A Time To Drink And A Time To Get Drunk

[Philomel]

Closed to Enigmatic Immortal ... and people who just want to jump into to this banterous quest. Just PM me beforehand.

Satyrs, fauns.

Was there any bloody difference at all?

Philomel lounged there, legs spread slightly apart as she drowned her sorrows in rich darkened beer. The wooden tankard in her hold had been refilled around three times over so far, each time paid for by a different ugly, grumbling, horny bastard. Leaning to the left she let her horn and straggled hair rest against the panelled wall as her forearms stretched out before her, both hand cupped around the curvature of the tankard. As she watched the terribly opaque, murky depths of the liquid she found her mind wandering.

Satyrs were simply fauns too, but by a different style. They were the brutes of the half-goats; those with more devilish horns than rams. They interbred a fair amount, and lived alone, seperated from the rest of society, preferring a life of being infamous highwaymen. It was said they took women and girls, of any race minus demons and angels, and raped them until they were weeping. This pub was named after this legend, being "The Horny Satyr." It was a perfect place for the faun of fake love and overwhelming blood to come, after a full night of assassination and bizzarre requests from her current employer - the troll monk Mister Draak.

So she slumped in the corner of the pub, thinking about the many things that had passed by in her life, her eyes glaring at the knots in the table. Quietly, she burped, then opened her mouth in a stuttering yawn.

Just as an argument arose in the next booth over; two orcs arguing over whose turn it was to pay for the round.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen felt that there was a certain joy in the amber liquid he had poured down his gullet. The way it strangled his throat, burned his lungs, and made his heart beat for the briefest of moments was a true elation not many would ever encounter in their dull lives. It was a draft of ale so potent and rare that to consume it was considered an honor. Or so the legend says. Either way Jensen downed the whole bottle in front of the nobles in one drought. He looked to the bottle, looked back to the nobles, burped lightly, and noticed their gawking eyes stunned by what they saw.

So Jensen did the right thing. He pee'd into the bottle again, refilling the amber liquid, and handing it to the servant of the house with his best regards from the Ixian Knights and moved on, zipper still down, pants still very open. He tumbled and fell, curled into a ball, and decided to sleep on the feet of the duchess; Lady Cunnigham. All was good. Or so he thought. Rudely the immortal was lifted up by members of his own group, tossed outside by orders of some Ixian Captain, and told to let rot until he sobered up. With a solitary finger salute Jensen lifted his trousers, turned lucidly to the next door, and walked in a straight line.

Should be noted, that line was anything but straight.

Drunkenly pawing the doors open he entered with great fanfare. He said hello to the tender, winked to the whores, and patted men on the back. It felt good to be in a place where everyone knew your name, and was always welcomed. He felt like cheering almost, but he didn't. Mostly because he had no idea who any of these patrons were. He ordered a round of beer, paid for three, and waited patiently for the tender to bring them. He took the whole tray, pushed it to the side, then got down to business.

"I bwant a god dem End Timers," he slurred in a drunken haze.

"I think you already are there, sir," the tender muttered.

"Bah, like you would have such eqsqui...eksqui...esquisi...really good taste!" Jensen pointed to him, his finger poking his shoulder. "Oh fuck...you work out." Jensen began to kneed the deltoid of this man. "Like...all the time...you cut wood?"

"It's my day job, yes." He replied, a little disarmed.

"Hmm, and with all the logs do you just jam them up your ass, or let your lumberjack friend help you?" There was a moment of silence. "What? Sharing is caring I once heard Sei mutter or something..." Jensen turned to his beers, grabbing the tray and looking around. He observed two orcs having a heated argument about a tab or something, the immortal didn't really care. But he did notice the small creature in the corner of the room, or center, Jensen was having a nasty case of double vision. He tip toed to her, one beer lost in the travels which he looked to, whimpered, and saluted before turning to the table, sprawling his drinks upon them. By craft or blind luck, one slid to the Faun.

"The name's Jensen, It was a pleasure to meet me, I'm sure," He said, looking her up and down. "You horny?"

[Philomel]

The thumping clattering of tankard upon wood caught her ears. They twitched back, and her head twisted with them towards the sound of the noise. Her eyes slipped to the orcs - one of them now siezing the throat of the other and demanding his companion pay - then angled up to the plain human before her.

He was drunk, out of it. That was very clear. His eyes were somewhat cross-eyed, and he didn't seem quite able to keep his balance. As he attempted some sort of militaristic salute he half toppled into the table, spilling his burden upon the table. What his burden was, was several pints in variety; enough colours to keep a mud-based rainbow going on for a mile of sky. She gazed at them for a while, spying first the blonde, then the same amber as was in her own drinking vessel. Rolling her eyes finally up to meet his own she waited until he found his flappy tongue and managed to stutter.

