Yet Another Night in the Quicksand (Open - New Night)

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod opened his mouth to speak, but Crofte's accent was enough of a kick to his face for him to audibly snap it shut again. His bright greens narrowed into a bewildered squint, but with gorm-like efficiency the matter was quickly discarded. Of greater relevance was the fact that she had addressed him using a title -again-, like if he was some armored Prancer with holy feathers up his arse.

 

"Jus' Berrod, yea," he corrected gently, "An' good ta meet ya, fella. Uh-- I don't think year drunk." It was a lie, but so what, he lied to women all the time. Again he adjusted the bundle, doing his best to compress it as much as possible. 

 

"You uh, you wantin' any company over there? Me an' this guy can come an' siddown. It's a waste ta drink alone."

[Raelas]

P'azih cast a glance up at Berrod, not entirely sure how to proceed. His drink paused at his lips, considering his options as he tilted the fluid back into his maw.

 

Placing the mug aside, her looked to the quite clearly intoxicated female, who was speaking heavily in tongues compared to the first time he heard her voice.

 

"Ah, of course you aren't. My mistake!" he said brightly. "Though I must say, a lady such as yourself drinking alone is sore on the eyes." he said with a smile... he was certain she couldn't actually make out a smile in her state but continued on anyway.

 

He cast another quick glance up at the towering Highlander. "You know..." he started, stilling looking to Berrod then turning to face the totally-not-drunk female at the table. "No one should drink alone... perhaps we could... join you?" he said mirroring Berrod's response.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

Franz entered the Quicksand from the direction of the markets, holding a large bag of what could only have been supplies for a meal later. The glutton of a Garlean of course, had purchased some sweets as well, knowing full well they'd probably be eaten by the others in the house before he ever had a chance. Nevertheless, maybe this would be the week?

 

He glanced over the pub looking for a table to sit at and order a drink and some lunch for himself, noticing Coatleque at a table, with P'azih and some Highlander he'd seen at the Grindstone on a few occasions. 

 

Walking over, he set the bag down underneath the table and tried to make eye contact with the paladin. "Miss Crofte, isn't that a little strong?"

 

 

Just the air around the bottle would have been enough to get a lalafell drunk.

 

 

"Is everything alright?" He gave the other two a look that would have clearly said "someone needs to keep on eye on her"

[Coatleque]

The Knight leaned forward again and downed another shot. She shook her head briefly while muttering something to herself about drinking alone. This was no place to cause a scene, however, so she relented.

 

"Och, fine. T'ere's plenty o' room it would seem." She moved to rub her forehead but had seemingly forgotten she was still in uniform. Her head and hand both recoiled at the cold touch and she blinked for a moment at her gauntlet before sighing.

 

Looking back towards the bottle on the table, she pushed it towards the center for all to reach. "Am doan with this. Have at it if ye like cinnamon." With that she leaned back once more with a huff and crossed her arms and legs.

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod hated cinnamon. The mere mention of it caused an automatic scowl, and the look from the other highlander served only to compound it. "These other guys'll take care o'it-- I got m'hands full so I'll jus' sit around a bit."

 

 

With that said, he compressed the comforters to his chest and shuffled closer to sit quite without invitation.

[Raelas]

P'azih chuckled, striding over confidently and taking a seat, not realising he'd chosen the seat in which the Hyur had lost his life. He bit back, just enough to NOT make a joke about losing or wringing his neck. He was certain the lady, while intoxicated, would cleanly snap him in half for such an infraction.

 

"Ah, Franz! How did I miss you? You're so huge!" he said as he got comfortable. "My thanks for the invitation. I'm P'azih. Tia, naturally." he said leaning over to sniff the bottle of cinnamon twanged liquor.

 

His face scrunched lightly, ears splaying a touch. "Gods... a drink like that? I'd certainly be snapped in two." he mused, more to himself sitting back down. He looked tot he female again, she didn't look great... he wasn't going to be the one to tell her. "And you are, Miss...?"

[Coatleque]

She blinked twice while just looking at this Miqo'te, half expecting his head to simply twist itself off his body in some bizzare twist of fate. "Cr̃ofte. Ser Cr̃ofte, of her Reslplen... och, ne'er mind. Loat o' good Ah've been the past sevenday." She shot a glance to the bottle. "Aye, he liked em str̃on' ah think."

 

Her neck craned momentarily to the newcomer. "Maester Fr̃anz. Ah dae suppose ye've come tae join us as well? An' Maester Armstr̃ong, Ah din'nae suppose Mistress Momodi knows yer stealin 'er bedding now?"

