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Trouble at the Inn Between; Open to all...
Topic Started: May 15 2009, 12:16 AM (1,131 Views)
Solomon G.
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Serf
[ * ]
Solomon Grundy stared at the mug in front of him, wishing he knew exactly what it contained. According to the bartender, the thick, opaque liquid was the Inn Between’s weekend special. Supposedly a well-known drink, the elf was unsure if its fame came from the taste, the stench, or the fact that any mortal being who took the smallest sip of such a disgusting liquid would probably die instantly. The bartender, a tall, large, balding human, was staring blankly into the common room, routinely wiping out the inside of a used glass with a grimy piece of cloth. The filthy rag seemed to be making the glass dirtier, but the man set it down with the clean dishes anyway and grabbed another used cup. The Guardian touched his forehead to the rim of the cup, sighing softly. Usually he would not willingly come within a mile of the boisterous establishment, the only place to sleep indoors between cities on this well-traveled road. But he was here to meet a contact, an old friend who had claimed to have a rare tome for the scholar to purchase. However, it was hours after their appointed meeting time, and his source was nowhere to be seen. Sighing again, he decided to take a chance and lifted the metal rim to his lips, letting a few drops of the liquid roll into his mouth. He immediately spat them back into the mug, coughing violently.

"You call this a drink? How do you stay in business?" The elf groaned and reached for his water, probably the only drink on the menu that was actually palatable, despite its odd metallic taste. He tried to wash the taste of the specialty drink from his mouth, spitting into the mug again. He regretted the decision to meet at this bar instead of a spending the extra three or four days on the road to reach his contact’s house. The Inn Between was the one of the seediest establishment the scholar had ever seen. After coming up with the almost clever name, the owner had clearly given up, simply marking the hanging sign with a large “X” in paint, which had faded from bright red to an uninviting shade of brown. The doorframe was empty, the piece of scrap metal that had served as the tavern’s door knocked clear off of its hinges by one of the drunker guests the night before. Bodies were strewn across the floor and tables, and Solomon was sure that a few of them were dead. The stench of stale alcohol, vomit, blood, and too many hot bodies in a small place was overwhelming. The Guardian was clearly out of place here, both in his attire and his attitude towards drinking. Several others in the tavern had noticed the odd appearance of the lone figure seated at the bar, huddled by himself in a dark blue cloak. Ignoring the stares of some of the guests and their muttered insults, Solomon pried a splinter off of the uneven bar and stuck it into the mug. It promptly disintegrated, causing the elf to push the mug away from him.

"Local crowd. They like the Special." The bartender's voice was low and guttural, yet as soft as a whisper. Solomon looked at the large man more carefully, eying his throat. A large, star-shaped scar in the hollow of his neck suggested he had tried to stop one of the robberies on the Inn, probably a common occurrence. Unfortunately for him, the robberies in this part of Amalterre almost always went unpunished. No self-righteous hero or glorified village night watchman was brave enough to try and catch a thief in the woods that surrounded the Inn Between. Whole caravans of travelers had gone missing before, and few dared to stand up to thieves when every other ruffian seemed to belong to one of the roaming groups of bandits in the nearby hills. But there was a glint of metal on the bartender's belt and the elf had a feeling that the mace displayed on the wall was kept in pristine condition. The man spoke again, his odd, raspy voice still carrying surprisingly well in the din of the crowded room. "Still want it?" Solomon looked at his drink and shook his head slightly, barely able to keep the disgust off of his face.

"Do you serve anything good? And by good, I mean... not… poisonous." Solomon smiled sheepishly at the bartender, who simply nodded. The elf slid the mug back to the man, who took it, stared at it, then shrugged and poured the black sludge back into a large barrel under the bar. He set the mug aside and took another out, the glass cracked and stained. Without consulting Solomon the bartender filled the mug from the back wall, setting the full drink in front of the scholar. "Ale. Only thing I drink." Turning back to his cleaning, the bartender picked up the mug that Solomon had gotten for his House Special and set the filthy cup into the pile of clean dishes. The Guardian wasn't sure if he had done it on accident or on purpose and didn't feel like asking.

"You know... I spit in that...House Special, was it?" Solomon took a tentative drink of the frothy ale, assured of its quality when he didn’t feel like vomiting after the first taste. Although he was usually against the consumption of alcohol, the scholar had had been in this place for hours, and was beginning to grow restless. Plus, the cold ale tasted amazingly good considering the quality of the last drink he had gotten here. He took a slightly larger sip, relishing the thick flavor of the rich ale.

The bartender looked at the elf, raising one eyebrow. "Can't hurt it any." Solomon and the man shrugged, both going back to their own thoughts. Of course, such a blessed silence was never meant to last. A loud peal of laughter pierced the ordinary din of the Pub, causing Solomon to wince slightly. He paid no more attention to the laughter until a large, meaty hand landed on his shoulder. “What we got here, boysh?” A tall human spun male Solomon around so quickly he was afraid the stool would fall out from under him. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, his tunic and leggings stained with alcohol and what appeared to be vomit. But Solomon’s eyes were inexorably drawn to the sharp dagger the obviously drunk man was waving under his nose. “Gotta be careful! Can’t trusht theshe... shtrange typesh!” Solomon tried not to wince as the man’s breath cascaded over him, the stench of stale alcohol assaulting his nose. Before the large man could get off another word Solomon’s hand reached out, wrapping around the drunkard’s wrist.

“Please, sir, return to your table…” The Guardian’s amber eyes flashed as he guided the dagger away from his face, staring directly into the other man’s eyes. “I do not want any trouble to befall you this night…” He tightened his grip slightly, not enough to hurt the drunk, but with enough force that he would have trouble breaking out of the scholar’s grip to slash at him. The Guardian's own weapons were hidden underneath his cloak, but as he preferred ranged weaponry, they would do him little good in a closed-quarters barroom brawl.The man blinked twice and belched, swaggering slightly as he glowered at Solomon. Other patrons near the duo sat up straighter, hands reaching for weapons on belts, leering at the confrontation. One wrong move from either party had the potential to send the entire common room into a brawl… And that was only if no one else present interfered.
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Tsukasa
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Slave
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Tsukasa was never really known as one who was very fond of the drink, however he did seem to hang around bars and clubs rather often. Passing through the streets of what looked to be a city, Tsu walked with a seemingly blank expression on his face. Tsu's stride suddenly came to a halt when he came upon a bar. He turned his head slightly looking the place up and down. It didn't look like much, but no real bar ever really should, lest you attract higher ups attention. Tsu placed his left hand inside his pocket and took a stroll into the bar.

