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Another Round (Open)

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It hadn't actually been months since Warren had been in the Quicksand, but it felt like it. Time had a habit of flying when one wasn't paying attention, and between his domestic duties at home and his time training and mentoring Chachanji and usual patrols in Ul'dah as a free paladin and his task of being the Arbiter of the Grindstone, Warren had somehow let the days pile up. No more!


The highlander was clad in neither set of armor, opting instead for the trusty worn tunic he'd so often sported when venturing there alone and off duty. He had taken a seat near the center of the main room, happy to people watch for the time. He didn't want to be too near the pillar because he wasn't on duty, and he didn't want to sit at the table he and Sei so often occupied because she wasn't at his side yet. Similarly, Howl wasn't yet anywhere to be found, though he figured it wouldn't be too long before the miqo'te found him again.


And so Warren sat. He thought he spied Aya wandering around in the back (not that she was hard to spot when she was around) and held off on ordering a drink, just in case.


OOC: It's been too long since we've had a lounge thread. FIXING THIS, MAYBE.

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As if on queue, the moment Warren looked away he heard the sound of approaching heels moving at the tell-tall energetic, bouncing gait of the Quicksand's incredibly blonde barmaid.


She stopped near his table, canting her head a bit and offering a slightly confused-looking smile.  With her hands folded together near the short skirt of her dress, she seemed to be silently asking, "what's the matter?" before welcoming Warren with a cheerful, soft tone, "Evening Warren!"

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Finally, a break from the investigations and tracking down criminals. Inessa entered the quicksand from the entrance way closest to her office across the street. It has been too long since she got the time to sit down and enjoy a cup of black Ul'dahn Coffee.


She spied a familiar face at the bar as she approached but decided to pay it no mind. Somewhat eager to have her cup of coffee, she walked up to the chair next to said person that she thought she saw a while back. not looking at him or anything though. She motioned to Momodi to take her order.


"Momodi, the usual and a copy of today's Tonberry." Inessa said while pulling a few coins out of her satchel and placing them on the counter.

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Warren smiled at the clack-clack of confident heeled footsteps and smiled kindly back at Aya as she made her appearance, looking spectacular as ever. Canting his head in kind, he greeted the hostess warmly.


"Hello again, Aya. I'm just stopping in tonight as a patron for once. I figure it's been a long enough time since I've done that." He straightened up in his chair, looking somehow proud of himself not being in armor or on duty. It felt to him, anyway, that all he did was work lately.


"If you're not too busy, how about a drink from the private bottle behind the bar? It's meant to share with friends, you know."

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At the westernmost table, there was a large Hyuran male dressed up as a candy cane, apparently, if several recent comments could be believed. The outfit was a mélange of red and white, set off by black, Gridanian-make boots, and with the black and tall feathered hat pulled down low across his face, obscuring his eyes, and leaving his beard and long, straight hair as the best means to further identify him.


The table was as yet otherwise occupied, though a pair of empty chairs sat around it, and upon it were two flagons of Momodi's best dark ale, one before him, and the other placed before one of the empty seats. A few paper wrappers were strewn over the table, still smelling of chocolate.


He glanced up but a couple of ilms at the sound of the ever-cheery barmaid addressing another Hyur of ample stock in comfortable clothes, but returned his attention to the ornate lute held across his chest. He was playing a well-spaced series of notes, perhaps a very slow, low pitched melody, but his frequent stops to sip of the ale, and tighten or adjust the strings, made it unclear. He set his boots up upon the table, pulled the hat down another ilm, and continued the serene strumming.

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As Warren matched the tilt of her head it seemed everything she could do to hold in a laugh. Her smile broadened, lips holding tight together as she fought off a giggle.


As he finished with his request she nodded in reply to his request, raised her blonde eyebrows slightly, that look of concern mingling with her cheerful smile as she turned her body half-way back toward the bar, seeming to stop to ask what was on her mind:  "Its not that I'm not used to seeing you off-duty, just not used to seeing you alone these days.  Is everything alright?  Are you expecting someone?"

