If Chachan had been hinting any deeper into the Bismarck suggestion or Ayaka's intentions beyond "it's ritzy and popular," he certainly didn't show it. Which could just as easily belie some great, calculating mind beneath that head of unkempt floof of green hair as it could be his words being presented at face value with no subterfuge whatsoever involved. Given the flustered and embarrassed look he gave her at her giggles, however, it was far likely the latter - hunching down a little to make himself seem smaller and less noticeable as he quietly chewed on the bit of jerky still in his mouth. The rest was surreptitiously tucked away for later as he straightened up a little bit.
"I-I, uh, wasn't implyin' ya didn't have th' gil'r nothin'..." he explained as he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck, trying to dig himself out of the hole he thought he had made for himself after all that. "'s jus'... it's one'a those places folks usually plan ta go ta ahead'a time rather'n than a spur'a th' moment thin', y'know? Jus' caught me off-guard 's all... Th' place might ev'n have its own special section jus' fer walk-in customers, I 'unno!"
"As fer th' blades..." He switched topics rather quickly, seeming more in favor of - and more confident in - discussing his work rather than his social snafu, given the quickened recovery of stature and poise. For obvious reasons. "I know all 'bout how important those sortsa thin's are - 've refurbished chain mail that was a family heirloom, 'n I have a shield me Papa made me moons ago that I still keep wit me. Err, not right now a'course - it's a shield - b-but ya get what 'm sayin'. Point 's... I'll make sure they're done up all proper-like jus' like want."
"'n where ta eat, well..." He looked about as they drew closer to the Wench itself, his long ears wiggling a bit at the sounds of the place. "If'n ya like th' Wench, we're already right 'ere 'n can get right ta talkin' shop 'n gettin' fed..." His suggestion tapered off into silent embarrassment as she reminded him of his growling stomach. It was a beat or two before he insisted in his own awkward little murmur of a way: "'n-n I wouldn'ta fainted... 's-s why I carry th' snacks ta begin wit - 's fer if'n 'm hungry durin' work 'n stuff..."
Though, it would be hard not to get hungry with the scents wafting out from the depths of the tavern, carried along with the raucous noise of sailors and adventurers both swapping tales and partaking of both food and drink. The most overpowering of them - thankfully outweighing the less than delightful aroma of sailors who had spent a sun too many away from soap - was that of cooked fish, which would come to no surprise given the locale. A restaurant would have to be downright foolish to ignore the bounty set before them beneath the rolling waves - even the Bismarck's menu was rife with elegent seafood dishes like Bouillabaisse. The Wench, however, smelled of simpler, yet no less stomach-rumbling fare - of dagger soup and tuna miqo'bobs and apkallu omelettes.
"A-anyroad, I could go fer a miqo'bob 'r three meself so... um... ta th' Wench?"
"I-I, uh, wasn't implyin' ya didn't have th' gil'r nothin'..." he explained as he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck, trying to dig himself out of the hole he thought he had made for himself after all that. "'s jus'... it's one'a those places folks usually plan ta go ta ahead'a time rather'n than a spur'a th' moment thin', y'know? Jus' caught me off-guard 's all... Th' place might ev'n have its own special section jus' fer walk-in customers, I 'unno!"
"As fer th' blades..." He switched topics rather quickly, seeming more in favor of - and more confident in - discussing his work rather than his social snafu, given the quickened recovery of stature and poise. For obvious reasons. "I know all 'bout how important those sortsa thin's are - 've refurbished chain mail that was a family heirloom, 'n I have a shield me Papa made me moons ago that I still keep wit me. Err, not right now a'course - it's a shield - b-but ya get what 'm sayin'. Point 's... I'll make sure they're done up all proper-like jus' like want."
"'n where ta eat, well..." He looked about as they drew closer to the Wench itself, his long ears wiggling a bit at the sounds of the place. "If'n ya like th' Wench, we're already right 'ere 'n can get right ta talkin' shop 'n gettin' fed..." His suggestion tapered off into silent embarrassment as she reminded him of his growling stomach. It was a beat or two before he insisted in his own awkward little murmur of a way: "'n-n I wouldn'ta fainted... 's-s why I carry th' snacks ta begin wit - 's fer if'n 'm hungry durin' work 'n stuff..."
Though, it would be hard not to get hungry with the scents wafting out from the depths of the tavern, carried along with the raucous noise of sailors and adventurers both swapping tales and partaking of both food and drink. The most overpowering of them - thankfully outweighing the less than delightful aroma of sailors who had spent a sun too many away from soap - was that of cooked fish, which would come to no surprise given the locale. A restaurant would have to be downright foolish to ignore the bounty set before them beneath the rolling waves - even the Bismarck's menu was rife with elegent seafood dishes like Bouillabaisse. The Wench, however, smelled of simpler, yet no less stomach-rumbling fare - of dagger soup and tuna miqo'bobs and apkallu omelettes.
"A-anyroad, I could go fer a miqo'bob 'r three meself so... um... ta th' Wench?"
~