"Name's Jensen," he said, in a thick slur. "Pleasure to meet me, I am sure."

Fantastic, Philomel growled under her breath, A fucking egotist.

"You horny?"

The human seemed to find this amusing, and was even more pleased when he noticed one of the tankards was beside her wrist. The faun-whore curled her lip a little, raising her nose to sniff the contents. Dark. Floral. Slightly bitter.

She shrugged, and drowned what remained of her current beverage. Grabbing the offered one she gestured for the man to sit - Jensen, she remembered his name was - and leaned away from the wall. Taking a moment she considered his question, then answered it.

"I am a whore, I am paid to be horny," she nodded. "I also have horns as you can see."

Reaching up with her spare hand she tapped the lower curl of the nearest ram's horn that sprouted from the back of her head, near the thickest part of her skull. The hollow bone inside thunk-ed a little, right in time with the splosh-ing of her drink as she banged the tankard on the table simply for a laugh.

"I'm-a Philomel," the assassin-whore said, stifling back a yawn, "But you can call me Phi. Pleasure to meet me too."

[Enigmatic Immortal]

With the salutations addressed and filed into Jensen's temporary memory, he sat with the creature and lifted his tankard. The liquor dipped down his throat with a dissatisfying taste, and smacking his lips he tossed the tankard aside, looking closer at the woman before him. She looked as equally upset about the venue as he was, and the immortal wasn't sure why. Beer, soon to be a bar fight...all the hallmarks of a good place. But something....

"Hey, Tender Logger, you got a dry martini around here?" Jensen called out. The man sterotypically looked to Jensen like he was some kind of fool, and shook his head.

"Too fancy and uptight for a shit hole like this," he replied. "You'd need to do some fancy joint in inner city."

Jensen looked to the woman again, and saw that look in her eye. Well, he didn't, but he assumed she had that look in her eye, and for being drunk off his rock, that was good enough. "You said you were a whore-scort?" Jensen grabbed a this pants, realizing they fell past his knees, and lazily pulled them back up fishing into the front pouch. He continued to grab at himself for several seconds, starring at her, before he pulled out a few coins and dropped them in front of her.

"I want you to whore-scort me too...the udder bars! Until this date is over, you are on the clock with me to find the driest fucking martini that would make the deserts of Fallien weep...can you do that?"

[Philomel]

The assassin-whore raised an eyebrow, the goblet held poised between forefinger and thumb. To any man it might look like she was about to drop it, but Philomel knew the strength of her grip. So she was told by the men - and few women - who had commented as such. Albeit half of them were spoken mid-moan.

Delicately, like a grand lady mis-homed she sipped from the goblet. All the while she kept her eyes on the man, made him wait. In his eyes she saw an impatient spirit, a longing that was only accelerated by the drink he had already consumed. It was easy enough for her to rejoice in such easy pickings - but tonight she felt like teasing. So she fluttered her eyelids slightly, pouted as she placed the goblet down and pretended to be flattered.

"Oh my," she said in a light swooning voice, "Aren't you direct?"

She distracted him by leaning forwards, giggling slightly, pretending the drink was affecting her also. She even added in a topple, falling onto her elbow towards him, then snorted. As she spoke her spare hand snatched up the coin he had thrown down and tucked it into the coin pouch at the folds of her belt.

"I most certainly can be your escort, Mr Jensen," she continued in the same tone. He seemed the sort of proud, self-centered man to be overwhelmed and pleased by this type of girl. She giggled again. "If you will make sure I get home at a proper hour. I don't want to be late to my bed do I?"

[Enigmatic Immortal]

"Wut are you, twelve?" Jensen slurred standing up, eyes filled with a drunken haze. He observed the area he was currently in, looking towards the door when he felt his body shift orientation. He twirled from the impact of the sizable source of the collision and if not for his battle honed reflexes he would have collapsed into a heap of his own flesh. With fancy footwork he managed to rotate like a spinning top landing with back against wall, eyes alert for the first time in hours as he watched the Orcs attempt to stand from the vicious punch he received. "Aw come on guys, dare is a lady with presents," Jensen mumbled to them. Naturally the two were more focused on destroying the other than listening. So Jensen decided to be assertive.

He walked up to the ogres, prepared to lay it out in black and white what the two should do. He lifted his finger to accentuate his point, widened his stance to look direct, and even attempted a scowl. During this time one Orc ducked, another punched, a fist landed on face, and Jensen was sprawled on the table with his lady of the evening. He felt his jaw sting like fire itself was burning within him, and the sloshing impediments of the alcohol began to sober up as he closed his eyes, feeling his stomach gurgle. His fingers curled into tiny fists, nails raking the table and chest heaving up and down. His body moved in a spasm, writhing as if containing something dark within him that he tried to hold back. Yet Jensen was never really known to be one to keep things back.