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The sound of a bard playing his lute in the background felt rather calming to Inessa. The Quicksand was not exactly populated either save for a few people here and there which was also comforting to Inessa. Calm moment's like these were hard to come by.


Inessa's cup of Coffee was delivered to her by the Lalafell woman as well as a copy of the Tonberry. She took the cup and took a long sip, savoring the taste and smell of the coffee. Somehow, she wished that the day's were filled with this peace and not with cases of violence, thievery and murder, but then again, Inessa would be out of the job if that was the case.

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Tavern, noun: a place where liquors are sold to be consumed on the premises, often also providing light meals and conversation amongst other tavern-goers. Jredthys was at the Quicksand, which successfully matched all the aforementioned requirements to the definition. Ergo, he should have a drink, along with food and conversation if it seemed proper to do so. It would be improper not to.


Of course, with how the Judge entered the building itself, it was more like he had come to apprehend Momodi for violating a lack of liquor license than to partake of her establishment's amenities. Wearing plate armor from head to toe and a massive blade strapped to his back didn't help matters either, his heavy footfalls giving a tense air about him and more than encouraging any regular to swiftly duck out of his path. Even as he settled down upon one of the bar stools with a heavy creak of metal and the groan of the seat under his weight, Jredthys certainly didn't give off the air of someone simply here for a drink.


He waited, still as a statue, until someone came to take his order. In this case, it was Momodi, after providing Inessa with her coffee and paper. The armored figure looked down at the rather popular owner of the establishment, and the two shared a brief staring contest. It was a bit in Jredthys' favor, of course, since he still had his face-obscuring helmet still on. Finally, the lady Lalafell broke the tense silence between them.


"What can I get for you?"


The response rumbled from deep within the confines of the armor.




(Sorry not sorry, also I am the biggest dork in the world.)


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Warren caught the look of concern on Aya's face but didn't put it together until she spoke. His mind quickly put together that, in approximately all but two of their meetings, Warren had always been accompanied by one miqo'te or the other. He smiled at the realization and shook his head.


"Temporary, Aya, only temporary. I suspect someone I know will show up before too long. I'm just glad to have some free time on my hands." Then came the sound of heavy footsteps through a door; a huge man in full plate walked with purpose to the front and center of the bar. Warren stopped turning his wedding ring at the sight; He hadn't realized he was doing it but suddenly, things got real.


...or so he thought. He kept an eye on the massive person as he seemed to address Momodi and he cast a thoughtful look at Aya, whom he was sure would have been looking as well. "...or not, I suppose." He visibly attempted to resume looking nonchalant again, smiling back to the bubbly blonde. "Hope there's no trouble tonight."

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[align=left]Inessa's moment of complete peace and tranquility was interrupted by the armored giant next to her. Why on earth does someone wear thick plate armor in a tavern?


Inessa rolled her eyes under her mask silently, unfolding the newspaper and taking a look at the Tonberry articles.


She found nothing interesting on the first page. Just a bunch of tabloid crap and smear propaganda aimed at the Sultansworn.[/align]


Oh god, im laughing so hard right now.


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Aya nods, smiling softly as she listens.  She only casts a glance at the entering Highlander, without much surprise on her expression.  She looks back to Warren with a shrug of nonchalance, "He's acting like he's the first goofy person we've seen today~  I wouldn't worry about it, Warren, would you still like that drink?" 

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The bard lifted his chin just enough to catch a glimpse at whatever sort was stomping and clanking its way to the bartop. Hm. Somebody had apparently taken the idea of canned goods much too seriously, or maybe a Magitek experiment had escaped from the Thaumaturge's Guild, possibly piloted by Lalafell standing on one another's shoulders.


At least the figure hadn't started a ruckus. He thought about the last time he'd come to the Quicksand, just for some personal time, and of the pale and amusingly tawdry-yet-proper Roegadyn woman he'd shared a conversation with... and who had interfered on his behalf when some nitwit short man tried to start a bar brawl with a swung bottle at the bard's head. While he appreciated the height at which the shorter man had gotten from the Roe-woman's throw, it would have been much nicer if she'd been less itching for a fight, and less taken.