Upon entering the bar, Tsu took a deep breath and glanced from left to right. Seemed like the usual crowd, old man in the back, wannabe' badasses to the side, a drunk man starting to get out of hand. But Tsu's head tilted lightly when he came upon a strange being sitting at the bar top. The man had pointy ears, and thin pony tail hair. Tsu had his assumptions, but kept them to himself as he passed by the man, sitting a few seats to the left of him. Tsukasa sat hunched over onto the bar with his arms folded over each other. He raised his right hand up off the counter motioning the bar keep for his attention, but his attempt was futile. The tenders attention was drown more towards the strange man he'd seem earlier. Like a kitten that had just been ignored, Tsu put his hand back down on the counter and let his head sit on top of it.

A life time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, as Tsu brought his head back up. There seemed to be some sort of scuffle not all that far away from him. A drunk had begun to antagonize another customer, namely the out of place one he'd glanced at once before. The situation began to show signs of incoming intensity when some of the other customers exuberated slight panic. A faint smile slowly faded into Tsu's face as he pushed himself up straight. He placed his feet on the ground, took a few steps, and stood next to the two men who seemed to be in a scuffle.

With a agile movement, Tsu thrusted four fingers and most of his hand into the mans gapping mouth and gripped his thumb in the bottom of his jaw, causing the man to drop his dagger. With this grip tightly held, Tsu began walking towards the exit, As he did, the man stumbled along in a drunken haze. Once at the exit, he took a large step and propelled the man out the door. As the man fell out off of the bar porch, his accomplice ran to assist him.

Tsukasa turned around and looked towards the rest of the now silent bar, waiting with a faint smile to find out how the crowd would react to this.
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Solomon G.
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Solomon did not pay any attention to the newest customer to enter the bar until he confidently strode over to the drunkard and jammed his fingers into his mouth. With a quick twist and amazing display of strength the shorter man jerked him off of his feet, causing the dagger to drop to the floor, sticking in the wooden planks. The Guardian caught a small glimpse of violet irises, with identical red tattoos extending below them like sharp, violent tears. Without any effort whatsoever the stranger brought his arm forward, the drunk’s feet leaving the floor as he was forcibly propelled through the doorway. The stranger turned around as the body rolled across the road like a discarded doll, coming to a stop when he slammed against the building opposite the inn. A thin, sly looking man threw down his drink and ran out the door, clearly intending to help his friend. Solomon glanced around the bar, his hands withdrawing under the thick blue cloak. The bar was completely silent, save for the snores of the passed out man in a booth in the far back. Amber eyes scoured the assembled faces, noting those who seemed more belligerent at the fate of their fellow alcoholic. Although he appreciated the strange man’s aid, the situation just went from mediocre to rather bad. Several guests looked as if they had take offense at the rough treatment of their kinsman, and even if the other man proved to be as resourceful in a melee as he was in disposing of trash, they were still outnumbered by a large margin. He fingered the hilt of one of his throwing daggers, leaving the small blade sheathed… for now.

“Murdock don’t deserve that kind of treatment, now…” A small, balding man stepped forward, glaring at the Guardian. His voice lacked the slurred quality of his companion’s, suggesting a level of sobriety Solomon had thought was lacking entirely from the tavern. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand, standing and leering at the scholar. “Your type ain’t welcome here, elf-boy. Leave. Your friend too.” He stepped out from the main crowd, revealing the battered short sword strapped to his hip. He left the blade in the scabbard, but the implied threat was clear.

Solomon sighed and took another quaff from the ale tankard, knowing her was probably making a mistake in doing so. He would need some coordination here in a second, and alcohol supposedly wasn’t good for that. “First off, I am not an elf.” he wiggled his fingers on the mug’s handle, drawing attention to the fact he only had four digits, instead of the five fingers most of the bipedal races on Elumintir shared. “Second, I have never seen that man before in my life, although he seems to be the only one here with an ounce of sense.” Ignoring the rumble of angry mutters from the crowd, he lifted the ale to his lips again, taking one last sip of the thick liquid. “And third… Your entire appearance insults my senses. Your scent infuriates my nostrils. Your looks are something one would expect to see when they look into a broken mirror. Honestly, how…” He was cut off by a roar from the short man as he leapt towards the Guardian, bringing out the blade with a quick motion that suggested he had some skill with the weapon. The scholar stood fluidly, throwing the half-full tankard in his opponent’s face. The thick glass connected with a solid Thunk!, hitting him directly in between his eyes. The man’s pupils rolled back as he stumbled, his grip on the short sword suddenly less sure. Solomon danced forward lightly, his footing sure on the sticky, ale-soaked planks. He deftly grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting his fingers in a manner that caused the hand on the sword to spasm, sending the sword clattering to the floor. With a flash he drew the dagger out of his cloak with his other hand, setting the cool metal at the man’s neck. No one in the tavern dared breathe, many watching in stark amazement as the tall, thin figure expertly incapacitated their drinking partner. “Careful. You can’t trust those… strange types, was it?”

