The Sunks

[Bohemia]

The young and the restless came and went with each passing hour of the day, though most passed right by the shops of the Bazaar with their polite little smiling merchants. Passing right on by, laughing at some juvenile, dirty joke with their little clique of friends.

Passing right on by like a pack of cackling hyenas.

Some of them did venture in though, turning those little merchant's smiles into nervous twitches. There were usually too many to watch at a time, and something always came up missing. They'd come in with their ratty wallets, inked with designs they thought were cool to buy alcohol, and usually lost of it. They came in to buy brushes enchanted with never ending paint to find the next day their shop's walls coated with vulgar graffiti.

Then there was Jonathon King. Jon wasn't particularly well known in the circles of warriors and mages and mercenaries and assassins, but amongst those obscene little punks, the name was legend. The Great Vodka Streaking Run of '00 DW, The Giant Countryside Bonfire And Stolen Grocery Buffet of '01 DW, most of their greatest memories in the past couple years, Jon King had his hand in it. And as he shuffled into some random shop in Radasanth with some knives and swords and bows in the window, it was apparent why.

As his head swiveled slowly from side to side to look around the store, despite the fact that his eyes were too clouded to read the sign above the door, it was obvious that he was, at the least, slightly drunk. His left hand was pressed hard against his chest, and in it was a threadbare faux leather wallet, held together mostly by tape and hopes. Clutched in his other hand, which hung limply from his side, even as he stumbled and bumped into a thankfully anchored glass display case, was clenched a brown bottle of beer. It might have been the right bottle for it, but the smell coming out of the top was too strong for it.

"Gimme uhhh...give meeeee...." He paused, his moputh slack, dropping his wallet as he reached the counter. It hit the wood with a muffled metallic thud, and that seemed to snap him back to attention. "Wuz....what's the strongest wood I can get for a staff with like...uhh....a hunnert gold? Coins?"

[AdventWings]

People come and go through the Bazaar all the time, no matter what time of day it was. Humans, elves and dwarves by day while the shadier individuals and those who were not exactly on good terms with the Sun by nightfall. The kind of business the Bazaar Merchant had to put up with in his shop lent new meaning to the phrase "working all day and night."

Thankfully enough, he had his share of sleep the night before while his helper watched the storefront. But even then, he was not too sure if he was truly lucky at all. Especially today.

"Whoa, sir! Ah, er..." Lenon grimaced as the display case wobbled slightly from the drunken man's stumble, swaying uneasily on its solid legs. The storekeep rushed up to the display case and tried to hold it into place as the customer recovered his footing, finding the reek of alcohol assaulting his nasal passages like a million set of knives.

Phe-Ew! Does he drink this stuff? The buff man swatted the air in front of his face and returned to the counter, wondering exactly what was in the bottle. S'good thing I don't drink.

"OK, sir. We have a good selection of staves for under a hundred gold here at this store." Lenon began as he thumbed through the list of items in the store, taking a few short breaths to clear his nose of the disturbing smell.

"Yes, I recommmend this one here. This masterfully-crafted elven long staff made from sturdy oak will run you a mere 65 gold pieces. Or you can go with this human-made quarterstaff, made from oak as well, though it will run you around 90 pieces. Is that fine with you, sir?"

Lenon had thought about bringing out a few of his Nihon long staves, but it would surely be beyond the price range for this... drunken warrior. Still, nothing beats a good ol quarterstaff to keep the oppositions away. It all depends on the user's skills, after all.

[Bohemia]

"Ya know...I never like, un'nerstood why I fought wit' these stick things." Jon picked up one of the staves presented, and spun it awkwardly, whatever was in the brown bottle sloshing as his other arm went limp, forgetting what few manners he had. He gave it another clumsy spin, and thisd time found contact, a sharp crack echoing in the nearly empty shop as he dropped to his haunches and the stafdf clattered to the floor. A hand to the back of his throbbing skull, hissing muffled cusses through tightly clenched teeth, pausing to tip the bottle back again and take a deep swallow. Groaning, he rose again, posture badly hunched, the human made staff clutched in limp fingers. "Izzit so wrong to like, use shit to stab?!" He threw both hands over his head wildly without a care, knocking over a small ebon wood display of daggers and spattering himself with alcohol. "The queer Ravenheart gets a god damn rifle with a sword on it!

