Joseph, the travelling merchant. (OPEN)

[redrout]

Joseph whistled as he strolled back towards the stables with his pony, Opal. Today was a good day for sales, he mused as the creaking door opened to the stables of the Peaceful Promenade, and all the smells and noises associated with it. He tied his horse in one of the stables and exited. He’d made good money today, easily enough to spare a bit of his earned coin on a few drinks in the tavern. He walked back out of the stables and around the building to the other side, where a warm, orange light greeted him as he opened the door, coming in from the rapidly cooling night. Strolling over to the bar he sat down on a stool, catching the pretty barmaid’s attention. He sometimes resented his looks for being too plain, too easily overlooked, but more often than not, it worked to his benefit. He smiled at her and laid a few pieces of silver on the table.

“Mead, if you have it, beer if you don’t, if you please,” he said easily. He’d never been to the Peaceful Promenade before, but he felt a bit like he could fit in just fine. Soon, a flagon was set in front of him and he set about drinking it, wondering what Scara Brae would hold for him this time.

[Fez_The_Kid]

Gardla regarded the tavern from under the shadow of his hood, and approached the entrance heavy-eyed. He took a few wobbly steps before he gathered his grit as he put a fist on the wooden surface of the Promenade’s front door. The blow, heavier than he’d initially expected, landed on the wood with a loud thud. Fortunately, the indoor hustle could not care less. Poxsu emerged from the youth’s hood.

"Everything all right, sir?" Poxsu said, a tone of concern edged in his voice.

"Yes. Get inside." The squirrel did as Ron had ordered. His word was always gentle, but assertive; at times after a heated conversation, he’d reckon he’d had been too harsh on him. Who’d walk into a tavern, filled with drunkards and reeking of sweat and burning coal, with a squirrel on his shoulder? None, he thought. Regardless, he’d reached his destination in one piece. He pushed forward, and felt the heavy gaze of people on him. The weight lessened when he occupied a seat over the counter.

Gold glittered under the candle-light in the form of coins, jangling over the counter after parting his bleached hand. He was not feeling too well-- or his mood, he considered, was affecting him. "Ale," Ronrid said blandly. The comely barmaid grunted and left to bring him his drink. Ron swung on his seat, his single eye addressing the faces that occupied the rest of the chamber. Almost all the tables were full with drunken commoners, washing away their troubles with ale and strong mead.

Beside him sat a man attending to his own drink, nothing too special, save for the pony-tail.

His attention returned to the counter once he heard the gush of liquid into a cup, then a half-stifled curse. The barkeep emerged, holding onto her hand a demitasse of alcohol, a recent stain of the same substance finding its mark over her sleeve.

Ronrid withdrew his hood and inspected the cup with a snuffle. The scent, Ronrid decided, was strong and tasted bitter in the back of his mouth. He approached the glass and downed its contents in one swallow, then gestured for another drink; the act of jangling-coin occurring once more.

"That your squirrel?"

[redrout]

Joseph glanced to the side to see a taller, younger man sit at the counter next to him. Scarcely past his teens, Joseph thought as he threw his coin on the table, demanding ale. He took another swig of his mead, this one from the bottom of his flagon; he tasted the more bitter fruit notes as he drained the cup. After tasting the mead he understood why so many came to the Promenade for drink. He flipped a few coins of his own onto the table as the stranger lifted his tiny cup and downed it, throwing more gold onto the bar top. What an odd man, Joseph thought, but then again, Althanas was filled with odd folk these days. He almost missed the squirrel that had climbed onto the counter between him and the stranger.

He stared at the curious thing, wondering why it wasn’t afraid. His thoughts were interrupted by the barmaid clearing her throat loudly.

“That your squirrel?” She asked Joseph. She seemed miffed at it, as if it's mere presence was an insult to whatever god she worshiped.