Solomon forcefully shoved the shorter man back into the crowd, springing back as he did so. The fumbling drunk flailed wildly, knocking over several patrons’ drinks. The Guardian realized he had made a slight miscalculation; now others in the bar had a reason to dislike him. He had hoped that disarming the short man would have frightened the others into continuing with their night of revelry. He braced himself for a united front, but a dwarf who had been too busy stealing drinks to watch the proceedings, took personal offense at the bald man’s actions. He grabbed the beard, slamming a gauntleted fist into his face. One of the human’s drinking companions growled and reached over his friend to knock his open hand into the dwarf’s ear, sending him stumbling backwards into an occupied booth. The room erupted into spontaneous fighting, men reaching for weapons if they were sober enough to remember them, simply striking with their fists and feet if they were not. A tall man ran towards Solomon with the confidence of inebriation, rearing back to swing at the Guardian. The scholar simply sidestepped, allowing the clearly drunk human to flip over the bar, crashing into bottles of wine with a deafening crash! Feeling a twinge of sympathy for the bartender, Solomon waded into the brawl, holding the dagger tightly. He needed to get out of here, and quickly.
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Renna
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In the corridor, Marszenka winced and slowly raised her arms to hug herself around the shoulders. It was happening again. The girl had lived too long at Inn Between to really be surprised at the violent noises floating out to her, but the brawls never failed to make her upset. And tonight there had even been a nice voice in the room; she supposed by now the pleasant-sounding man had probably been knifed in the ribs. For the thousandth time the Erenorean reflected on how ill-suited she was for her current career and wondered when, exactly, she would harden enough not to notice the men and enough to cease caring about the state of her soul. For one uneasy moment Marszy couldn't decide if she wanted that day to hasten or never arrive, but another cry cut into her thoughts and the tiny young woman squared her shoulders. This wasn't by the book at all, but the owner could hardly complain. Interference might save a few coin worth of furniture (Inn Between never concerned itself with medical bills). The lady peered out a moment longer at the melee, then took a breath and stepped forward.

"Hej Hej Hej!"

Three sweet notes pierced the noise, and in the space of an instant the filthy barroom was lit up by a girl gowned in red and white. Her petite figure was covered in a nearly maidenly fashion; the dress was pretty and revealed acres of smooth shoulder in the elegant style of the Courts; the gown full and sweeping. The only indication of the lady's true status was a slit in the skirt from floor to waist, which treated the audience to a flash of shapely thigh with every step the woman took. But she smiled and threw her arms out to the audience, welcoming them with a little twirl before continuing to sing and dance lightly around the room.

The song was in the tongue of Erenor. It was very likely that only Marszenka knew that it was actually about a maid bidding her soldier farewell for the final time, and even more likely that no one even had a hint that in truth the song was very, very sad. The whore found this fitting. She sang it to an upbeat melody and smiled as she sang, masking the truth of both music and maid for a little coin and a place to sleep at night. Poor career choice or not, Marszenka was plenty intelligent and appreciated the irony.

She noted with some satisfaction that the men were beginning to settle down, and threw in a little extra charm by dancing up to each one in turn and giving him a special smile. It didn't matter how filthy or drunken they were; each and every male present was greeted with soft brown eyes and a warm smile. If he was lucky he might feel the brush of a dark curl as the dancer flitted on by, and if he was very lucky (like the clean-looking young man Marszenka immediately pinned as the still-alive owner of the Pleasant Voice), he was rewarded with a gentle touch on the hand.

One more spin and the song was over, at which point the woman swept into a curtsy to eager applause. She beamed at her crowd, pointedly ignoring the crude comments that peppered the applause. Marszenka might not have been very comfortable in her role as whore, but she had long ago mastered the art of not allowing oneself to cry. Actually listening to the men fantasizing her body like so much meat was certain to make her weep, so she closed her ears and went through her routine via the safe escape of imagination. "Welcome, my lords!"

That grated every single time. Whore or no, Marszenka was a person who cleaned her clothes every week and kept her room pristine and would return a wallet she found on the street as opposed to knifing someone else to get his. Calling the likes of the bar-scum lord never failed to make her squirm, but it was her role. She was small and built curved for cuddles, with large soft eyes, a full sweet mouth, light freckles scattered liberally over her nose, and a mane of soft curls that tumbled down every which way. Such a person could never truly play the seductress, not when they were only five feet high and plainly made entirely of sweetness. So she'd learned to play the Damsel in Distress, the Virgin, the Stranger, the Willing Receiver. She needed business, and the only way to convince the business to come was to pretend to be what she once had been. That irony stung and always would. "Welcome, welcome. Usually those who wish to see me must pay another fee and go to the back room, not so? I cannot let everyone in." A smile dimpled her cheek. "But today, my lords, is a very special occasion. Do you know why?"

Her voice was accented, tripping over the wrong syllables and stretching out the vowels in unfamiliar tones. But it was pleasant and soft, only accentuated as the girl rose to her toes and clapped her hands in front of her in a pretense of delight. "Tonight I like everyone here, and one thing more." She blushed, very prettily. Only Marszenka would know that the color came from shame. "It's my birthday."

The doe eyes lifted up, the picture of innocence. "Today I turn sixteen."

Sixteen, what a joke. When she had turned sixteen she'd had a real party, with meat in the dinner and a necklace of coral beads and a beribboned Maypole in front of the cottage. Andrej had asked her to dance, and she'd blushed; and then she had a dance with her papa and everything felt safe.

Had she ever been sixteen?!

"So I thought I would let myself play with all of you tonight. I must still charge for kisses and other attentions, for I have to eat--not so? But tonight I sing and dance for everyone for free; for my party. And then my lords will be happy and stop fighting, tak?"

She pouted, an adorable expression that showed off the bow of her lips to the fullest extent, only letting it ease when she had some slight reassurance on that matter. "Oh, very good! It would be such a shame to spoil my birthday with fighting." Marszenka clapped her hands again, delighted. "Everyone, everyone, back to your seats, and I will sing and dance some more. Then you can think of fun games to play later! I am not much good at games; you all must help me."

Another joke. She had an infant daughter waiting upstairs and six siblings far over the water; by necessity the girl was brilliant at games. Marszenka realized at that moment that she was hilarious, and would have laughed if she hadn't been so certain the chortles would end in sobs.
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Tsukasa
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(Uh oh, repost.)

Tsukasa's small smile never seemed to fade as he stood in front of the silent crowd. His eye lids half shut as the awkward moment continued onward, only to be shattered by the irritating sound of a bald midget man speaking. With a tilted head, Tsukasas thoughts began to stray from the short man. His so called invisible friends began manifesting randomly and fluttered all around the room. Tsukasa watched as the small butterflies rather suddenly disburst into nothingness as the short bald man leapt at the strange man. That was the retarded act of the night. After some fancy foot work from the strange man, they were in the same position as before. Until the man pushed the midget back into the crowd that is.