None of this interrupted his relaxed strumming, though the sound of the barmaid's voice carried across the bar in that lilting fashion, and he finished the flagon of ale before him, feeling a sudden craving for rum, and glanced once more towards the bar area.

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Telling himself to relax, Warren went about turning the wedding band on his finger once more. "That drink sounds lovely to me still, Miss Aya. I'll keep an eye on the ruffian, just in case." He smiled at her again, reminding himself that he wasn't on duty.


Still, it was impossible for him to switch off. He turned his attention to the playful strumming of the bard - Warren was slightly surprised to see such precision and practiced refinement from a man of his size - and tried to see if he recognized the tune.

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Inessa takes another sip from her cup of coffee. Setting it down afterwards, she would turn to the second page of the newspaper.


More tabloid crap. At least this time, it showed the bounty's of wanted criminals.


Most wanted for petty thievery or assault. A few for murder. Nothing that concerned her though. She was not on those criminal cases so she had no reason to pay any attention to them.


She turns to the next page to see a bunch of recruitment add's for workforce guild's, the Sultansworn, the Immortal Flames and public organizations.


"Never a shortage of work is there. . ." Inessa mutters.


There is always something to do, its just that it requires someone with a trade skill or a strong body.

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The tavern doors swung open as A'mon walked into the Quicksand. Stopping only long enough to let his eyes adjust to the dim light inside the building. "Damn sun" he muttered under his breath. A life of 27yrs living with a nomadic tribe in the searing hot sun of the desert had pretty much ruined his eyes for low light visibility.


With his eyes finally adjusted to the lighting, he made his way to an empty table in the far corner of the room, an, upon arriving took of a dusty backpack which landed with a puff of sand and a *thunk* against the floor.


"Great, something else for the tavern folk to get upset about, how dare they have to sweep a floor now and then" he thought. With an exhausted sigh, he slipped into his chair and surveyed the people in the tavern. He didn't know what he was looking for, only having been in town for a week, he didn't know anyone, or expect to be known by anyone.


He leaned forward in his chair, withdrew a small knife and began to whittle a small toy of some sort, being careful to gather up the fallen shavings after each cut into the soft wood.


"Where's the tavern girl" he thought to himself as he looked for a waitress of some sort to arrive at his table.

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The Judge clasped his hands on the bartop as he awaited his drink, letting his gauntleted fingers intertwine neatly and evenly mere ilms from the wooden surface. Given his rigid and proper manner of sitting,  one would have hard pressed to consider it a relaxing pose even if he wasn't balking the standards of comfort by coming dressed to the nines in plate. Not that he himself minded, considering how much of his life he had spent within the armor. To him, it was more of a second skin than anything else.


Motion at his side caught his attention, sending his eyes flitting that way even as the rest of his body remained motionless. A masked figure reading a newspaper, female, Miqo'te. The paper in question was the Tonberry's Lantern, a disreputable piece of literature with its more ostentatious articles penned by one Spahro Llorne. Disreputable articles written by a disreputable person for a disreputable tabloid. Jredthys' eyes turned forward again even as they narrowed in understanding. Yes, that was the way it should be.


Inessa's mutterings reached his ears even as his drink arrived, condensation already finding purchase along the surface of the glass. The Judge unfurled one hand from its clasped resting place and gingerly wrapped his gauntleted fingers around the drink. The other lifted the visor of his helm just enough to allow a sip of the drink to drain into the darkness within, done with the practiced ease of someone who had done such things many, many times before. He paused briefly before setting the glass down again.


Yes, two parts dry gin and one part dry vermouth, shaken rather than stirred as per his request. Of course, he would have also begrudgingly accepted ratios of 3:1 or 4:1, since they were also technically still valid martinis. He preferred his at the proper 2:1, however. The proper ratio for a proper martini, made in the proper manner to be imbided at the proper location.


