seemed more intrigued and curious rather than preparing to get physical with him. Czelsc recognized he had brought this out of her.

"...Fine." He finally spoke without a single crease of his face disrupted by the word.

He took a step back with the hopes she would not immediately react against him. She was fast. She would be on him before his next breath. He had anticipated she would not attack him since he seen how much better than him she was. Much faster. She would have no issue with him, therefore, he presumed she knew the same.

With Rhea still in his fist, he prepared as he took that step back. Rhae never noticed a difference as he threw the bird into the air like a football. It was noticed he nearly used all his strength to throw the bird, who immediately opened their wings and flew as fast as it could across the lake before quickly pulling up.

His eyes returned to hers.

"Fine. Make an old, sore man pack up and leave. Too bad nature ain't got enough space for more than one person." His accent coming out again. He spoke while walking back to his belongings. "Some sore old guy who wasn't botherin' anybody. Hey, no need to feel bad or anything though. Wou-dn't want that." He tried to guilt. Now what few things he had recently unpacked were now returned into his ruck. Czelsc picked up the box and strung it around his neck again resting the strap upon his shoulder. He now grabbed his coat and tossed his arms effortlessly through the sleeves. He was all set to move on now.

Not once had he looked for the bird as though he had not or would not even acknowledge what he had done.

"All your's. Don't follow me." He attempted to threaten while glaring at her from the boulder he had unpacked upon.

How could he have known that guilt was the silver bullet that would render her useless? Like an arrow through the heart, she felt herself bleed straight out into the night, and breathe through a gaping wound in her chest. She didn’t need much of a push toward that deep and dark edge, and she could so easily fall off and into the abyss of despair. She already considered herself a monster of the worst degree. And this man sold it soo well -- with his peppered hair, his tired expression, and his human frame and all of its human aches and pains.

“You’re not normal.”

The words were an accusation.

Her eyes were misted with bloody tears.

He took a step back, and she mirrored the action, stepping away as well, increasing the distance between them. The shift caused the cloak to fall closed over her small shoulders and completely cover her figure. Still, all that was visible was the small curve of her chin, and her trembling bottom lip as she resisted, to the best of her abilities, the sudden urge to cry.

The man gathered his things, but not before flinging the poor falcon into the air with all of his strength. Gabriela managed a small, heartbroken cry, but nothing else. Somehow, she managed to contain herself and not reach out, not run out after the small creature as if she could hope to save it. Luckily, she did not give away her ignorance. She stood there, managing her guilt, her sorrow, and her horror.

“Fine. Fine… All your’s. Don’t follow me.”

He shot her a glare over his shoulder as he pushed off the large stone where he had set up his small set of supplies. She watched him, mute and frozen -- traumatized it seemed -- from the strange interaction. But then her head turned, and the hood fell away as her golden gaze shifted to the distance, the tavern where they had both been just a moment ago. The look on her beautiful face was one of pure distress as she seemed to examine the building in the distance as if she were waiting to hear or see something.

She looked petrified.

When she looked back, her face, finally exposed by moonlight -- looked young and lost.

“Fine, I’ll leave.”

When Czelsc peered over his shoulder he witnessed one of the most beautiful, most aching and saddest looks he had ever seen. It actually stopped him right away as if he were entranced by a relative of Medusa. The eyes, the tears, the many mixed emotions of pain, defeat, despair, trauma, panic.. So many saddened emotions that none should feel. He noticed another familiar feeling within her…the feeling of being alone. At least, if she were not alone then she seemed to have wished to be. Then again; she had approached him. Maybe there’s something else going on here…

“...Hey.. Hey now…” He stopped any movement forward, instead turning his body and attention back towards her. His voice lightened up at the sight of her and the feelings it provoked within him. He now, with what seemed to be somewhat instinctual, he wanted to back up on the tension and instead reassure her. She seemed younger than him though he was ignorant of the truth. He felt the need to now explain himself.

“Hey I just.. Look. You just can’t be comin’ up on someone like that. Someone like me, ya’ know? I just.. Okay I just can’t handle it.” He admitted to the now seemingly timid and dissociated woman before him.

He noticed her attention focused on the tavern instead of him. He felt the need to check over his shoulder to confirm, but he was confident. There was something going on with her.

