Post by Reyn on Mar 24, 2022 13:54:55 GMT
[googlefont=Noto Sans Symbols]
"Daud, hm?" He smiled, though his wasn't quite as sickly, "I see, I see- that's all I wanted to hear."
He raised an eyebrow at the curtsey.
"When I change my mind?" Alaric chuckled to himself, "Dubois, what did I just tell you about false leads?"
Unsurprisingly, Alaric didn't see himself needing her services any time soon. Perhaps if she had kept to herself, and he had found out about her talents through more indirect means, he might have been fooled enough to hire her, but, unfortunately, she had squandered that chance as soon as she opened her mouth- no, as soon as she opened her eyes. If he needed a scribe, he would need one that was a little more discerning than that, one not so self-admittedly chained to flights of fancy. He dealt in whispers, after all. He didn't want to hire someone who was inclined to believe them- at least, not all of them. That would just be cruel.
After a brief moment's pause, he turned back to Cullen, shrugging lightly.
"Do you think she was a fan?"
"Strange way of getting with you if she is." Cullen laughed, "Plus, you owe me a drink now."
"Right, of course."
Alaric slid three silver onto the bar, smiling at the barkeep.
"Get this man something sensible."
With that, he stood up, keeping a hand on the bar to steady himself. Two shots of Dragon's Ire wasn't quite enough to leave him crawling, but it was enough to lower his co-ordination just a bit. It was an unfortunate trade-off, really; whilst his mind was able to remain relatively sharp, his body didn't fare so well. Still, he didn't like to let such things show. He quickly took his hand off the bar and used it to wave at Cullen, who returned the wave with an unsteady smile.
"Off to the theatre already, Alaric?" He asked, "I thought you'd rather put it off. Isn't that why you came to see me first?"
"I'm a lot kinder when I'm inebriated- I'm afraid if I wait a second longer, I'll be sober enough for honesty."
Cullen laughed.
"I'd say. The Alaric I know would've eviscerated that harlot the moment she opened her-"
"Cullen." He frowned, "Don't be so degrading- especially not with my name in your mouth.
Alaric didn't say anything more. He just left the bar, rolling his eyes as he stepped out into the cool night air.
----
There was a clear path to the theatre, of course; a straight shot through the main street, turning down a few side roads before reaching the main entrance. Unfortunately, taking such a path would require walking through the festival. Alaric had taken all manner of shortcuts to reach the bar without running into the revellers, and he wasn't going to throw that effort away now, as dark and unsafe as it may be. Indeed, instead of taking the sensible route through the crowded, well-lit festival, Alaric decided to take a few little detours through back-alley after back-alley, doubling the length of his journey... and, in a turn of events he probably should have accounted for, putting him in the sights of a few rather unsavoury characters.
They squared him up. Alaric didn't look impressed.
"What are you starin' at me for, huh?" Their ringleader said.
"Not the reason you're thinking." Alaric responded, "I have places to be. I'd suggest that you get out of-"
*THUMP*
A heavy strike, right to the jaw. Alaric staggered back, dazed and annoyed, but couldn't make it very far before another punch hit him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and the composure from his face. He stepped forwards in some vain attempt to retaliate, but the Ire had made his movements far too sluggish. Perhaps, if he put any strength behind the move, it might've been effective, but such a feat was next to impossible for the bard. His dexterity had been compromised. That was all he had.
Well, it was all he had physically. Alaric stared at the violent trio as they rained blow after blow upon his frail, drunken body, making note of their features. A physical wound he could shrug off, you see. Anyone could, with time, and they really weren't hurting him all that badly. No, what they were damaging was his dignity- his precious, precious dignity. They didn't have any onlookers, at least. The alley was as dark and isolated as any; nobody could see Alaric aside from the people attempting to kick his teeth in. That was good. That was wonderful, he told himself; not only for the lack of mocking stares, but for the lack of eyewitnesses to note down a motive for what would surely follow. Alaric let them attack him all they wanted. Then, when they had finally had enough, he asked them a question. He made a request.
"Your names." He spat, "Tell me your names."
