((Though I am the poster, I cannot take credit; this roleplay is being written in tandem and is co-authored by many members of Oschon at-Ta'ih.))
The loud hustle and bustle of the Drowned Wench never really seemed to cease. Which was generally a good thing, it was without a doubt the biggest hub for all the land-lubbers straight off the ferries from the mainland. They always needed something, an escort, advice, or a strong knock across the head. Whatever it was, the regulars of the Tavern were usually happy to oblidge them. Especially if it was the Latter.
As for why Goliam was there, well, it wasn't quite so jolly. He pushed his way through the door, wearing a thick blue long-coat that looked like it had gone a few rounds too many with an angry beasty of the tooth-mawed variety. His heavy boots thumped across the wooden floor as he went, his eyes locked on one particular table. One that was empty, and near the fire.
Before he could reach his seat, however, he was stopped by a bubbly Miqo'te waitress, wearing an overly frilly apron, and had just a bit-too-much spring in her step for Goliam's taste. "Welcome to the Drowned Wench, sir, what can I get for you?"
He stopped, looked at her sternly for a moment, "You can let me get to my damned seat first." the Roegadyn grunted to her.
The Miqo'te's ears drooping at bit from the rather harsh comment. "Oh, of course sir." She stepped to the side, and he took of his long-coat, pulled back the wooden chair, and sat down on it slowly, seemingly nervous of it potentially snapping under his weight. The entire time the waitress stood there nervously eyeing him. "..So-- errr--- what would you like, sir?"
"...Stew, and Ale, and not that watered down crap you give to the out-of-towners." he said flatly, not even bothering to look at her, instead keeping his eyes fixed on a rather soiled set of bandages wrapped about his left arm.
"Right away, sir!" she said happily, and quickly walked away, the spring in her step restored.
Goliam shook his head. "Miqo'te." As he waited he stared at his bandages, playing with them a bit. "Dozen damned, I think it's infected." he pulled them a bit tighter, then winced slightly. "Gonna cost even more to get that treated... Bloody Raptors."
"Looks like you have had a rough day," a high-pitched voice sounded at him from below the roegadyn's line of sight.
Peering down, he saw an bronze-skinned lalafell woman staring right back, a pleasant look upon her face. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"
Goliam stopped and looked her over for a moment. "Where did you come from?" He pauses, and shrugs, seemingly disinterested in hearing the answer to his last question. "Eh-, take a seat, better you than another bloody swarm'a the Miqo'te."
"Do you have something against the Miqo'te?" the woman asked evenly as she pulled herself up into the accompanying chair across from Goliam. Sitting down, she was so small that only her neck and head could be seen popping up above the table's surface. Her face was caught in a mild smile, seemingly in thought.
"Though, 'swarm' might be appropriate," she continued absent-mindedly. "Classical studies have always surmised that the Miqo'te are fewer in number than what they seem to be. Especially in places like this."
"They breed faster than Rarabs." the Roegadyn said, his eyes ocassionally flicking down to his bandaged arm. "That, and they always seem to be up ter something, an' too damn cheerful."
He dragged his bandaged arm off the table as the waitress returned with his order. After setting down a rather gargantuan bowl filled to the brim with what looked like seafood stew, as well as an accompanying tankard, the waitress paused. She looked to the lalafell, and blinked, as if confused. "Can I get you something?" she asks after a moment or two of silence.
"No, I'm not here for that. But thank you," the Lalafell replied.
As the waitress shrugged good-naturedly and headed off to another table, the Lalafell took a deep breath through her nose, taking in the aroma of the Roegadyn's food before continuing. "I suppose you would like to ask me a similar question, yes?" she said.
Goliam just stared at her, shovelling a spoonful of the stew into his mouth, and chewing. His eyes still looking her over, he took his time, then finally swallowed and sighed. "Yeah, actually." he thrusts a thumb over at a group of people who were conversing rather loudly. All dressed in rather outrageous garb. "Exactly how fresh off the ferries *are* ya, and what is it exactly that you want?"
"If you are asking if I am a tourist or merchantwoman like the others here, I am sorry to say that I am not." The lalafell shrugged. "I am here to hire an escort. Specifically, you. I hope that you are not otherwise employed?"
Goliam nearly choked on the stew he was chewing on. "Specifically me?" he said, clearing his throat, and wiping his mouth with his hand. "I just finished a 'job' of a kind, but.. frankly I've got some business to attend to before I can do anything." He drags the tankard over to the edge, and takes a heavy swig from it. "Before I go turnin' ye down, though, what exactly are you needin' an escort for?"
The lalafell smiled. "It would be difficult to say, exactly, what the job is for, but... is it important? You appear to be the type that can handle danger."
He looked down at his arm once more, and gave a quick chuckle. "Suppose that'd be obvious." He gives her another fast look over, then goes back to his stew, still eating rather slowly. "I need to know three things first, before I agree." He raises one finger off of the spoonful of stew he was bringing to his mouth. "Firs', is it legal." He paused and chewed for a moment, but spoke before finishing, "Secon', where exactly are ye goin'." The Roegadyn swallows, and wipes his mouth again. "Do I 'ave some time to run a few errands, I just got off a job."