She did not seem to want trouble any more than him. She came to him and certainly could have owned him without any struggle. She was willing to leave him instead, for the sake of avoiding confrontation at such an extent? She seemed as though her skeleton had buckled.. as though she had nothing strong enough to stand on.

"Hey." His voice far more stern and direct to get her attention again. "What's... what's going on..." he hesitated.

Hearing the woman’s words, she couldn't help the smile that spread on her lips between her mouth and the lip of the cup. Setting the carved cup down on the bar top, she turned her body more towards her new friend. “Well I have to say it would be quite difficult really, unless you engage in it with a mortal yourself. I mean how do you intend to observe such an act unless you’re invited?” Watching Anath turn inward in that moment, her eyes shifting to her own hands.

Zafira was amused by her curiosity with this act that many species must take to give a high survival rate for their species, even Vampires of pure blood could copulate and produce offspring. Although Zafira isn’t one of those who have given life for the survivability of her kind, she found this notion amusing.

“What do you hope to accomplish learning from your observations..” With the meaning of her name spoken outward, she lifted what was left of her drink to allow it to grace her tongue and belly at last. To succeed, a victory. Yes.

@Chris488

At that moment of gripping the Felines butt (@themadhatter420) I allowed myself to reprieve villainous dexterities; I stood and pulled the Feline by her ass off her seat with the 1 hand, throwing her askew abound the floor, and made a Force-Push with my other hand at her - gravitating her through the new People's tables and chairs.

With Force-Speed I strove forward between Guests and Visitors, attaining being just where the Feline was bounding to next. I made use of both hands to Force-Push her splintering through the floor and up to the wall, evaluated to destroy the wall into the next room of Tavern Guests. It did just so.
Collapsing or blasting into the next scene.

To the Users near me on my side of things I Force-Surged a catatonic fissure about me. And to confuse all else music began to play out of my Armor's auxillory speakers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpT3k5PTCwQ. Madly poetic I say in my Helmet "Of all the Role-Plays I've done I've never gotten thus far. To be a Marauder for the likes no one has ever seen!" I sprawled up my arms creating Force-Flames, jumped out of my fissure with pyro, and twirled, I threw flames - flamethrowered long force covered flames out of the chaos I created into a shadow tornado infernal wrath. Not letting go of the shadow I imagined the light faded secondly to to the flames created I reaped the strength within me to overflow the inferno to have fire scour out, searing, melting, igniting everything 'bout me.

I burned through the ceiling(s), landing on my feet I relinquished the flames and turned on my black lightsaber. With a Force-Pull I caught a bottle of grog in the other, and tossed it down the pit. "Have this Serum, on me, bitches."

---

A lizard scampers into the Tavern as a patron enters, wholly unaware of anything happening.

Hm. Bright. And so many predators too. Perhaps this wasn’t a good choice of place.

The lizard licks his eyes, gazing around.

Oh well. Time to eat a bug.

Quick as lightning, he darts towards a table, snatching an unsuspecting beetle.

Where was his fox and robot friends? Had they disappeared, like how the beetle disappeared into his stomach?

He rather not think about it.

For now, the lizard lounged beneath the table, contented.

After a long and exhausting journey, Amaris's heart felt a little lighter as she spots the Tavern by the docks.
Her wild, white hair tangles up in her eyes and she swiftly holds it back before inspecting the outside.
"Hm, wonder why it's got no name," she says quietly to herself as she strides to the nameless tavern's door.
The delightful sound of cheerful music greets her as she enters. What a change after only hearing the wind and waves for at least 2 weeks.
She takes a moment to acquaint herself with the sights before her, scanning the room for familiar, unsurprisingly spotting none.
Alas, she spots @nymian, another elf. She is surprised but walks up to the green-haired maiden and seats herself on the stool next to her.

After sitting in silence for what seemed like 5 minutes, she speaks up.
"Ahem, hey there, I- my name's Amaris." She holds out her hand quite awkwardly towards @nymian.

Many months later...

Gabriela took a seat at the bar, pulling a stool out with her foot and slipping onto the polished wooden seat. Her weight settled, the slight heels on her boots hooking along the crisscrossing support bands of the stool, and she leaned forward until her elbows were on the polished bartop.