"And if that wasn't enough," he roared, beginning to pace in a circle, shaking the staff before him, "Those dicks down at the DMV won't let me drive because I've got a peg leg!" He stopped abruptly and slammed down the brown glass bottle, and yanked on the cuff of his pants. Apparently, at some point in his alcoholic bender, he had gotten the idea to glue a small collection of bark strips to his leg. One of them peeled loose and fell to the floor. "But whoa, you pal, you're like, a handsome man. I'm not gay or nothing but -- " His stomach convulsed, and his eyes popped open, cheeks puffing as he clapped a hand over his mouth. After a few moments, he swallowed, and yawned wide in a groan, the smell coming from his mouth of vomit, vodka, rum, and possibly cooking sherry.

"Man, why you gotta try and fleece me, cracka?!" One a' these staves are like, uhhh..." His fingers shot up from the grip on the staff, teetering precariously in an awkward palm/thumb grip. "Forty gold more!" His math was terribly off, but only a blind, deaf, dumb, and mute person couldn't tell why. At this point of inebriation, the most he could do was beer math, that is, the honorable field of academics to determine whether to get the fancy overcharged designer's beer, or the dirt cheap piss beer that'll end up carpeting every room in the house by the morning for the same price. " 'Zactly what seperates these sticks, from the elves and the humans? Next you're gonna tell me you got seperate bathrooms for 'em, too!"

[AdventWings]

Lenon nodded silently, batting his hand at the faint scent of rum whipping about in the windless room. The lanky storekeeper grimaced when the "boy" appeared to gag, letting out a short sigh after seeing there was no need for alarm.

"Actually, that's a very good question, sir." Lenon cleared his throat and brought the two staves out, placing them side-by-side on the counter. The Elven long staff rolled gently around the wooden countertop, showing off its flawless surface and sturdy, lobe-shaped tips. In fact, one could mistake the solid oaken lobes for iron balls if not for its distinctly brown coloration and clear age rings looped around on itself. The human-crafted quarterstaff stretched itself a good whole foot longer and was nearly twice the thickness, though one could see it weighed a good few pounds heavier and more rigid.

"The Elven longstaff was made by one of the Master Craftsman of the Concordian Elves and his works are known as very durable and flexible, able to take a good deal of punishment as well as dealing some in return. The weighted heads ensure that anyone you might have to face off against will surely think twice before attacking you. As for the quarterstaff, it is a bit thicker and weighs a good deal more, though if you prefer strength over flexibility I believe you will find that the quarterstaff is just right for you."

Lenon wrapped his fingers around the Elven staff and whipped it around a bit, demonstrating the weapon's flexibility as it waved quickly in the air, the woody head swinging from one side to another.

"I wouldn't know what you mean by 'separate bathrooms' for those elves, though." The seasoned merchant placed the staff back on the counter and looked around the apparently deserted store, saved for his immediate customer. "But those Concordian elves sure doesn't like human bathrooms, from what I've heard."
The merchant stood back up to his full height, a rather unimpressive five-foot-eight, and cleared his throat.

"Well, sir. Now that you know the difference, which one would you be interested in? Our wares aren't as diverse as before, what with the shipping lanes being closed up by some idiot from the Capital. I heard there's a war going on, but frankly I wouldn't be too sure. Still, these are about the best you can get for under a hundred gold. Unless..."

[Bohemia]

"Okay, umm..." Jon blinked several times, followed immediately by widening his eyes as far as he could, and swayed even as he stood still. He put a hand to the side of his head and groaned -- half of what the merchant said was lost on him, and the ohter half was said so fast, in his mind, that he barely understood it, like it was some other language. Truth be told, it was some other language; in such a base state, Jon was beginning to forgot what words mean what in Tradespeak, and cussed loud a few times in English, something he was sure the merchant wouldn't be able to decipher, at least, immediately.