With a riotous roar of laughter he righted himself, hands clapping as if he was a child in a puppet show, hooting with glee as he glared daggers at the two orcs, mouth rigged in a sadistic grin. "Which one of you two ladies is up for first for the dance?" Jensen teased, hopping off the table. The two orcs looked to him, back to one another muttering, before they both shrugged. Then they made a terrible, life altering mistake. A mistake that they would one day tell their ancestors, children, bosses, wives, and anyone else who would listen about. They had to warn the world never to make this mistake, for on this night it cost them a fortune.

They blinked, taking their eyes off Jensen Ambrose.

In one moment he was on the table, sitting and relaxed with a smug look. In the blink of an eye one fist was in the face of the right most orc. He teetered backwards, caught off guard considering Jensen was several paces away grabbing at the bloody mouth with the loose tooth. Jensen's fist rolled into his gut, catching a taught muscle and twisting his fist so the flesh of the greenskin would roll around his knuckles. The immortal dropped to a knee, vaulting upwards in a powerful leap with extended fist catching knuckle to chin. He snapped the orc's neck back, probably making the creature see stars as Jensen landed in a bow to the Faun at the table.

"And do you have time for a bit of a snack before we go?" Jensen asked her, ignoring the other incoming Orc as the one behind him fell backwards like a freshly cut tree in the woods. "One should always stretch before walking long distances they tell me," Jensen muttered with a cocky grin.

[Philomel]

Philomel's head tilted slightly as she leaned to inspect the remains of the orcs.

Truly, they were defeated. The uncomfortable, suffocated grunts and groans emanating from the pair were not dissimilar from an elderly couple trying, but failing, to gain to a climax. He at the forefront, the one Jensen had grabbed and hit first, was rubbing his jaw and blood was streaming from his nose. Her eyebrow raised slightly as she caught the direct eye-contact of one, who then failed an arm as if in an attempt to reach for her supple breasts. Quite deliberately she swayed to let the bounds of fat sway like pouches of water.

"Rather interesting way of dealing with the problem," she said in a luxurious voice.

Slowly she stood, the feign of being drunk no longer necessary. This Jensen, she could tell, needed no persuasion in gentle flirtation. He seemed entirely sober already, or at least not the type for "Bouncy and Giggly".

The faun whore did not look at him, using her hands to somewhat clear her loin-covering of the spilt beer. She stank a little of alcohol - that was to be expected. So righting herself onto her hooves, into a stable position, she reached into the folds of cloth at her bostirer and pulled out a small vial of perfumed scent. As she sprayed it over herself she flickered her gaze up to the human, and smiled in a way that did not hide her like of him.

"I know a fabulous bar, across the quarter, where the gloriest of dry martini can be found."

Placing her perfume back in its pouch she offered a hand and stepped forwards, letting her lips curl into a smile.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

He gingerly took her hand, spinning on the spot to meet his waist with hers as smoothly his fingers rolled up to her wrist, elbow locking with hers. He escorted her out, being the perfect gentleman, and opening the door when the time came. He winked to the faun, looked back to the Orcs, and then to the tender.

“Those two got my tab,” Jensen giggled, turning away from the shit stain that was a bar and looking to the night sky. A rush of blood sloshed the inside of his mind, the cobwebs literally washing away with every step. He was sobering up rather quickly after that little barroom scrap, and the immortal was annoyed at the revelation. He looked back to the Faun and actually decided to assess her.

Jensen began with her face, catching her giving him a sideways glance. He looked at her eyes, seeing a weight of experience and hardships behind the iris. Nothing new to him. One wink to her and he followed her eyes to her nose. It was a nice nose. The right shape, size, and look. But he could tell it was broken once or twice. A bruised nose never really healed right. Or did it? He was never sure with these things. Still, he mentally checked off cute nose. Which led him to her lips. Now there were a pair of lips that new exactly how to please a man, woman, and the space between. Pleasantly luscious red pushed out without too much makeup to overdo it. Her tongue darted out, ever so slightly to entice him, and his blood began to drain down from his brain.

Without even being discreet he gazed at her chest. He looked at her womanly assets. Not the largest by far, he thought with a grin. They were shapely, toned, not sagging; A plus in his book. When he reached her waist he took a double take. Somehow, despite knowing full well she was a faun, and knowing full well that meant she had hooves, he was surprised to see them.

“You have hooves,” Jensen giggled at some inside joke. “Hooves!” he said again, laughing lightly. His demeanor was not threatening in the way he laughed, not judging her at all. No, he fondly chuckled as he recalled a conversation with Zerith Dracosius a while back when they went to the Citadel to fight an undead Centaur. Both men were beaten to near death by his hooves. It was their bane that entire fight and a joke amongst them.