A punch here, a bite there, and a brawl had begun. Tsu simply stood there for a moment, reveling in the view of uncensored chaos. But as he was doing so, an overly inebriated man came from the side, bashing Tsukasa in the face with his fist. Tsu staggered for a step or two, and slowly brought his head back up. His smile had now mutated into a grin as he reached on to the counter top beside him and grasped a butter knife. Tsukasa stood in waiting, stalking the man with his eyes, for the moment when he had least expectation of an act from Tsu. And as soon as the man looked away, Tsu took a large step, and with all the force of his almost falling body, stabbed the butter knife into the mans foot. As the man screamed in pain, Tsukasa rose to his feet and sighed. Tsu took a look back to the strange man, who seemed to have his hands full in a fight. Tsukasa contemplated for that moment weather or not this being was simply a figment of his imagination, or if he was real. It wasn't the first time this sort of thing happened, so he took this time to evaluate how the rest of the bodies were moving if this being was his imagination.

Suddenly, most of the fighters began to stop what they were doing to catch a quick glimpse of the scarlet mistress who had entered the room. She sang of happy melodies, with great talent, yet walked like a tramp. And of course, how do you get a mans attention? Throw a woman into the equation. While every man there gawked, Tsukasa was rather distracted with the strange forms of alcohol that had managed to make its way onto his hat. He took his hat off and wiped parts of it off in a last ditch effort to remove said beverage, but alas it didn't work. As Tsu brought his head up and placed his hat back on his head, the lady had caught his attention for a moment as she passed by him. He wondered for just a moment, how many people in this room would she set on fire just in order to get paid? With that number most likely being steep, Tsukasa ignored her. He took a few steps backward onto the bar seat next to where the strange being had been sitting, and sat wait for what might happen next.
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Solomon G.
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((OOC: I am, rather narcissistically, going to assume Solomon had the pleasant voice. Feel free to correct me.))

Solomon had made his way halfway through the crowd, utilizing a combination of shoves and quick jabs with the dagger to force his way through the brawlers. However, all of that seemed to change in an instant as a sharp, pleasant voice interrupted the din. The Guardian looked over his shoulder, pausing along with the rest of the crowd. This proved to be a mistake, as one dwarf who hadn’t gotten the memo stepped past his guard and brought his fist up rather forcefully, slamming the scholar in the stomach. Winded for a moment, Solomon gasped, pain from the impact screaming in his head until he was afraid his skull would explode. He clumsily thrust his open hand at the dwarf, wrapping his four fingers around the smaller man’s crown. Digging his fingers into thick red hair, Solomon slammed the dwarf’s face downward into a table, spilling any drink still upright on its surface. Rubbing his midriff and groaning, the Guardian turned back to the disturbance as the dwarf slumped, slowly falling into a sodden heap on the ground.

Solomon’s height allowed him to see the newcomer quite clearly as she whisked through the crowd, smiling and singing with grace of a dancer and the practiced skill of a courtesan. She was garbed in a dress one would expect to see in a royal court, all ruffles and frills, bright red and white and somehow free of stains despite the environment. She expertly navigated the common room, dark locks of hair spiraling around her face, a flash of a shapely leg appearing here or there for a moment before being hidden by her gown once again. As she navigated to Solomon’s location she reached out gently, silky-soft fingertips stroking the back of his hand briefly before she sauntered off. The scholar continued to track her movements with his amber eyes as she sung, translating the lyrics almost unconsciously. Due to his studies, he was an expert in many languages more obscure than the Erenor dialect, and had no trouble understanding the somber tale of a soldier leaving his love for the last time. The Guardian shook his head, smiling sadly to himself. Few of the men present, if any, would ever know the true meaning of the melodic words floating through the tavern, masked as they were in such an upbeat manner. Only Solomon could truly appreciate the solemn beauty of the lyrics, of the story that unfolded with every word. Taking advantage of the woman’s presence, he quietly slipped through the hypnotized crowd, returning to his spot at the bar. The stranger who had helped him before was seated there, so Solomon took the stool next to him, sinking into the seat and leaning back on the chipped, worn wood to watch the show.

As she turned to address the crowd, Solomon beckoned the bartender over, leaning towards the man to speak softly. The human still held the mace that had been on display only a few minutes earlier, and the Guardian could see the telltale drops of blood on the head that suggested at least one guest had attempted to take cover behind the counter, and failed. “Apologies for the damage, good sir.” The bartender continued to glare until the scholar set a thick leather purse on the counter, the sound of gold coins clinking together unmistakable, even while the paramour continued to address the room at large. The small bag was grabbed up instantly, disappearing into a large pouch on the man’s apron. “Such rudeness irks me, and I could simply tolerate it no longer. Another ale for me, and a drink for my friend here.” He gestured towards Tsukasa, smiling slightly. The barkeep leaned over to get the man’s order as Solomon turned his attention back to the girl, almost chuckling at her performance. She clearly knew how to work the crowd, bending their attention away from the recent brawl and towards her curvy, swaying frame. The Guardian had to admit, she was attractive, in her own way. But any female from such a race would be more of a pet than a companion to any of his kind. The blood coursing through his veins would keep him alive for millennia, and the girl would grow old and die before he had appeared to age more than a few scant years. He nodded his thanks to the bartender as another mug was set in front of him, full to the brim with thick, cool foam. He nursed the drink silently, letting the girl finish her speech, greeted with some rather raucous applause from the men surrounding her. Yes, the thought of physical interaction had some appeal, but he had outlived both lovers and spouses before, and had no interest in a night of pleasure with a girl who claimed to be just sixteen years old. Sixteen. He had been born more than three centuries before she was conceived. The thought was both shocking and amusing, and he smiled into his mug.

