To call the sight "sorry" would be to say that a rampaging Morbol at a wedding was a mildly unwelcome presence.
The sight in question was that of a Roegadyn and a Hyur collectively slumped on a table like used napkins that had been left after a banquet. The Sea Wolf's mint green skin had adopted a worringly pale pallor, while the Hyur's face glowed with a flushed hue that could not have signified intoxication more unless a bottle-shaped sign constructed of fiery letters were suspended above his head.
The Drowning Wench was unusually quiet that night, and Tenfingers, the proprietor, was nowhere to be seen, leaving nary a soul in sight. The moon shone high in the sky, its argent gleam contrasting with the warm pub lights, and the sound of the sea lapping at the docks carried gently through the mostly empty establishment. The vacancy was something of an anomaly, as Limsa Lominsa's most popular pub could, under normal circumstances, only truly be considered "empty" when there are one or more dead or unconscious bodies in it.
As it happened, not only were there no dead or unconscious bodies (that could be seen, anyway) but the furniture was intact as well. Several bottles lay strewn around the pair's table, a clear enough hint at the revelry that had taken place, and a wordless explanation for their undignified position.
Occasionally, something between a groan and a sigh would be traded between the two, with the Hyur's resembling a blacksmith's bellows and the Roegadyn's resembling the same pair of bellows but with a particularly loud bag of rocks stuck inside it. Their exhalations and variations thereof were the most significant communication the pair had traded with one another in what felt like years.
One of the bottles rolled off the table and clattered to the floor, another unfortunate casualty of the festivities. The noise provoked a jolt of movement from the Hyur, who lethargically lifted his head to scan his surroundings. A tarnished pair of elaborate earrings jingled as his head moved, with bloodshot eyes the colour of ice slowly attempted to remember how to properly perceive an environment.Â
"Mayhaps....I spent too much, Satz..." Nero wheezed. With both hands he held his head, soot black bangs crested with streaks of orange falling around his face. The Roegadyn provided his valuable insight to the Hyur's statement by promptly falling off the chair with a mighty thud that would have squashed a steel ingot. A rumble escaped the Sea Wolf's lips that at this point sounded more like an extended grunt than a groan or a sigh.
"Ye have....nev'r been one t' hold back..." Every word the giant uttered seemed to take a titanic amount of effort. The corner of Nero's lips struggled to form some semblance of a grin.
"Because...we could all be dead tomorrow, and we have...to spend that time well...or something.."
The silence that followed indicated that philosophy was not welcome in the current situation.
"I...I may be dead right now...tell Garalt that 'e still owes me money..." Another heave of the rock-filled bellows resonated from beneath the table. "Ooh, a century be too long 'fore I see the Wench's floor again..." Satz rolled over like a log, the Roegadyn's blocklike face resting squarely on a floor tile.
"Have..have you ever thought about that?" Nero asked, one hand still holding up his head as the other hand fished around in his pockets for nothing in particular.
"I'm not inna position t' be thinkin' about anything 'sides me impending demise...." came the response which Nero either ignored or didn't register, with the latter being more likely.
"Why...why does Tenfingers call this place the 'Drowning Wench'? I mean, has...has he drowned a wench before?"
"Yer too loud..." the floor complained. Nero lay the side of his head onto the roughly cut wood of the table, staring out of the pub's entrance, his earrings jingling once again and his eyes blearily opening and closing like they had temporarily forgotten how to blink and were trying to recall the motion from muscle memory.
"Did a wench once drink so much here that...she drowned? Why would...why would you name your pub after that?" The Hyur's bizarre inquiry to nobody in particular continued. "Wouldn't that...be like naming a smithy 'The apprentice who burned to death inside the forge'..?"
"Lad, right now yer voice be as pleasant as th' sound o' coeurls mating," was Satz' contribution to the incredibly fascinating question.
"Did the...the wench drown inside the building? On the building? Around it?" Nero flopped his arms over the side of the table where they dangled like vines. "Was it really a wench? Maybe it was a barmaid or a fishmonger's daughter..."
"'E prob'ly named it after 'is wife.." The Sea Wolf's voice had evolved from rocks in a bellow to rocks being smashed together.
The deliberate opening and closing of Nero's eyelids took ten long seconds.
"...Tenfingers has a wife?"