[Berrod Armstrong]

"Berrod," he pressed desperately, "S'Berrod. An' I bought it off her!" He shook the poofy, down filled mass. "She's gettin' rid o'the old stuff and selling' it dirt cheap. Fancier than what I got now, least ways."

 

His business declared, he cast a look at the other three, quite expecting them to erupt into conversation relevant to nothing regarding him.

[Coatleque]

"Och, fine! Berr̃oad then!"

She rolled her eyes and looked away with obvious disgust at being corrected yet again.

[Raelas]

P'azih smiled right back at the aforementioned Ser Crofte, wondering what exactly she could be staring at him so intently about. He canted his head in returned, realising she was in full uniform.

 

He tugged on his ear lightly, pulling it down and letting its natural spring pop it from his fingers to stand on ends once more. "Huh... you're one of those Paladin, right?" he began as she corrected Berrod with a huff and pout.

 

"You know, technically, i'm one of your order... sort of." he smiled, not going any further in to the details. "So, Miss Crofte... uh... how are you, exactly?" he asked, removing the bottle from her view and placing it at his feet.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

He smiled to P'azih, happy to be remembered. "And here I though Miqo'te had good eyesight! ...I thought the red would at least make me stand out." As usual, he was clad in the red tabbard and vermillion sollerets, his 'casual' city outfit that would still offer protection, with plenty of mobility.

 

 

"Yes, Miss Crofte, how are you? I haven't seen you sin the other sun, at the Coffer and Coffin." The slight twangs of the Garlean accent hopefully being covered up with the Ishgardian one. Crofte had never questioned him on it, and he hoped it'd stay that way.

 

 

Looking at the other Highlander, "Berrod, right? I think I've seen you at the Grindstone. How'd you lose this past week?"

 

Deflecting the conversation could also work. Maybe a series of disconnected conversations would get Croftes mind off of whatever caused her  to drink.

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod had been ready to retreat at Crofte's disgust (he didn't know what he'd done wrong, but clearly something had gone ill), when the other Highlander's words graced his ear. Lose? The immediate, violent urges were quelled only by present company.

 

Doing his best to mitigate the visible twitch of his brow, he turned his neck toward the Highlander and forced a creaky smile. "Yeah, Berrod..." He confirmed. Zero mention was made of his Grindstone loss. "I seen you about too, but I don't think I caught yer name. Though it looks like lil' P'azih over here knows ya..."

[Raelas]

P'azih's keen hearing caught the slight tension in the air, though he immediately tuned in on the word 'Little' in reference to himself. He looked up at the large highlander, he wasn't wrong, he was little compared to... well... all present actually.

 

"I'll have you know... that i'm considered very large for a Miq---Hah! Who am I kidding... i'm the smallest at the table!" he mused.

 

He smiled brightly, looking between the two... then settled his gaze back on Lady Crofte. He just sort of... looked. Not actually saying anything, silently appraising.

[Coatleque]

Coatleque waved her hand dismissively at P'azih. "Free Paladins are nae part o' th' Order. Her Gr̃ace thanks ye fer ye service o' course."

 

For good or ill she did not notice the bottle disappear. Her attention turned back to Franz's question. "An' Ah be fine! Ah've been thr̃ough worse, fer shoar. Soon there'll be another crazed Garlean, or some murderer, or some as such tha'll thr̃eaten th' security o' her Gr̃ace again. Then Ah'll remember why Ah ne'er bother̃ed with this tr̃ipe tae begin with!"

[Raelas]

P'azih watched the woman wave a hand, following it like an animal would food dangled in front of their face. He laughed in amusement, wondering exactly how embarrassing this might be when he brings it up in her presence next.

 

"Uhm... I never said I was a Paladin... sworn or otherwise..." he snickered. "Call me an initiate... of sorts."

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod was still quite sore from the other Highlander's mention of his Grindstone loss -- and visibly so. The exchange between Crofte and P'azih went right over his head for a few ticks as he indignantly clutched the bundled comforters. With a quiet snort, the need for decency won over. He had lost, after all, so perhaps the Highlander didn't mean ill.  In that spirit, he sought to provide a word of polite conversation toward his kinsman. 

 

"Y'talk funny."

[Coatleque]

She snickered to herself.

"Anotha bloody recr̃uit. Adventurer? Or fr̃esh out'a th' Blood Sands? Och, it makes nae differ̃ance, so long as ye know th' sharp end fr̃om the handle."

 

Her hand absently raised her glass back to take another drink but nothing came out. Shrugging, she set it back down and blinked. "There seems tae be more 'an more o' ye since tha' last attack on th' city."

 

Turning back to Berrod, she shook her head. "Nae, ye just listen funny."