"All of that depends on you, roegadyn," the lalafell replied. "I am not taking you anywhere; it is you who will be taking me."
The loud hustle and bustle of the Drowned Wench never really seemed to cease. Which was generally a good thing, it was without a doubt the biggest hub for all the land-lubbers straight off the ferries from the mainland. They always needed something, an escort, advice, or a strong knock across the head. Whatever it was, the regulars of the Tavern were usually happy to oblidge them. Especially if it was the Latter.
As for why Goliam was there, well, it wasn't quite so jolly. He pushed his way through the door, wearing a thick blue long-coat that looked like it had gone a few rounds too many with an angry beasty of the tooth-mawed variety. His heavy boots thumped across the wooden floor as he went, his eyes locked on one particular table. One that was empty, and near the fire.
Before he could reach his seat, however, he was stopped by a bubbly Miqo'te waitress, wearing an overly frilly apron, and had just a bit-too-much spring in her step for Goliam's taste. "Welcome to the Drowned Wench, sir, what can I get for you?"
He stopped, looked at her sternly for a moment, "You can let me get to my damned seat first." the Roegadyn grunted to her.
The Miqo'te's ears drooping at bit from the rather harsh comment. "Oh, of course sir." She stepped to the side, and he took of his long-coat, pulled back the wooden chair, and sat down on it slowly, seemingly nervous of it potentially snapping under his weight. The entire time the waitress stood there nervously eyeing him. "..So-- errr--- what would you like, sir?"
"...Stew, and Ale, and not that watered down crap you give to the out-of-towners." he said flatly, not even bothering to look at her, instead keeping his eyes fixed on a rather soiled set of bandages wrapped about his left arm.
"Right away, sir!" she said happily, and quickly walked away, the spring in her step restored.
Goliam shook his head. "Miqo'te." As he waited he stared at his bandages, playing with them a bit. "Dozen damned, I think it's infected." he pulled them a bit tighter, then winced slightly. "Gonna cost even more to get that treated... Bloody Raptors."
"Looks like you have had a rough day," a high-pitched voice sounded at him from below the roegadyn's line of sight.
Peering down, he saw an bronze-skinned lalafell woman staring right back, a pleasant look upon her face. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"
Goliam stopped and looked her over for a moment. "Where did you come from?" He pauses, and shrugs, seemingly disinterested in hearing the answer to his last question. "Eh-, take a seat, better you than another bloody swarm'a the Miqo'te."
"Do you have something against the Miqo'te?" the woman asked evenly as she pulled herself up into the accompanying chair across from Goliam. Sitting down, she was so small that only her neck and head could be seen popping up above the table's surface. Her face was caught in a mild smile, seemingly in thought.
"Though, 'swarm' might be appropriate," she continued absent-mindedly. "Classical studies have always surmised that the Miqo'te are fewer in number than what they seem to be. Especially in places like this."
"They breed faster than Rarabs." the Roegadyn said, his eyes ocassionally flicking down to his bandaged arm. "That, and they always seem to be up ter something, an' too damn cheerful."
He dragged his bandaged arm off the table as the waitress returned with his order. After setting down a rather gargantuan bowl filled to the brim with what looked like seafood stew, as well as an accompanying tankard, the waitress paused. She looked to the lalafell, and blinked, as if confused. "Can I get you something?" she asks after a moment or two of silence.
"No, I'm not here for that. But thank you," the Lalafell replied.
As the waitress shrugged good-naturedly and headed off to another table, the Lalafell took a deep breath through her nose, taking in the aroma of the Roegadyn's food before continuing. "I suppose you would like to ask me a similar question, yes?" she said.
Goliam just stared at her, shovelling a spoonful of the stew into his mouth, and chewing. His eyes still looking her over, he took his time, then finally swallowed and sighed. "Yeah, actually." he thrusts a thumb over at a group of people who were conversing rather loudly. All dressed in rather outrageous garb. "Exactly how fresh off the ferries *are* ya, and what is it exactly that you want?"
"If you are asking if I am a tourist or merchantwoman like the others here, I am sorry to say that I am not." The lalafell shrugged. "I am here to hire an escort. Specifically, you. I hope that you are not otherwise employed?"
Goliam nearly choked on the stew he was chewing on. "Specifically me?" he said, clearing his throat, and wiping his mouth with his hand. "I just finished a 'job' of a kind, but.. frankly I've got some business to attend to before I can do anything." He drags the tankard over to the edge, and takes a heavy swig from it. "Before I go turnin' ye down, though, what exactly are you needin' an escort for?"
The lalafell smiled. "It would be difficult to say, exactly, what the job is for, but... is it important? You appear to be the type that can handle danger."
He looked down at his arm once more, and gave a quick chuckle. "Suppose that'd be obvious." He gives her another fast look over, then goes back to his stew, still eating rather slowly. "I need to know three things first, before I agree." He raises one finger off of the spoonful of stew he was bringing to his mouth. "Firs', is it legal." He paused and chewed for a moment, but spoke before finishing, "Secon', where exactly are ye goin'." The Roegadyn swallows, and wipes his mouth again. "Do I 'ave some time to run a few errands, I just got off a job."
"All of that depends on you, roegadyn," the lalafell replied. "I am not taking you anywhere; it is you who will be taking me."