However, her faun legs were not much doing it for the enigmatic immortal. He concluded of all her traits, the woman’s face was her strongest, with those kissable lips. Satisfied with his field conclusion he nodded, linking his fingers with hers. “So, how much longer until we get to this joint? I lost my buzz and that’s not going to do at all!”

He lazily reached for his sack of gold, tapping it to ensure it was there, and feeling the weight behind the gold coins in it. “Cause I don’t plan to stop until we find the golden Dry Martini.”

[Philomel]

A soft laugh came from her mouth at his presentation. He seemed to have lapsed back into accepting the stupor that came with drunkeness. Allowing herself to be amused, and to even be aroused just that tiny bit that she was not ashamed to admit. It was something she regularly did not experience for all the times she lay with old, fat, rich men. Pompous idiots.

Somewhat eagerly, and simply willingly, she allowed him to take her arm. She held onto it gracefully, acting like a proper lady as he began to escort her from the premises.

"The bar is just a few streets away," she said, a slight chuckle to her tone, "Known as the Savvy Prince. I think you will like it."

The money in her pocket was heavy enough. Certainly she had already made a few in the previous nights to not try to get any more than a couple of gold from this man. He seemed not quite the type to completely hire her for the night, for all her talents. Instead, she presumed, he would just want drink. Jensen was his name, she reminded herself, and as her eyes flickered over his slightly stooped, happy but tall figure a sense of joy overcame here. After all, here was a man who wasn't just a boring old farting lout. He was actually fascinating. He seemed concious enough of his actions to still treat her with the respect of old-world ettiquette, yet also spontaneous enough to want to just find the perfect martini.

After a few paces of silence she found herself giggling, her ears picking up the rings of her laugh and the clops of her hooves on the cobbles around them. Safe in the alleyway there was a little more privacy than the bar and she could now say, act and be more of herself.

"Quite the charmer, aren't you," the faun said, lightly. She nodded over to a street corner, where a small shadow was pulling itself out from the darker mass. Glowing golden eyes gave the first sign of intelligent life, then a slight yap of sound. The swish of a tail and a glimpse of russet red fur told of a beast and the assassin-whore allowed herself to smile, naturally.

"Come, it is just around this corner. We will follow my friend."

And the gentle paws of the fox-spirit righted the beast and it scampered onwards, nose showing the way.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“Fido knows the way, huh?” Jensen said, not quite sure what would happen. He gave the Faun a cocky grin, looking at her face for any signs she was going to take him to a back alley and sell his kidneys for gold. But there was a glimmer in her eye, something akin to amusement, but also genuine enjoyment. They walked in silence for a moment, before the dog… fox… spirit… thingy… showed them a light at the end of a street. Jensen released his hold of the Faun and greedily slapped his fingers against one another. “Oh yes, yes, yes…” Jensen moaned. “Almost there…almost there…”

He turned to the Faun, gave her a wink, and looked back at the door. “I’m not sure two can fit in that place at once.” Jensen began to pantomime his hands as if assessing the best way to enter themselves into the bar. “It’s gonna be tight. Perhaps one could go through the front, and the other the back. But I’m not sure that’s the best way to go about it.”

He looked back to his whore-scort and gave her a crooked look. “I’m not an expert on these things, but I suppose we both could just slam in at once,” he slapped his hands again brutally. “You know, come at the same time?”

“Or is this a classy joint?” he muttered scratching his unshaven chin. “Probably wouldn’t appreciate two in one go. Probably one at a time, after a bit of a breather…” He looked back to the Faun. “I’m not sure how we should do this, but oh well.” He offered his hand to her again linking his fingers with hers. “I think I got it. I’ll open the door, and you come first. Then I’ll come behind you!” He smiled goofily as he eyed the door handle. This was it, the point of no return.

“Remember my conditions,” Jensen said turning and standing sideways so she could walk in, his fingers leaving hers and trailing to the small of her back where he gave her a friendly pat. His other hand opened the door. “Drier than the fucking deserts of Fallien, or we look for another place!”

He fell into line behind her, hand resting on her back as the other lifted to the bartender, motioning to them both. The woman gave a nod of approval, her fingers dancing along two cups and flinging them into the air. She turned and snatched a bottle in one go, her other free hand grabbing glass A and slamming it down on the table. Glass B she caught on her wrist, letting it tumble down to a rolling state of either collapse or righting itself. She poured the liquid into the first glass, her hand touching the side of the cup as her eyes glowed a soft blue. Ice covered the sides where here hand was, and one flick of her wrist shot it down the bar ramp where another caught it and drank with a mighty thank you.

The other cup she poured into as it twirled, tossing the bottle behind her where it landed on the counter. She snapped her fingers that once held the bottle over the cup, and like a lighter it eventually caught a spark and ignited the drink, which she then rolled over to the man just o her side.

She then lifted both her hands to Jensen and Philomel and gestured to a two person raised seating table.