Spinning back to face the counter, he glanced at his silent companion. There was something slightly off in the man’s eyes, a hint in the violet depths that all was not right in his mind. But Solomon had dealt with madmen before, and he had acquaintances that had done less to help him than this man had done. “Thank you for the help, good sir. Most of your kind seems to have a disposition towards violence when it comes to outsiders. Xenophobia, some might call it.” He dipped his hand into the drink, tracing the damp fingertips on the bar in an intricate pattern. “My name is Solomon Grundy.” Offering no more than that, he spared a glance at the crowd. From the sound of it, the girl had gained the affection of many in the room, as laughter and clapping followed her around the tavern. Solomon took a moment to look over his shoulder, his eyes tracing the girls frame. It was a shame one so young had been drawn into such a profession. The Guardian had walked this land far too long to judge one from their occupation alone, and he had found that few who sold themselves did not have a very good reason to do so. It was regretful, truly, and he wished for a second he had enough gold to free her from the job. The chivalry of that thought almost drew laughter from the scholar; what would he do with a teenage human female, forever indebted to him? Take her along as he visited libraries and ruins, collecting artifacts and tomes older than ever him? No, her job was her choice, if not her preference, and he could do little to help her. His thoughts flashed back to the seemingly accidental touch of her hand on his, and he rubbed his fingers along that very spot. Waiting for Tsukasa to reply he continued to draw on the wood, fingers dancing across the uneven surface.
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Renna
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(( I would correct you, except you're correct. :P And just for fun and giggles, here's a version of the song MarsBars opens her show with! ("Hej Sokoly"). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4RrjbPhQxY))


Marszenka felt his eyes. She did not have the luxury of watching the stranger's every movement, for the men in her vicinity demanded her attention. But she had pinned his location in the mass, and her intuition noted very clearly that he was studying her. The poor girl didn't know what to think of this. On one hand, how wonderful would it be to spend one night with someone clean and not drenched in liquor? On the other, how awful would it be if the intriguing young man paid her? Her heart was stuttering horribly; thrilling to the thought of the former and shrinking away from the latter. After what felt like an eternity of indecision, the girl let her head droop ever so slightly and moved to perch herself on the knee of the nearest man. She would leave the tall stranger alone. No matter how much she might wish for the company of someone decent, her heart was tripping ahead of her mind. There was no way to know that he was decent, but if he was...what business had she to drag him down to her depths?

Finally, there was clarity. The girl breathed a little sigh of relief and hastily kicked her skirt around her feet, concealing herself from amber eyes. Not that it was much use--the patron lucky enough to hold her in his lap was already smoothing his hands over every surface they could reach as his companions looked on in envy. His little lady set her jaw and tried to laugh. "No, no; you cannot touch this way in public." She gave the offending arm a tiny push. "Silly." But she pressed her lips to his cheek before wriggling free. "You all know the rules; touching is for the back room and I must get a little present from you first." How was she going to get him out of here? She was a whore at the lowest-quality inn this side of the ocean. She had no right to kick anyone out, nor did she have the capability. Brown eyes shot over to the Guardian and his companion, desperately seeking a solution--and then Marszenka sprang to her feet.

"You know what? I have decided what I wish for my birthday present. Do you all promise to let me have it? Please?"

It was amazing how large and very pathetic Marszy could make her eyes go. They were already huge and angled in her face, the eyes of a doe; with sadness and a plea they filled and wavered to cause emotions of guilt the most talented puppy could envy. And, of course, there was the lower lip.

It was no wonder that the girl's request was met by a chorus of bewildered 'Ayes', and in a moment she was on her toes and clapping her hands again. "Oh, wonderful! You are so kind to me, lords; I will give you all a present in thanks. Now for my gift." She stepped lightly onto a stool, and beckoned the men of purple and amber eyes forward, leaving her hand outstretched . "I have to say."

Her voice softened, and with it the entire Inn. "...I have to say I do not like the way liquor smells, or how it makes men's hands and lips clumsy when they wish to pleasure me. I do not like it much." She was solemn. "For my birthday present, would these two clean gentlemen please step into the corridor and wait for me? For you I will be free of charge." Her hand shifted, illuminating the way she wished them to take. Almost at once a murmur started, but the lass shook it off with another laugh and a pout. "You promised. If some of you come to me sober and clean, I will give you a free round as well. Once a month. Free, my undivided attention."

She smiled and slipped her hand down the nearest man's jaw, letting it dip to his chest. "If we are agreed, I would like to give everyone present a kiss, and one very nice dance. Are we agreed?"

The chorus of 'ayes' was overwhelming, so Marszenka turned to Tsu and Solomon with haunted face. "If you will please leave now, this dance is not for you. Wait for me."

She managed a swift whisper out of the side of her mouth before the nearest man seized her wrist and yanked her down for his kiss. "Ihavebruisebalmsa-- Oh!"
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Tsukasa sat with a dull expression on his face, as the strange being took a seat and interacted with the bar keep. Tsu's attention drifted for a moment towards a few of the other customers sitting at a table not far from them. The two were playing some sort of gambling game having much to do with dice. It intrigued Tsukasa; watching one man take the dice, throw them, win or lose some cash, rinse and repeat. This captured Tsu's mind for that moment, but his attention was dragged back to the bar top once more. The old bar keep had placed some form of beverage in front of him, and motioned him to drink it. Tsu stared this mug down for a moment before grabbing it, bringing it closer to his face and smelling it. After doing so, he took a small sip of it. It resembled a strange form of alcohol mixed with several stale and moldy fruits. Must've been a local thing.

As Tsukasa began to slowly take larger sips of this mug of mystery ale, he heard the voice of the being next to him. He spoke of thanks for the actions of Tsukasa, and then of something along the lines of an observance about the human race. While it slightly erked Tsukasa to be placed in the same biological bracket of the scum standing around him, he did agree with the xenophobic label the man had placed on the rest of them. He looked at the man with an almost tired look, as he stated his name. This all backed up Tsukasas theory that this Solomon wasn't what he might've seemed to be. Lacking the interest to stick Solomon in any sort of profile, He assumed the man had at least a few decades on him. Tsu took an actual gulp of his ale before turning to the man halfway, and replied "...Tsukasa Yajuu." Tsu spoke very smoothly and calmly for one of his...mental standing.