Another groan emerged from the floor.
The night continued.
The sight in question was that of a Roegadyn and a Hyur collectively slumped on a table like used napkins that had been left after a banquet. The Sea Wolf's mint green skin had adopted a worringly pale pallor, while the Hyur's face glowed with a flushed hue that could not have signified intoxication more unless a bottle-shaped sign constructed of fiery letters were suspended above his head.
The Drowning Wench was unusually quiet that night, and Tenfingers, the proprietor, was nowhere to be seen, leaving nary a soul in sight. The moon shone high in the sky, its argent gleam contrasting with the warm pub lights, and the sound of the sea lapping at the docks carried gently through the mostly empty establishment. The vacancy was something of an anomaly, as Limsa Lominsa's most popular pub could, under normal circumstances, only truly be considered "empty" when there are one or more dead or unconscious bodies in it.
As it happened, not only were there no dead or unconscious bodies (that could be seen, anyway) but the furniture was intact as well. Several bottles lay strewn around the pair's table, a clear enough hint at the revelry that had taken place, and a wordless explanation for their undignified position.
Occasionally, something between a groan and a sigh would be traded between the two, with the Hyur's resembling a blacksmith's bellows and the Roegadyn's resembling the same pair of bellows but with a particularly loud bag of rocks stuck inside it. Their exhalations and variations thereof were the most significant communication the pair had traded with one another in what felt like years.
One of the bottles rolled off the table and clattered to the floor, another unfortunate casualty of the festivities. The noise provoked a jolt of movement from the Hyur, who lethargically lifted his head to scan his surroundings. A tarnished pair of elaborate earrings jingled as his head moved, with bloodshot eyes the colour of ice slowly attempted to remember how to properly perceive an environment.Â
"Mayhaps....I spent too much, Satz..." Nero wheezed. With both hands he held his head, soot black bangs crested with streaks of orange falling around his face. The Roegadyn provided his valuable insight to the Hyur's statement by promptly falling off the chair with a mighty thud that would have squashed a steel ingot. A rumble escaped the Sea Wolf's lips that at this point sounded more like an extended grunt than a groan or a sigh.
"Ye have....nev'r been one t' hold back..." Every word the giant uttered seemed to take a titanic amount of effort. The corner of Nero's lips struggled to form some semblance of a grin.
"Because...we could all be dead tomorrow, and we have...to spend that time well...or something.."
The silence that followed indicated that philosophy was not welcome in the current situation.
"I...I may be dead right now...tell Garalt that 'e still owes me money..." Another heave of the rock-filled bellows resonated from beneath the table. "Ooh, a century be too long 'fore I see the Wench's floor again..." Satz rolled over like a log, the Roegadyn's blocklike face resting squarely on a floor tile.
"Have..have you ever thought about that?" Nero asked, one hand still holding up his head as the other hand fished around in his pockets for nothing in particular.
"I'm not inna position t' be thinkin' about anything 'sides me impending demise...." came the response which Nero either ignored or didn't register, with the latter being more likely.
"Why...why does Tenfingers call this place the 'Drowning Wench'? I mean, has...has he drowned a wench before?"
"Yer too loud..." the floor complained. Nero lay the side of his head onto the roughly cut wood of the table, staring out of the pub's entrance, his earrings jingling once again and his eyes blearily opening and closing like they had temporarily forgotten how to blink and were trying to recall the motion from muscle memory.
"Did a wench once drink so much here that...she drowned? Why would...why would you name your pub after that?" The Hyur's bizarre inquiry to nobody in particular continued. "Wouldn't that...be like naming a smithy 'The apprentice who burned to death inside the forge'..?"
"Lad, right now yer voice be as pleasant as th' sound o' coeurls mating," was Satz' contribution to the incredibly fascinating question.
"Did the...the wench drown inside the building? On the building? Around it?" Nero flopped his arms over the side of the table where they dangled like vines. "Was it really a wench? Maybe it was a barmaid or a fishmonger's daughter..."
"'E prob'ly named it after 'is wife.." The Sea Wolf's voice had evolved from rocks in a bellow to rocks being smashed together.
The deliberate opening and closing of Nero's eyelids took ten long seconds.
"...Tenfingers has a wife?"
Another groan emerged from the floor.
The night continued.