Golden eyes peered from left to right, and then straight ahead at the mirror that was mostly hidden behind a collection of liquor bottles -- of all shapes and sizes. She could just barely make out her reflection, a dim and foggy thing these days. Still, for a moment she was caught by the piercing weight of molten gold irises and copper-colored lightning strikes across the sunset orbs. But she could only hold her own stare for so long before looking away, down to her gathered hands.

It was a slow night.

She felt this wasn’t the first slow night -- the place looked practically abandoned. And, although the small staff that kept the tavern operational seemed to work even with a lack of patrons diligently, there were signs of neglect. For example, the dust in the corners of the room wafting through the air along with the perfume of melted candlewax and the soot from the large hearth at the center of the room. There were cobwebs as well, hanging like tattered pieces of thin fabric high up the rafters.

Small oversights, probably, totally unnoticeable to most.

“What can I get you?” asked the man behind the bar. He seemed neither gladdened nor annoyed by her presence. It was a curt, professional, and expected question.

What could he get her… Gabriela wondered.

“A cup of tea,” she said softly, her eyes shifting from the tired brown gaze that regarded her expectantly. She stared at her hands again and tried to ignore how thin the man’s lips were, how discolored his mustache was around the corner of his mouth -- yellowish, while the rest of it was white as snow. “...honey, a slice of lemon -- if you have it.”

“We ain’t got lemons, I am afraid.”

He was already collecting a small metal teapot from under the bar, and filling it with boiling water that he seemed to have on tap somewhere. She didn’t notice or care where it came from. She only glanced for a moment before going back to study her glass-like fingernails. They looked as if they carried a coat of polish, but that wasn’t the case. Her nails were hard, like stone, and they had a gloss to them as if they were made of crystal. It was one of those uncanny things -- one of those oddly beautiful details. And once she felt the weight of the bartender's eyes on her hands, which she had called attention to by staring at so intently, she drew her hands back under the bartop and held them in her lap.

“That’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Can I get you anything else?” the man asked as he set the metal teapot before Gabriela, along with a small white porcelain cup upon a small saucer, and besides that, a small honey jar with a golden spoon.

“This is fine for now, thank you,” she smiled and he returned the gesture before walking to the other end of the bar. She watched him go -- a glimmer of longing in the gold of her eyes before she turned to the task at hand. The theatrics of pretending to be human. The great production of preparing tea -- gathering the small fabric bag, seeping it, gathering a spoonful of honey, dropping it into her cup, and pouring the hot, discolored tea water over it until it melted away.

Chamomile.

The smell was a comfort, even if the taste never would be.

@Blessed Blight

Matthias sat alone in the dimly lit tavern, concealed beneath the shadows of a corner table. Gingerly, he sipped of a viscous, ruby liquid in a crystal chalice clutched between his steely fingers, keen, red eyes quietly observing the few patrons remaining. Long, damp strands of crimson hair clung to his sullen face, neatly framing his stern, angular features, sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin ending in a meticulously trimmed goatee. Over his broad shoulders was draped a long black cloak, barely covering a modest, charcoal Victorian suit with a frilled, white button shirt and an elegant red cravat tied around his neck.

For a moment or so, the man sat in demure silence, watching...waiting...

The soothing warmth emanating from the hearth kissed his pale flesh, a welcome contrast to the cold, bitter rain outside, fat drops pattering the window and snaking down the sheen surface of the glass. Dappled shadows danced across the walls and along the floor, like abstract shapes swaying mesmerically amidst the dull, vermillion haze.

Matthias sighed taking another small sip of his beverage of choice. Just then, the door creaked open and a figure ambled into the light. Matthias peered over his chalice, fixing his eyes onto the young woman as she stepped through the doorway, letting in a shrill gust of cold air momentarily robbing the tavern of its comforting warmth. He watched as she made her way over to the bar, a few cautious glances here and there before she asked the bartender for a cup of tea.

The first of many aspects that caught his observation were her fingernails. They were long and sharp, similar to his and those of his ilk, but unlike the dark color of his nails, hers were more of a crystalline, oddly fascinating.

There were also her eyes, glowing and radiant with soft golden hues, like the sun that once kissed his fair skin...now an abhorrence to him.

Matthias remained transfixed upon her as the night waned on. After a while, however, he slowly stood from his chair and sauntered over to the bar, the light shuffle of his polished, black riding boots trailing across the barroom floor.