"What is one like you--" Tsu's words were abruptly cut off by those of the woman from ealier. Tsu had almost forgot about her until this point. She began speaking of things such as birth-day presents, and tempting the men into dirty things behind closed doors. However this all changed when she directed for voice towards himself and the Solomon. This was perplexing for only a moment, until you put two and two together. An unhappy hooker plus two un-boozed and cleaned men equals what would probably be a sweet night for everyone. But that wasn't what Tsukasa was thinking. Instead, he was thinking more along the lines of free ale. He was becoming slightly attached to the mug he'd been drinking for these last few moments. Tsu turned to Solomon for a moment speaking with a slight sigh "Couldn't hurt." Tsukasas mannerisms changed in that moment from that of a cold and calm adult, to more of a giddy teenager. The change was subtle, but you could notice a small goofy smile on his face. So with out another moments wait, Tsu hopped off his stool and entered this so called corridor. After entering this door, he took a few steps inward, turned his back against the wall, and leaned waiting for his new accomplice and their new friend to enter.
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As the stranger turned to face the Guardian, he got a better chance to examine the man’s features. His skin was pale, too pale to just be considered unhealthy, giving him an almost ghost-like appearance. As the scholar had noticed before, symmetrical tattoos ran down the length of his face, crimson streaks that started in a point near his jaw and curved upwards to end near the bottom of each eye. They reminded him of the tribal marking of several of the inhabitants of Elumintir, although he could not pin them to any specific area. Wispy strands of gray hair drifted across his features, held in place by the dark, stippled hat precariously perched on top of his head. Solomon would have assumed the man was an albino if not for the burning violet irises, a hue rarely seen in normal mortals. His eyes seemed almost glazed over, as if unfocused, a subtle hint of something wrong with the man’s mental state. His face was an almost expressionless mask, effectively veiling his mood. He was garbed simply in a black robe with a gray vest over it, intricate designs tracing the hem of his garments. When he spoke his voice was smooth and calm, an odd contrast with the odd look in his eyes. “… Tsukasa Yajuu.” The careful inflection and pronunciation of the name gave Solomon more clues about the man’s origin, although he could not place his birthplace for sure. Pausing in his makeshift artwork on the bar, Solomon lifted his hand to slide the mug of ale closer to him. Although he did not intend to drink much more this evening, the alcohol had left him with a warm sensation in the pit of his stomach, and the Guardian considered finishing off the cup before ordering something less inebriating. Tsukasa continued to talk, his eyes focused squarely on Solomon. “What is one like you—“

The man’s words were cut off as the courtesan from earlier stepped towards the duo, her red and white dress swirling around shapely legs. Solomon had stopped listening to her flirtatious banter for long enough to lose track of the happenings in the main room, but quickly got the gist of her intentions. She indicated Tsukasa and Solomon, gesturing them towards a corridor off to the side, a soft smile on her face. The expression quickly changed drastically, a mask of reluctance settling on the round features as she leaned in towards them, hidden from others in the crowd. "If you will please leave now, this dance is not for you. Wait for me." She leaned closer, her words growing so soft they were merely an exhalation of breath, quiet enough even the Guardian’s pointed ears had trouble picking them out. “Ihavebruisebalmsa-- Oh!" He wrist was enveloped by a meaty fist as another patron seized the small girl, yanking her onto his chair. Solomon blinked, unsure for a second if he had heard the girl correctly. She had insinuated that the two men were intended to be a gift to her, yet he had caught an undercurrent of worry in her tone, and something else. Was it… excitement? Longing? Perhaps she had not been bluffing when she had claimed the two for herself. Solomon brow furrowed as he looked to his companion, not knowing how he would take the invitation. Surprisingly, a small smile spread across the pale face, completely transforming his expression. “Couldn’t hurt.” The shorter man hopped off of his stool, magically managing to not spill a single drop out of the cup he carried. As he headed towards the door, Solomon sighed and pushed his own mug away, instead reaching out and grabbing his water glass from earlier. Without a glance at the girl he followed Tsukasa, sipping from the water, ignoring the jealous glares of several men in the crowd.

Closing the door behind him, the scholar glanced at their surroundings. Although the corridor was rather small, the walls were covered in intricate carvings that suggested a degree of elegance and class that had been lacking in the main room. Something in the design reminded him of Sibolandri, the distant home of his race. Few other mortals would ever witness the beautiful village, secure high in the treetops of Meigia, or the beautiful carvings interwoven into the homes by mages among his kind. Solomon had a sudden longing for his own kind, for the understanding that he would find there. But he repressed the feeling, instead drinking from his glass and turning to Tsukasa. “Usually, I would wonder if she planned on murdering us for our wallets as we slept, but this Inn seems to be rather unusual…” He shrugged and leaned against the wall, resting his head against the rough wood. He sorely wished he had camped out in the wilderness instead of venturing into this place that stunk of urine, vomit, alcohol, and violence, but it was too late now for such regrets.
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Marszenka's breath caught as both men obeyed, leaving the bar to slip out the door to the rest of the inn. She could only watch out of the corner of her eye, but the door remained shut--they were gone, they would not see what happened next, and she had to give such a sigh of relief the 'patron' tormenting her mistook it for pleasure. A complicated moment followed, but at the end the girl freed herself from his attentions and made her rounds, dutifully handing out kisses and touches and sweet little smiles and finishing it off with a dance she knew would make her mother weep. But nothing was hopeless now, for the Strangers had not seen. To them she was still clothed and possibly had still a shred of dignity; to someone she might not be a lost cause. There was a chance. Granted, it wasn't a very large chance. But it was a chance, and it eased the pressure on her heart a little as she pranced around strategically removing clothes.
Then at last it was done, and she was dressed again, and with a final flirtatious wave she was safely behind the Door. The girl had to lean against the wood for a moment to catch her breath, but after a silent moment or two she managed to calm herself and offered the two men a weary smile. "This way, if you please."

There was nothing else to say yet. She led them down another hall, and around a bend, and then opened a door on the far left side of this last little corridor--and there it was, a room scented of lemon with a scrap of muslin lace framing the one window and a pot bubbling over the coals. There was a table and chairs as well, with a scrap of tablecloth to cover it and a jug of flowers in the center. Another door led off to what was presumably a bedroom, and the far wall was taken up by a sagging couch--but it was comfortable. The harlot's dwelling was shabby and obviously poor but it was also spotless. The furniture and floor was polished to a mirror shine and the tub by the pump was empty of dishes and the glass in the cabinet windows shone. And everywhere the scent of lemon and linen, with a lantern or two scattered about for light. Marszenka carefully shut the door behind her guests and bolted it, then stood there awkwardly while she tried to think of something to say. The girl shyly rubbed one ankle with her foot, then chewed her lip, then finally offered a curtsy and a hesitant smile. "Thank you for coming."