He responded quickly. It wasn't his animal, but he surely didn’t wish it ill. “Surely not, but I’ll be paying his tab anyways. He’ll have some mead, and I’d like a refill, if you please,” he said smoothly, smirking and laying a couple more coins on the table. The barmaid stared at the squirrel for a second, then huffed and rolled her eyes as she set another glass next to it, nearly as large as the squirrel was. Joseph barely stifled a chuckle as she turned to grab his refill. He didn’t know whose animal that was, but somehow that made the whole situation funnier. He took another smooth drink of his mead, he thought again that it might be the best he’d had in years.

[Fez_The_Kid]

In the time it took to register those few words, Ron flinched at the sound of clacking claws on the counter, and his attention pulled his gaze to a defiant, idiotic Poxsu. The rodent turned about and locked eyes with his master, meeting his gaze with a sudden feeling of ice dancing down his spine. Poxsu flicked his tail, then turned again, this time to address the drink that the stranger next to Ron had just offered on his own account.

Poxsu… drinking… Really?

The glass, filled with mead, stood almost as high as the squirrel, to which he reluctantly prodded the glass with his nose, then spun to face Ronrid once again.

The look on his eyes said one thing. Gardla frowned, his jaws visibly clutching under the candle-light, then slid his eyes shut and nodded slowly. How Poxsu drained his drink, that had proven difficult to guess. "Thanks," Ron said, addressing the man with a smile. "I am Ronrid Gardla. Pleasure," he revealed a hand, waiting for the man’s to perform an unexpected hand-shake; Ron didn’t trust easily, but this person was something else.

When Poxsu returned to Ron’s shoulder, he felt his presence slowly unbending his master’s smile. He should not have accepted that drink, after all.

[redrout]

Joseph was surprised as anybody that the squirrel drank as much as it did. He smiled back at the robed man broadly and extended his own hand, clasping his paler one. “Joseph T’Vorall, Pleasure’s mine.” He leaned back a bit as the squirrel disappeared inside his robes.

“Fine place, this is; not many well-to-do taverns around these days, don’t you think?” He said pleasantly, taking another sip of his mead. The man beside him seemed a bit odd, as if he were always worried about something. Joseph never really had that problem, to him not much was worth worrying about.

[Ardent]

While the night itself was amicable enough, Lyra found herself in a dark mood whilst wondering the streets of Scara Brae. If she was inclined to assess her general feeling of resentment, she would attribute it to her growling stomach, fortunately she was not a thinker.

Her eyes were drawn to the sudden shattering of the dark by the bright orange light that burst from the open door of the tavern as a fellow hooded patron wondered into the tavern. Curiosity pique and with no other viable option for opportunity, Lyra’s feet carried her towards the tavern. While Lyra was not a philosopher, she wasn’t a fool either so she stayed outside of the tavern for a mintues longer, scouting out the interior through the windows. Assessing a few possible targets at the bar for an easy con, and not too many threats such as an overabundance of sober folk to fight off should she be caught, Lyra entered the tavern.

Lyra’s entrance did little to disturb the natural flow of talk, beverage and general comradery. It was common enough for someone to enter with hood drawn up and be an overall shady character. Lyra moved towards the bar where the two male patrons sat conversing and seemingly having a drinking contest that somehow got a squirrel involved.

-Perfect- thought Lyra.

She made her choice between the two men, just by the assessment of who had more coins flowing from their hand, plus older man’s appearance was nothing of note-worthy which probably why she was chosen the other man to whom the squirrel retreated to.

While the two men were shaking hands and doing a round of introductions, Lyra took a seat at the end of the bar within easy arm’s reach of the younger man. Lyra waited for the barmaid to set another drink in front of young man and turned around to get more drinks. As soon as the women’s back was turned she took up the drink and downed it in a quick succession of large gulps. She replaced it back in front of the man and put on a blank face.

Lyra found herself mildly hoping that he has not noticed that his newly refreshed drink was once more empty and possibly blame the barmaid of handing out empty mugs, which would provide some amusement. But if he was not yet into his cups and caught her in her mischief Lyra was ready for the confrontation. Lyra was still in a foul mood that she did not care either way, as she plainly rested her green neutral eyes on the back of the man’s head.