Braid Leafspire. Harlan Ward. And just... Farrow. Alaric smiled, and granted them the pleasure of wiping that from his face with one final kick.
They shouldn't have told him that.
He raised an eyebrow at the curtsey.
"When I change my mind?" Alaric chuckled to himself, "Dubois, what did I just tell you about false leads?"
Unsurprisingly, Alaric didn't see himself needing her services any time soon. Perhaps if she had kept to herself, and he had found out about her talents through more indirect means, he might have been fooled enough to hire her, but, unfortunately, she had squandered that chance as soon as she opened her mouth- no, as soon as she opened her eyes. If he needed a scribe, he would need one that was a little more discerning than that, one not so self-admittedly chained to flights of fancy. He dealt in whispers, after all. He didn't want to hire someone who was inclined to believe them- at least, not all of them. That would just be cruel.
After a brief moment's pause, he turned back to Cullen, shrugging lightly.
"Do you think she was a fan?"
"Strange way of getting with you if she is." Cullen laughed, "Plus, you owe me a drink now."
"Right, of course."
Alaric slid three silver onto the bar, smiling at the barkeep.
"Get this man something sensible."
With that, he stood up, keeping a hand on the bar to steady himself. Two shots of Dragon's Ire wasn't quite enough to leave him crawling, but it was enough to lower his co-ordination just a bit. It was an unfortunate trade-off, really; whilst his mind was able to remain relatively sharp, his body didn't fare so well. Still, he didn't like to let such things show. He quickly took his hand off the bar and used it to wave at Cullen, who returned the wave with an unsteady smile.
"Off to the theatre already, Alaric?" He asked, "I thought you'd rather put it off. Isn't that why you came to see me first?"
"I'm a lot kinder when I'm inebriated- I'm afraid if I wait a second longer, I'll be sober enough for honesty."
Cullen laughed.
"I'd say. The Alaric I know would've eviscerated that harlot the moment she opened her-"
"Cullen." He frowned, "Don't be so degrading- especially not with my name in your mouth.
Alaric didn't say anything more. He just left the bar, rolling his eyes as he stepped out into the cool night air.
----
There was a clear path to the theatre, of course; a straight shot through the main street, turning down a few side roads before reaching the main entrance. Unfortunately, taking such a path would require walking through the festival. Alaric had taken all manner of shortcuts to reach the bar without running into the revellers, and he wasn't going to throw that effort away now, as dark and unsafe as it may be. Indeed, instead of taking the sensible route through the crowded, well-lit festival, Alaric decided to take a few little detours through back-alley after back-alley, doubling the length of his journey... and, in a turn of events he probably should have accounted for, putting him in the sights of a few rather unsavoury characters.
They squared him up. Alaric didn't look impressed.
"What are you starin' at me for, huh?" Their ringleader said.
"Not the reason you're thinking." Alaric responded, "I have places to be. I'd suggest that you get out of-"
*THUMP*
A heavy strike, right to the jaw. Alaric staggered back, dazed and annoyed, but couldn't make it very far before another punch hit him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and the composure from his face. He stepped forwards in some vain attempt to retaliate, but the Ire had made his movements far too sluggish. Perhaps, if he put any strength behind the move, it might've been effective, but such a feat was next to impossible for the bard. His dexterity had been compromised. That was all he had.
Well, it was all he had physically. Alaric stared at the violent trio as they rained blow after blow upon his frail, drunken body, making note of their features. A physical wound he could shrug off, you see. Anyone could, with time, and they really weren't hurting him all that badly. No, what they were damaging was his dignity- his precious, precious dignity. They didn't have any onlookers, at least. The alley was as dark and isolated as any; nobody could see Alaric aside from the people attempting to kick his teeth in. That was good. That was wonderful, he told himself; not only for the lack of mocking stares, but for the lack of eyewitnesses to note down a motive for what would surely follow. Alaric let them attack him all they wanted. Then, when they had finally had enough, he asked them a question. He made a request.
"Your names." He spat, "Tell me your names."
Braid Leafspire. Harlan Ward. And just... Farrow. Alaric smiled, and granted them the pleasure of wiping that from his face with one final kick.
They shouldn't have told him that.