"Ori'gato uns'aa mir uss." Even in his drunken state, he perked, scowling, knowing that what had come from his lips certainly wasn't as understandable to the man as his native tongue was. "Err, ahh, here let me like, hold one of these bitches." The first he reached out to was the staff of human make, the thicker of the two, with appearance that spoke of the practicality of the weapon. Punishment, his name for a nigh unweildy metal staff that he'd possessed many years ago had been far beyond this things weight, but in his hands, he was sure this one could manage to break bones. Still, the method which Garen had managed to teach the once completely naive boy had stressed on technique, and not simply brute force. Many of the movements the old man had imprionted on him, he'd have difficulty adapting to the quarterstaff. He set it back down, then picked up the longstaff.

It didn't contain the promise of a broken bone or intense punishment that the thicker staff had, but the weight of it conformed better to his center of balance. He might have been drunk, but the promise Garen had seen in the stupid boy could be seen as he stepped forward once, one foot over the other, spinning the staff twice hand over hand, whipping it around his neck, and letting it settle in his grip of his left hand. "Wait, Concordia, you said, eh? Wazzn't there some psycho, went through, burnt a bunch a' shit down? Motherfucka wuz like, lucky I wuzzn't there, I could'a taken the bitch out with my secret technique!"

He settled the staff against the tip of his foot and edge of the counter, and bent over to pick up his ragged wallet, which he'd dropped earlier in all the excitement. "Izzis one," he answered as the merchant posed his question, and counted out the sixty five gold for the longstaff without the weight of the merchant's words sinking in until he'd picked up his bottle and staff and was halfway across the store. "Wait. Uhhh...what idiot? Uh, you merchants hafta deal with a bunch'a fucking jerks each day, what knobslobber's closing up your shipping lanes? I'll go knock his fucking teeth in!"

[AdventWings]

They always go with the balanced ones.

Lenon let out a tiny smirk of satisfaction as he watched the drunken fighter test out the staves, sighing in relief that his shop was wide enough and devoid of any other customers. He would have lost a few regulars with this alcohol-consumed young man swinging the stick around, as far as the merchant was concerned.

"Oh, yeah. I heard 'bout that." Lenon mused upon hearing the mention made by dark-hair customer through the slurred speech and wierd language. "Fedex, or something like that. Either way, Underwood is in good hands now and them townfolks are rebuilding everything from the ground up. S'good thing the Promenade wasn't burned down or anything. Favorite tavern o' mine, too."

Accepting the coins and checking the amount whilst putting away the quarterstaff, Lenon could not help but let out a dejected sigh and replied to his customer.

"It's them bigwig from the Trade Office in Radasanth. As of now, we only have woods here in Concordia for use and construction. Don't know what's happenin' up there, but lotsa confusion and other horrible stuff. Maybe it's the assassination on the Assembly members, but my sources aren't really reliable. Maybe you could check up on the news for me and, for the love of Draconus, I can finally know what's going on up there..."

The man was growing a bit frustrated with the limited wares he was able to acquire, but it was not like he could do much about it. If it was indeed war, things were going to look a lot more grim in the near future.

((Assuming that you're done with this, Go ahead and post your exit and I'll have the thread closed and moved. :) Glad to do business with ya!))

[Bohemia]

"Damn straight I will, that ain't cool!" Jon shook his fist indignantly in the air, staff with it. "That ain't cool man, that ain't cool! They done forget where they come from and shit, you know? We done placed them there, and we can knock in their teeth when they try to butt fuck the average joe like you an' me, pal!" What could have been accomplished with a simple tipping of the head, Jon preformed with great gusto, leaning over backwards at the waist to guzzle down every last drop of the alcohol that had been transplanted into the beer bottle. "Speaking of butt fucking, thanks for the great deal! I met a couple a' schoolgirls, you know, the ones what they been growing the big ta-tas on, that are pretty impressed that I can get 'em beer!" He whipped the staff above his head and cackled, then headed out the door, throwing the bottle down on the cobblestones outside.

"Inbau l' vith doeb d' ussta i'dol!" Those nearby that bothered to pay attention to him paused to give him a curious look, watching as he shook himself violently and thumped the side of his head with the heel of his occupied hand. "I mean, get the fuck oudda my way! I got shit to investigate!" And with that, Lenon was finally rid of the sloshed delinquent.

((Yep, same to you.))

[AdventWings]

((Transaction Completed, Mreow~!

Bohemia relinquishes 65 GP in exchange for a Masterwork Longstaff made from Oak.

75 EXP gained for interesting role-playing as well as for incorporating current events into his posts. :)))