They were staring at her. What would they think? Oh well, she had to start at the beginning anyway. So she did. "My name is Marszenka ((Mar-shane-kah)), and I'm very pleased to meet you. I invited you here because I did not want you to see me ah...word..dance...strip, not so? I am sorry to tell you that you are both very handsome boys but I do not wish to bed you much; for I feel that I might ruin you. But I have promised, so if you want I will give. I was not raised to break my promises." She took a breath, wide-eyed with uncertainty. "Such attentions must happen downstairs in the Other Room; I do not service two at once. You must take turns. But before that--"

One little arm swept out over the table. "I have tea, and very watery soup, and bread and cheese. You are welcome to share my meal. It is a little small but better than what you get downstairs, for I wash my dishes, and if you choose not to bed me you will get it free. And a very soft clean place to sleep until the morning. I--"

A tiny wail interrupted her, and she flurried off to the other door, returning not a moment later with an infant clasped to her chest. "Hush, hush now; Mama has you. There you are." A trail of kisses and the child soothed a little, and Marszy gave the strangers a sheepish smile. "This is Miera, my daughter...I am not really sixteen, not so? She came the beginning of my seventeenth summer; that was nearly a year ago. But there, I am done lying to you. She sleeps quiet now once she has supper and will not wake you." The dancer gave her dark-haired daughter a tender smile and another kiss, then sat on the couch and draped a blanket over her shoulder to let the baby suck. "You may take what you like for dinner now; I will be here until she is done. Welcome to my home."
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From the boisterous cheers emanating from the common room, it appeared as if Solomon and Tsukasa were missing quite a show. Not that the Guardian minded; he had been attracted to the girl in a moment of weakness earlier, and he knew no good would come of such a… earthly interaction. He sipped from the water slowly, nursing the drink carefully, unsure of when he would get the chance for a refill. The lewd yells began to crescendo, suggesting the harlot was treating the crowd to quite a bit more than she had offered them before. However, the inn slowly returned to its normal volume, and it was at that point that the girl pushed the door open hastily. She turned to wave seductively at the drunkards before quickly slamming the door shut, firmly placing the thick wood between her and her adoring fans. She leaned into the doorway for support, and Solomon sensed in that moment the shame that seemed to cover the girl like a cloak, her cheeks red from a combination of embarrassment and exhaustion. Still, when she turned around her features seemed to transform, all traces of discomfort expertly erased. “This way, if you please.” A heavy accent flavored her words, clipping certain syllables shorting and stretching out the vowels longer than was common in this region of Elumintir. Coupled with her clear fluency in the tongue of Erenor, he was relatively certain of her homeland, although it simply added to his confusion as to her presence her, as well as her profession. Without a word he followed the courtesan through the hallway, ducking when an offending board protruded from the makeshift ceiling. She opened the door for the duo, and the Guardian entered silently, amber eyes drinking in his new surroundings.

The room was small and simple, but had a pleasant atmosphere that suggested it was not some din of sin and pleasure, but rather served as home to the young girl. It was sparsely furnished, but was clean and smelled faintly of citrus, an aroma Solomon would take over stale alcohol and vomit anytime. The flickering lanterns provided the room with sufficient, if not steady, illumination, clearly revealing the effort the girl had put into making her surroundings livable. The click of a lock closing caused him to glance over his shoulder, evaluating these new developments. She looked at him for a moment before moving her eyes to the floor, nervously rubbing one ankle with her other foot. She spoke, her pleasant voice lacking all of the bluster and flirtatiousness it had rang with before. “Thank you for coming.” She looked up, clearly shy now that she lacked a full audience, a trait that endeared her further to the scholar. He smiled slightly at her, silently encouraging her to continue talking. "My name is Marszenka, and I'm very pleased to meet you. I invited you here because I did not want you to see me ah... word… dance... strip, not so?” A bright blush flushed her cheeks, surprisingly; one would think her station would accustom her to such topics, but clearly the girl still possessed scruples most paramours lacked. He had to admit, her bright brown eyes and soft curls only added to her attractiveness, creating quite an adorable picture. “I am sorry to tell you that you are both very handsome boys but I do not wish to bed you much; for I feel that I might ruin you. But I have promised, so if you want I will give. I was not raised to break my promises." Before Solomon could assure her that was not his intention when he had left the main room, she continued on, confidence filling her voice once more. He remained silent, studying her curiously. "Such attentions must happen downstairs in the Other Room; I do not service two at once. You must take turns. But before that--"

Solomon’s attention wandered as she continued to speak, unconsciously absorbing the information she was sharing. She was quite an interesting specimen, this Marszenka. From her name and accent, he would guess that she was not from Elumintir at all, but rather a country far distant from these shores, a country he had never gotten the opportunity to visit or explore, although he knew much about their culture from his studies. Yet here she was, in the middle of Amalterre, in a rather undesirable profession. He continued to muse on the matter until an unexpected sound came from the other room, causing their host to hurriedly abandon them. Solomon barely had time to take a seat and set down his glass on the table before she returned with the source of the cry: a human infant, appearing to be only a year old at most. His eyes softened immediately, warmth that hadn’t been present before glowing deep in the amber irises. Children were rare among his race, and Solomon would often take the time to watch over and teach the youngest Guardians on his rare visits to Sibolandri. He felt the ache of loneliness once more, a deep desire that haunted many of his kind. They had traded a large population for the lifespan of several millennia, and Solomon often regretted not only the rarity of younglings, but his lack of any offspring.

