Zell eyed The Brass Monkey, taking note of the underworld-vibe of the place. Having seen enough for now, he was about to turn around and walk off, when he heard the call-out from the man in the front yard.
"Mind your own fucking business, pal," he said back, sticking his chest out a little.
A few pairs of eyes were drawn to the altercation, particularly to Zell who was the outsider in the situation. And now the Englishman didn't want to walk away for fear of looking scared.
Ugh, this is so annoying, he thought as he paused, then was compelled to walk into the yard and up to the entrance. As he passed the thug who was mean-mugging him, he kept eye contact just long enough to show he wasn't at all afraid, and also just long enough to notice that the thug's eyes briefly flicked down to Zell's left hand.
Yeah, I've got superpowers you retard, try something.Inside, the atmosphere was rough and rowdy, with gambling of all kinds at many different tables, drinks aplenty, and various degrees of tension in different areas of the room. Zell was no stranger to this kind of place, but he much preferred the vibe at places like The Mended Drum. Happy drunks were much more fun to be around. (They also spent more money on drugs, which had always been a nice bonus.)
At the bar he ordered a non-alcoholic beverage and decided he'd stick around for ten minutes before leaving to continue his city tour. It wasn't a bad idea to come inside and take note of the place, anyway. Who knew what the future would bring? Perhaps he would need to delve into the other side of the law, for whatever reason. (He may have already began flirting with contraband, with his new weapon.) Zell was never one to shy away from trouble.
"Excuse me miss," he said loudly, grabbing the attention of a serving lady. She was a buxom woman, with a face unperturbed by the flavour of patron around her. In fact, her air suggested she was more than willing to break up a fight, or spit venom back at anyone giving her a hard time. Zell gave her some silver. "Would you do me a kindness and take a beer out to the gentlemen at the middle table on the right, in the yard?" She checked the money in her hand. "And a drink for your yourself, darlin." Unmoved by the gesture of good will, she simply nodded. "He's wearing a red bandana. Got a teardrop tattoo on his cheek. Do me a favour and tell him; 'Baby-face sends his regards.'"
She repeated the description, the message and nodded before heading to the bar, then went outside. When she returned, she gave Zell a thumbs up from across the room, then went on to other duties. Satisfied, Zell nursed his drink for a while before deciding he'd lingered enough, downed the rest of it and left the building.
Outside, he passed by the tables without a word but was stopped by that same gravelly voice.
"Had enough already, have ye, baby-face?"
His back still to the man, Zell smiled, then he turned about to walk over to the table. "Just passing through to see a man about a dog."
"Is that what the kids call it these days?" was a third man, which got a laugh from everyone including Zell.
"You're no local," the teardrop-tattoo man inquired.
"I'm about as un-fucking-local as it gets, pal," Zell replied. "How about you?"
"Born a ways down south. Followed the money and found meself in Valhiem. I'm guessing you don't want my whole fucking biography."
"You wouldn't be worth writing about, you ugly bastard," Zell bounced back. Again, all three laughed. The Englishman nodded pointedly at the tattoos. "Decent ink you've got there. You've got an artist who knows what he's doin."
"Me and a mate of mine did eachother. Why? You planning on marking yourself up?"
"And ruin this pretty face?" Zell rubbed a finger down his jawline. "Not a chance. But I might have a friend whose interested."
"No need to ask if you've got the coin. You adventurers are usually good for it."
Zell smirked. "We've either got money or we're dead."
"Sounds like my line of work."
It didn't take much imagination to speculate on what kind of work that might be. Nothing nice, to be sure. The swordsman decided to leave it at that. "Well alright then." He walked away a bit before stopping and turning about once more. "Didn't catch your name."
"I didn't fucking throw it," was the reply. The man enjoyed his joke for a moment then answered. "Devon."
"Zell Brooks."
"Baby-face," Devon corrected.
Zell didn't fight it, simply saluting and walking off, back south down the street. Devon. He'd made a potential contact into whatever underworld there was in Valhiem, and that may or may not be useful at a later time.
...
After walking all the way back down the long road to the intersection, another look at the grand establishment that was The Nightingale suddenly gave him a fantastic idea.
"Ha," he said aloud to himself as he passed it. "Perfect."
He stored the idea in the files of his mind. No need to rush that one. An opportunity would present itself at some point, he was sure.
His stroll took him into Golden Tree Park where he enjoyed the tranquility of the environment. Children played, people walked their dogs... this world was eerily similar to his own world. Aside from the aesthetic, of course the magic, and the various talking creatures that lived alongside humans, it really wasn't that different at all, in the big city. People remained quite the same, and that fact would help Zell see something of a possible future for himself, in this world, if he was indeed stuck here. He'd just need to learn this adventuring business, see this Witch Queen defeated and he'd be confident in settling down and adjusting to his new life.
Even becoming a success.
After nearly making a full lap around the park, he ended up going over to a bench, one hand unbuckling the sword straps at his chest to unequip his weapon and sit down. There was someone else at the other end of the bench, and Zell looked around contentedly before regarding the man sidelong. His smile didn't waver as he noted the appearance of the other man, nor did he fail to notice the HUGE greatsword and tower shield leaning next to him. At this point, freaky looking people had already lost their novelty. He battled with a metal ninja, seen Aurok the Maneater close up. Hell, he'd been patched up at Valhiem's hospital who looked like a cartoon devil come to life. The only thing particularly eyebrow-raising was just how fucking cool the man's leather armour was. It had a hood and everything.
This other man was reading a letter with a look of dreamy romance on his face. As if he was off somewhere else, floating on Cloud Nine.
"I know that look," Zell said. He shook his head. "That's the look of a man in love.
So familiar. Seen it in friends, of course. Not me. I don't love these girls," he stated proudly, looking away briefly as a rapid-fire montage of beautiful women's faces flickered through his mind. But it ended abruptly with one woman's face who stayed firmly in his mind's eye, and the Englishman's tone changed. "Well... that might be up for debate as of recently, but never mind that." Getting back on track. "The point is: I know that look all too well."
Zell's welcoming smile and particular brand of charm had a certain way of getting people to open up and talk to him, strangers and associates alike. Whether it would work on the demonic looking man at the other end of the bench, was yet to be determined. Zell nodded pointedly at the letter.
"What's she like?"
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