"A bottle of your finest wine, my good sir." He whispered to the barkeep, his voice baritone. He then sat down beside the young woman, calmly adjusting his cloak.

Matthias sat alone in the dimly lit tavern, concealed beneath the shadows of a corner table. Gingerly, he sipped of a viscous, ruby liquid in a crystal chalice clutched between his steely fingers, keen, red eyes quietly observing the few patrons remaining. Long, damp strands of crimson hair clung to his sullen face, neatly framing his stern, angular features, sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin ending in a meticulously trimmed goatee. Over his broad shoulders was draped a long black cloak, barely covering a modest, charcoal Victorian suit with a frilled, white button shirt and an elegant red cravat tied around his neck...

The tea had grown cold, evident by the absent swirls of steam. She could still smell the tiny, dried-out, white flowers, which had been steeping for well over an hour. And there was still a hint of sweetness from the honey. But the warmth was gone, so the perfume lost much of its potency even to her heightened senses. Now and then she would stir the small golden spoon in circles inside the rim of the cup to reawaken the fragrance.

Yes, it had been an hour since she entered the tavern hoping to find some sign of him. Proof of his existence in this strange, new land -- proof of the life she had lived, of the world she had destroyed. But there was nothing. Not so much as a hint of his smell -- the brimstone, the leather, the spice of his skin. And as that hope dwindled and died away, she began to ponder the possibility of seeing any familiar face at all.

No -- everything had changed. In the span of a few months, the world had turned on its head, and the already unfamiliar terrain shifted and transformed like a distant mirage.

Rounded hips shifted forward until she was sitting on the edge of her seat. Her booted feet settled on the floor, legs mostly straight to make up for the height of the stool. This position allowed her slender fingers to slip into the pockets of her skin-tight breeches -- nearly an impossible task.

She was fishing for something in that pocket of hers, just as one of the few patrons that inhabited the tavern made his way to the bar. Her golden gaze narrowed, and by way of a side glance, she saw the creature that approached. Exquisitely elegant in his attire, and rather curious-looking with that ridiculous facial hair, Gabriela took measure of his presence as he whispered an order to the bartender and then claimed a seat -- besides her own.

Ice-cold fingers touched the edge of a cool coin, and with a wiggle of her digits, she freed the small treasure from its tight confinement. It was a slender silver coin, with the depiction of some unknown monarch upon it -- an unfortunate-looking man. She knew so little about the governing forces of this world and much less about its history. But she had figured out the currency system and made sure to get ahold of enough coins to keep herself out of trouble.

The coin was set upon the bartop, beside her untouched cup of tea.

“It’s a bit much,” she said out loud, tilting her head toward him, but not turning to look at him directly. A flick of her fingers pushed aside a strand of dark hair, chocolate-brown in color, and in this dim light, nearly black. It was her profile that the man would see if he turned to regard her voice. And it was a glorious sight, a straight and narrow nose, plump lips, a noble and thoughtful brow, with eyebrows that seemed perpetually pinched in concern. And then those eyes -- golden and distant, as she looked straight ahead.

“You’re cloak,” she finally went on, after a meaningful pause, “...you’re cloak is a bit much.”

Her brows lifted, and she at last deemed him worthy enough to look at.

She drank in the sight of him.

“Curious creature indeed,” she said, mostly to herself, before moving to leave.

[PSA - Name is Arhen Alexander [Arr-en] no longer just Czelsc. I was being lazy back then and didn't want to associate my old character at the time]

The weight of the heavy timber gave some resistance against his grip of cold steel pushing to open the tavern door. The stabbing cold air crawling away as the tavern warmth exposed. The frozen claws of the outdoors were dragging across his body, rounding to his back as though the cold hands were desperately trying to keep him outdoors. No, he was done with that for a while.