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod's maturity declared its non-existence with the loud, rasping chortle he released. 

 

"Hurr," He uttered eloquently, "Thassa good one -- I really can't place the accent though -- an' yers is different too! Though I like it, ya sound like a real gal."

 

His chest swelled as he looked to the other two to complement his approval. The perceived slight from the other Highlander male had at last been forgotten. As that vanished from his mind however, the prospect of a poor wrung-necked Warren surfaced. There was no way for him to bring the subject up without ruining the just-recovering mood, so once again he let his natural talent at public speech take the reins."

 

"...uh."

[Raelas]

P'azih laughed at the conversation as a whole, he, for some reason, found this all very amusing.

 

"Without recruits... who would fill the ranks after your elite decide to call it day. Willing or non." he smiled.

 

He looked at them all separately and just grinned. "You -all- talk funny." he quipped, beaming that ever present grin.

[Unnamed Mercenary]

The slight twitch on Berrod's face when he'd mentioned losing had piqued Franz's interest, but that would perhaps be something to poke around later. The man was clearly a child of Ala Mhigo, that much was certain. Directed at Berrod, he tried to answer the questions.

 

"Like I said, it was sad to see you lose. I was hoping you'd win. What of my speech?" He'd come to take pride in his ability to communicate. Any deficiencies of his Garlean education easily supplanted by Ishgardian knowledge. "All the people around Ishgard sound like this."

 

He though to himself. 'There. Play nicely with the colonies' people, now." Of course, he'd never say such a thing out loud. He might have been as large as Berrod, but there was no way in the hells Franz would beat him in a fist fight. That was was obvious.

 

Turning his attention back to seemingly drunk Sultansworn, who was speaking quite differently that usual. "If I might ask, where /are/ you from Miss Crofte?"

[Coatleque]

Coatleque gave an absent nod to P'azih. "Aye, Ah'm nae complainin'. We caen always use more cannon fodder̃ fer shoar."

 

Turning to Franz she almost beamed. "Ah be from Gyr Abania o' course! My village was just along th' southern tip on th' beach. Though Ah'm nae a refugee!"

[Unnamed Mercenary]

So Miss Coatleque Crofte was one as well. Quite an interesting development.

 

"Your family moved prior to the attack then?" 

 

He was thoroughly interesting in hearing about the Ala Mhigan territory /before/ Garlemald would have taken it over.

[Coatleque]

She shook her head and almost fell out of her chair from the dizziness. Holding onto the lip of the table for support, she peered at Franz for a moment till his three faces became one again. "Nae! Ah came after tha, though Ah suppose tha' means me pa did before, eh?" She snerked at her own wit. "We were remote enough tha' th' Empire din'nae caer 'bout us." She sighed. "Ah was forceably relocated aftar Dalamund, though."

 

Despite her objections, she was clearly drunk now based on her crass attempt at humour and openness over past events. She didn't seem to care who overheard.

[Berrod Armstrong]

Berrod was stunned. It seemed that a Sultansworn could be capable of being a Hyur after all. He had always imagined that they took an oath to forever walk around with a shroud branch up the arse. Nevertheless, he took in every detail of Crofte's history he could. He barely ever thought about the other areas within Gyr Abania other than Ala Mhigo, just as he disregarded most of Thanalan in light of Ul'Dah. Still though, there was the matter of the funny-accented Highlander.

 

"Y'sound like a northerner," Berrod pointed out a little less than carefully, "Which is a lil' weird yeah? They don't much like our kin. Can't get over old wars an' the like. Not that it means anythin' is wrong with ya. If yer down here minglin' with the desert folk ya can't be half bad."

 

"What 'bout you though, where you from?" The question was directed at P'azih with a squint. "Seein' more an' more Tias movin' to the city from a buncha different tribes. Them Nunhs these days must be somethin' else."

[Raelas]

P'azih smile, tucking that bottle away from view, he planned to keep it from her and return it when she was less... intoxicated.

 

He bat an ear up to Berrod, leaning back in his chair with a light creek. "Me? Thanalan. Does the skin not give it away?" he said simply, choosing not to give away the exact location of his tribe, there were plenty who'd like to take a lynch mob their way and cause trouble.

 

"Nunh's are... the Nunh for a reason. However... being simply another Nunh isn't enough for me. I want to be THE Nunh. The bench mark, the bar every Nunh after should strive for." he chuckled. "I haven't come here to live like most of the Tia and crouch on the railings of this place. I came to grow, mind and body ... and when I return to the 'Peh'? I'll aim for the mantle of Nunh."

 

He nodded sagely, like he had it all worked out. "That said, i've a long road ahead... the current Nunh beat me so badly I was embarrassed!"