Perhaps light conversation would be next? The mutterings of the Miqo'te had not been directed at him, but they had been said loudly enough for him to overhear. Perhaps it was meant to be something for him to respond to. Speaking about the news was an acceptable topic for the aformentioned light conversation, after all, along with the weather and showing alarm at the drastic increase of prices on a particular sundry. He would engage.




Great addition to the conversation, Jredthys.

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With a quick smile and nod, Aya was off again.  She cast no more than a suspicious glance at the tin-can as she passed behind Momodi on her way to one of the liquor cabinets.  Opening the door she withdrew a bottle of expensive whiskey, setting it on a tray along with several tumblers, and soon a bowl of peanuts. 


For Warren only a few moments passed before she reappeared, tray resting upon her hand, and drinks soon served, including the empty, hopeful glasses, for his friends should they show.


"Just the best, as always, Warren, hmmm?  Anything you'd like to get to eat?"

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Yes, two parts dry gin and one part dry vermouth, shaken rather than stirred as per his request. Of course, he would have also would have begrudgingly accepted ratios of 3:1 or 4:1, since they were also technically still valid martinis. He preferred his at the proper 2:1, however. The proper ratio for a proper martini, made in the proper manner to be imbided at the proper location.



Or gin waved in the general direction of Italy?  Of course, what do we substitute for Italy in Eorzea? ^^


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The highlander smiled as the hostess returned with his request, and empties to boot.


"This will do nicely, Miss Aya. Thank you. No food for now, perhaps in a bit." He accepted the small glass she graciously filled for him and turned the bottom upwards, drinking the whiskey with some relish. With a sated sigh he returned the empty to the table top and smiled lazily.


"Worth every gil."

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"YES," came the equally terse response to the terse question. He had indeed been in agreement with her statement regarding the lack of workload shortage. If there was no work, there could be no workers and everyone would be unemployed and thus no longer workers. It was a worker's role to work, so there had to be work to be performed to maintain that position. If there was no work, it was their job as workers to find work or else no longer be workers.


It all made perfect sense to the Judge. Though, if someone else could read his thoughts, they might start questioning whether or not the word "work" was even a word anymore. Since there were no telepaths present, however, Jredthys treated himself to another sip of his properly made martini. Perhaps in silent celebration of a successfully navigated conversation with the Miqo'te. Since, after all, the two had exchanged words and thus fulfilled the basic requirements for a dialogue.


I don't drink, so I have no idea what you're implying, Aya. I'm sorry. :(


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"Well then I disagree with your statement." She says to the Tin Man.


"Are there still people unemployed? Yes, but most of them do not have an applicable skill that is needed. There are no easy or generic jobs in the time we live in. The only way you get work is if you can swing a weapon or swing a tool and know what you are doing."


She reaches for her cup of coffee and take a sip from it.

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There was a slight grinding of metal on metal as Jredthys turned his full attentions onto Inessa. His clarification on her words was legitimate, in his mind, since the statement had certainly not been his. He had merely agreed with her proposition, making the propriety of it solely the Miqo'te's. Her own arguments to the contrary afterward left the Judge curious as to why she had made such a statement in the first place if she was so aware of the falsehood inherent in it.



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"On the contrary, I did not disagree with my own statement. There is work out there. An abundance of it for people who want work. It's just that most of the Refugee's are either unskilled, lazy or coward's. If you want me to feel sorry for them then stop wanting because I don't feel sorry for them. If they want to expect a handout all day then that is their choice and I will respect it. However, they are no better than zombies in doing so. The only way you get anywhere in life is if you have the ball's to take your fate into your own hand's."   Inessa says, taking another sip from her cup of Coffee.

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The man in red and white stopped his strumming just long enough to catch bits and snatches of the bar side conversation: something about handouts, choices, and taking fate into one's own hands, or the like. It was hard to hear much more than faint hints of it from his perch at the western table.


He caught himself giving a sharp nod at what he thought he heard, and resumed his plucking of the strings, still light and subdued, but playing a time-honored , slow-tempo version of a melody about a heroic monk who, being the best around, would never be kept down.









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