It had been a long time since being in actual civilization. The occasional other traveler here or there, but no large groups, no gatherings, no streets. He had been in the wild for many months. Even to the point of losing track of how long. At first it had been with reason. That woman... Or whatever she was. His ignorant human self was only able to comprehend so much after all. He remembered only so few details anymore. He remembered she was troubled and upset. He remembered that there was something different about her. He was curious about her. As well, he remembered her beauty. That was unforgettable. Long ago Arhen had followed her outside. He managed to track her just enough to talk with her a moment, then so quickly she was gone. That began the first steps of his recent journey. He tried to find her, tried to keep up. But he was merely human. She was something else. Something he knew to be careful around. Something he knew would not allow him to find. She would out-do him in most everything. By his figuring, she would know where he was long before he would catch any sign of her. That she would not allow herself to be found by him unless she wanted to. So why had he perused her? That had been a question he asked himself for many months. But he wanted to find her. This was such a challenge to attempt; none other greater in his life. She intrigued him and it was motivating. Arhen tried very hard to find any sign of hers to track. He used Rhea when he could to see if she could call out anything. There was nothing of her that he could find. As though she never existed.

Closing the heavy door behind him broke the cold claws of the outside, replacing with the embracing hug of shelter and fire. Without recognizing he let out a soft sigh of relief. Feeling the chills through his body begin to break up and settle.

A long, tired gaze skimmed the room. A general examination of his surroundings while he was too tired to actually hang onto any details.

The same first spot he sat at long ago was open as though it were awaiting his return. He appreciated the comfort of any familiarity he could find. He walked to the corner of the bar to sit on the stool near the wall. His cold, worn hand hung onto the bulbous edge of the bar top. The light waxy feeling in his palm as he braced to settle his stiff body down onto the stool.

Being at the corner relieved him of any mirror. He knew that he looked much different from the last time he had been here. Thicker facial hair covered the gaunt appearance; an old nomad. Not such a long beard for it was evident he had trimmed or tried to. Yet still without a mirror it was uneven and bushy. His tired grey blue eyes like drops into the wells of his sockets. So tired, so sore, so hungry, so pathetically human. His cheeks pushing out as if trying to catch his eyes as they dropped. His neck was much thinner now, making it seem slightly longer. His muscles, his vessels of blood, his thick lump of his throat all presented significantly more so. Further veins riddled his large, calloused hands. His active heart and body pushing many of them to the top of his flesh like pipes. Dirty, worn clothes clung onto his body. Long layers just enough to keep him warm. Enough layers to remove when he got too warm. He would rather have too much than not enough. He loosened his coat and the bundle beneath to adjust more comfortably. While bulky enough to conceal a small box between his chest and arm.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked.
Arhen broke out of his thoughts, lifting his gaze to meet the young man. When their eyes met it forced the eyebrows of the young tender to rise. The grey-blue eyes were memorable.
“Oh wait. It’s you again. I remember you. The weird tequila guy right?” It was difficult to decipher what way he meant by that statement. Part of him did seem partly interested to see him again, while the majority seemed sarcastic.
“Oh. You’re still here.” Arhen tossed back at him. “It seems we’ve both made bad decisions in life.” Arhen’s sharp rebuttal had the intention to shut down the conversation and make it obvious that Arhen was not yet ready to interact with others. The bartender stood staring at him, annoyed, even wishing the stranger never returned.
“Silver tequila, right?” His voice was very flat.
“Neat. Nothing but.” Arhen couldn’t help but keep his gaze locked with the young man, giving him a nod at remembering his order. A simple sign of gratitude.

The tender walked away to do what seems he may do best, allowing Arhen to return to his thoughts. Staring right into a void. He was present, sure. But he was absolutely lost in his mind. Tracking her had been the start, the rest was not what he expected at all. Where he had found himself, what he got himself into, what happened. His mind could not settle. Maybe this will help him sleep a little better. A warm room for rest and relief. Be lost in his mind.

A tiny thud before him. “Here.” The bartender reminded Arhen of his order. The glass tumbler of clear liquid. A delightful sight indeed. He reached into his pocket to draw out enough money to cover the drink with a tip. The bartender took the tip then walked away with a barely audible sigh. Some expression similar to ”You’re lucky you tip or I wouldn’t like you.”

Arhen sat tall with enough leverage to lean over the edge of the bar top. How he appeared could be interpreted as a man with stiffness and back pain. His long stare held straight as he gripped the glass. Arhen was having a hard time stepping away from his mind. An escape that would seem easy to most. Someone stood up. It snapped him out of his mind for a moment. Long enough for Arhen to see why the being vacated the seat. Signs of the alertness and paranoia riddled the old human. He watched this odd looking man; so Arhen thought. But again something was different. He had such specific, such perfect markers. It felt like there was some special air around him. Like an old bottle of wine; the presentation of the bottle looking so old yet classic. Untouched but ready to please. Opening the bottle and exposing its own fragrance which dominates the area. It reminded Arhen of the woman.

