Josh and John Drink Scotch

[Breaker]

“Like I said, just in town for the ball,” Breaker chuckled. Either the giant was hard of hearing, or the man's constitution did not match his frame. “My date wasn't feeling well this evening so I decided to have a drink while she gets some sleep.” He swirled his next mouthful of scotch around in his mouth, enjoying the warming sensation in his mouth and the distinct flavors on his tongue.

“I'm a prizefighter and martial arts instructor by trade,” he said, “but what you do sounds far more interesting. Do you have much experience infusing metals with magic or say... fusing a pair of bracers to a man's arms?”

Josh was thinking of Flint Skovik, the boulder-shouldered Salvic native he'd faced in Sei Orlouge's cell. The man had worn a pair of heavy vambraces that clicked and whirred with alchemic integrity. Breaker had always wanted to understand what had gone into the construction of such devices.

“Depending on the kind of knick knacks we're talking about,” he continued, “I may be able to bring some business your way.”

[redford]

John's eyes narrowed. Something about his words weren't right. It was all too smooth, too practiced. He spoke fluidly, amicably, but his speech was pointed to the extent of being suspicious. Bracers, armor, the concerning absence of his ladyfriend, the proximity to his seat, all of it struck that this entire bar was going to turn into fists and magic at any moment. The commotion and smells around him dulled as he focused, trying to pick anyone out of the surrounding crowd who could possibly be with him.

Hopefully they could take care of it outside though.

John leaned forward, speaking low as the mystical armor began to creep up his arms, coating them in a metallic sheen.

"If you're here for the bounty, we should take it outside."

He kept his eyes locked on the other man, determined not to make the first move, but his love of the Promenade wouldn't keep him from trashing it to save himself.

[Breaker]

Nothing changed about Breaker when the giant's eyes narrowed. Nothing outward. He assumed a state of absolute composure, nodding and smiling as he sipped his scotch. Behind his hazel eyes, an agile mind performed calculations and judged probabilities. Years of training and practical experience had conditioned him to interpret innocuous microaggressions for the violent precursors they were.

If he lifts a hand, I'll have to kill him. No way to fight a brute that big in here without collateral damage.

The giant tilted his tree trunk body forwards. The enchanted armor emerged from his sleeves, progressing down his arms like molten lava down the mountainside.

He spoke.

“Bounty?” Cronen repeated. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. His merriment extended such power that several men at nearby tables joined in, not sure why they were laughing, but giving full voice to it.

“I haven't hunted bounty in eight years or more,” he chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Not since I won my first bout.” He cast a glance around the room. “I could buy this building if I wanted it. I'd wager I could buy the chair you're sitting in, though I'm sure you'd put a high price on it.

“No need for us to step outside,” he continued, “whatever you did, I'm sure it can't be too terrible. I've never met a wicked man who liked Yurik's.” He raised a careless eyebrow as he sipped his scotch. “What did you do? I enjoy a decent yarn.”

[redford]

John thought for a moment, the bustle of his surroundings returning a little as a few elves rushed past them to claim a table as their own. Hi nose picked up whatever stew the servers were carrying, heady and full of herbs.

Maybe he wasn't here to deprive John of his life. Why am I so afraid then? Is it just because I'm running from what I've done?

He wondered absently if a man could even escape something like that, Joshua's laughter lost on the half-giant as he stared into his whiskey, hoping it offered more of an escape than he was currently getting. He drained the cup, rapidly filling another, listening to the question from the other side of the table.

The wrapped sword sitting across his lap offered a distraction when the whiskey wasn't yet inebriating him, and he absently felt the cloth wrapping and the twine holding it to the scabbard. He spoke, almost to himself, spinning the yarn Joshua wanted.

"Something foolish."

While meaning a lot to John, this apparently was not quite all of the story, and John continued slowly.

"Ever been married, Joshua? I have. Katherine Loriol was the love of my life. She was the perfect woman, no matter what anybody says. She was highborn though, and a noble of Salvar loved her. My house was small, I was a minor noble with not much to our name, but she loved me anyways."

a pause while John drank a little more.

"Anyway, Flint Band loved her jealously, and yet we were married. His jealousy turned to envy, then hatred. He hired mercenaries to destroy our house, and in the process they killed her, and my daughter Emily."

As it often did, John's sadness at his own story turned to anger at its conclusion. His hands did not tremble, nor did his voice, but his movements became deliberate, and he finally dared to look at the man who was hearing him.

"I took my revenge on house Band. 'John Cromwell' is a name they whisper in the night, a name they fear. And for that, I was forced to flee. There was nothing left of my legacy but death and hatred and a price on my head."

His story concluded, he snapped back to reality, with the bustle returning and the clinking of utensils and glass everywhere.

"Sorry bout that."