Finally the resolution to calm his troubled mind materialized before him. His thoughts silenced as he seen her. Her. The one from long ago. His lips pursed shut as his hand gripped the tumbler a little tighter. His eyes locked onto her for many reasons. Surprise, shock, relief, annoyance, and many more. Finally he cut his gaze, forcing himself to look to his left. To look away to the bottles on the corner of the wall. A grin crossed his face as he lift his glass. To himself, he gave cheers. The heavy taste of the strong drink left a long, hot grip down his throat. It had been too long. His eyes closed softly to enjoy. Although he returned feeling defeated in some ways, he felt accomplished for other reasons. He looked back down to the bar after the drink. His eyes locked onto the glass. He didn’t want to look right over to her. Part of Arhen wanted to go confront her. Another part just wanted to keep an eye on her as long as he can before she catches him. He was actually relieved to see her again. Knowing she was alright on her own in her world, sure, but to see so was a different feeling.

He could have looked like a madman smiling at his glass. Almost seeming he was about to break out in laughter. After all his long, cold, tiring travels he just happens to return here. And she happened to return as well. Could he have just stayed here instead? A nice warm, cozy room and liquor on hand while she ran off to later return? He wanted to avoid those sensible thoughts.

He decided he would keep an eye on her. Try to keep on her until she notices him, if she already hadn’t. He was beside himself at them being here again, after everything, after so long.

The old man lift his empty tumbler, a finger tapping the side toward the bartender.

Yeah. Keep them coming.

@Zmija Sebastian

Itotia playing her lute and singing as the drama begins to unfold around her holding her instrument closer and closer to her. Suddenly letting out a yelp as they toss her across the bar, trying to tuck her body in to protect her lute. She yelps out as her back slams into tables and people feel the force push me harder than a normal punch or toss would have been. Bloody Magic again~ all I wanted to do was provide some calm music. She thinks to herself shaking out of a daze as she finally stops flying across the room. "HEY! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR YOU PSYCHO!" She calls out to the person who just tossed her as they approach.

A wet cloth ran along the bartop, back and forth, making very little difference to the already clean surface. A young woman was cleaning the counter, again, since there was very little else to do at the moment.
It was an easy day for the barmaid, in fact it had been a long series of 'easy' days. The tavern had been quiet for quite some time and she was finding it a little on the boring side. She let out a soft sigh and flick aside some loose strands of hair as she look up with her big brown eyes and run them across the few patrons currently in the tavern.

Peace was always meant to be broken, and broken was an understatement for the ruckus that quickly ensued just moments after the barmaid sighed. It was almost as if she wished upon a shooting star, then that shooting star took a sharp left turn and barreled head first towards her at frightening speed.

The first thing to happen was the loud crash as the glass from the window just beside the door shattered. A fiery ball of red and white flames came barreling through it at impressive speeds. Next, that fiery ball of hate slammed into the first circular table just next to the window, shattering the top and causing it's three pronged legs to go careening along the floor towards the patrons who stood there stunned at the sudden and very violent interruption. When the fiery ball came to settle on top of chunks of wood, the heat from it began to die down. Feathers were exposed as two large wings that were originally erect flopped down to the ground. A man laid in the center, groaning in pain from the harsh landing, his body covered in cuts from the glass of the window. His clothing, though some of it had been burned by the flames, was silky; baggy pants down to his ankles and a long sleeve shirt with a vest over it, though one of the sleeves of the shirt had obviously been ripped off, exposing a multitude of gloriously fluorescent, tiny feathers underneath.

The man raised his head ever so slightly to peek out of the window he had just crashed through, two long threaded feathers rises from the sides of his head like decorative tassels. "You-" He said while raising his hand to point out of the window at something that had already taken it's leave. As his head fell back to the floor with a loud thump, he finished his sentence, "better run." He groaned deeply and his hand fell to the floor, with him falling into what seemed to be unconsciousness.

(figured I'd bring some chaotic life to this thread lol. Hi @Dark Light )