Still, it did no good to wonder about things that weren’t, and the scholar snapped his focus back to the girl as she introduced the infant, fondly smothering it with affection. He treated himself to a small piece of bread, snapping the heel of the loaf off and nibbling on the rough crust. Although he wasn’t particularly hungry, it would be rude to turn down the food after the girl had offered it. “Thank you, milady.” He addressed her with the respect all sentient beings deserved, which would exclude any of the men he and Tsukasa had incapacitated less than an hour before. “It takes a certain amount of bravery to offer your home to two strangers, especially when they were responsible for such a ruckus earlier.” He smiled ruefully, pausing to chew on the warm bread. It was filling and fresh, if not a culinary delicacy, and Solomon allowed himself to tear off another chunk before continuing. “Rest assured, I would never be so callous as to expect you to entertain one such as myself. I fear your beauty far outstrips my station in life, and as such a lowly scholar, I would never ask you to stoop to my level.” His tone was light and playful, clearly in friendlier mood after she had brought out the baby. He did not look directly at Marszenka, attempting to grant her some privacy with her child, even if it was impossible with all three of them in the cramped room. He fell back into silence, enjoying the impromptu meal.
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The girl startled and blushed to be called 'milady', lowering her eyes before the gentle-voiced man. Had anyone ever called her 'lady'? Well, yes. Once, her final summer of innocence, she'd been made Harvest Queen and had worn a crown of flowers and the newly-made wedding dress for Someday that was still hanging in her closet. That day and night she had been called Lady and silly young men (not least of all her elder brother) had fallen dramatically to their knees all over the place, clasping their hands and pleading for a chance to prove themselves to their 'Queen'. The very tallest and broadest man in the village--Kaza Mierckowytz--had pulled out his Dragon mask and played at ravaging the new queen. He'd picked tiny Marszenka up and set her in the lowest branch of the great elm in the village square, then roared and pranced about daring any of the 'knights' to save their Lady from certain death. Marszenka had to smile just remembering that evening, but as she thought about the tall stranger the smile faded a little. All of that had been teasing 'My Ladys". Her guest sounded serious. She eyed him from her place on the couch and uncertainly drew the blanket further over her breast, covering herself from view. "Thank you. I mean, welcome."

Her color deepened. "I mean, I am no lady, and not very brave either." She bounced little Miera on her knee. "You simply could do nothing to me that has not already been done, except I suppose to harm Miera. And I see how you are looking at her that would never happen, not so?" Marszenka managed another smile, gently moving the infant away from her chest and turning her outwards to face Solomon. The young woman lifted a tiny fist in her own to make the baby wave at her guests (Miera responded by kicking her mother in the leg). "Haha. I am not yet certain but I think that means she likes you. It had better or I will have to give her a pas for kicking her mother." ((pas=spank)) But Marszy only sounded affectionate, and bent down to kiss her daughter's chubby cheek.

That was when the tall man made her uncertain again. Solomon's praise of her beauty made the courtesan pause and glance at him, wary. Was he teasing her? The tone of her voice made her think yes, but the look in his eyes made her think no. And threaded through it all was the memory of another man who had called her beautiful--nicely enough at first, until--

The night in the barn seared across her heart again, and Marszenka stiffened and turned white. Her mouth set as if to swallow bile, then the moment passed and the girl had Miera in her lap, bending her head over the child to let her curls fall into Miera's face. "Haha, my guest is funny, not so? He is funny, Miera." She poked the baby in the stomach as a means of distracting herself. "Our very tall and handsome guest of the pleasant voice must think whores are blind to make such jokes about station; or else he does not realize that we of Erenor have the mountain-magic in our blood. Right little one? You and I both see the four fingers of our Lord the Guardian."

She looked up wearily, soft brown eyes meeting amber. "If anything, I am too dirty and world-stained for one of your station, and that of your servant." The girl nodded to Tsukasa. "Were I someone else I would kneel and offer everything in thanks, but I do not wish to insult either of you, not so?" Now she managed a smile, and stood up to walk to the guardian. Marszenka hesitated a moment in front of his chair, then sank down to her knees anyway and laid tiny Miera in his arms. "Well. I suppose I can after all; my Everything is different now." Her smile quirked up at one corner, and she supported herself by crossing her arms over Solomon's knee. "You speak so kindly to me, Nameless Lord. Thank you."

For a moment the girl wondered why the pale-haired servant was so silent, but perhaps he had taken a vow so she did not wish to bother him. At any rate she was in very real danger of weeping, as well in danger of making a complete spectacle of herself by either running from the Guardian guest in terror or by seizing him to offer grateful kisses. The real trouble here was that all men were Czcibor now--he was staining over all the good and truth that might be found in men and making her doubt any lovely word tossed her way. But what if this one wasn't? The thought that her stranger might not have the enchanter in him made Marszenka's breath catch. If only it were so, what a wonderful thing that would be! If only.

Perhaps the strongest factor in Solomon's favor was that she wanted this hope to be true. For the first time in years, Marszenka was daring to hope.
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Tsukasa leaned against the wall with little more than a faint smile floating about his face. Tsu brought the mug in his hand up to his mouth for a small sip, but was disheartened when he found his mug was empty. With a slight sigh under his breath, Tsukasa knelt down and placed the mug on the floor next to him. As he rose, his new found accomplice Solomon entered into the room. Tsukasa studied this man for a moment, taking a deeper look into the mans mannerisms. The man spoke of something along the lines of murder for money, but Tsukasa only laughed under the sound of his exhaling breath.

Tsu was about to reply to the man, when the woman from the other room entered. She looked as if she'd gone for a jog, flustered eyes, rosy cheeks. There was what seemed to be an awkward silence, before the mistress spoke to them, leading them down a hall way. He looked at Solomon for a moment with a half smile, and followed along the two. The three entered a small room with not a whole lot too it, a couch, some lanterns, and a few other living essentials. Tsu took a few steps into the room, glancing about at the surprising cleanliness of a broken down room. Tsukasa leaned against the wall just next to the door, as she began to speak to the two men. She spoke of being true to her word, even if it meant being what she already seemed to be. While this didn't seem to phase Him, Tsukasas eyes made their way over to the tea and bread she offered to them. Tsukasa paid no real mind to the tiny wail the girl had so quickly gone to tend to, as he took a few steps and poured himself a small cup of tea. Tsu took a sip of the tea, but was distracted by his accomplice as he turned his head and looked off. Tsukasa looked at Solomon, then towards where he was looking, but didn't see what he seemed to see. Without a real answer, Tsu took another sip of his tea.

Tsukasas head tilled off to the side for a moment, as he listen to this girl speak. She spoke very peculiarly, ending many of her sentences with the words 'not so', as if to ask a rhetorical question. It slightly irritated Tsu in a passive way, but He left a smile on his face for the most part.

As the girl began to feed her baby daughter, Solomon began showering her with complements. Words such as bravery, and milady spewed from his mouth, but without any hint of sarcasm or lust. She replied with with self demeaning words, but Tsukasas faint smile quickly became a haphazard half grin when she referred to him as Solomons 'Servant". Tsukasa stopped paying any attention to the words being spoken from one to the other. The girl was desperate for some sort of service, but Solomon didn't seem to be interested in what she was offering. Or maybe it was just that strange sense of all-knowingness he probably has stored somewhere in his head. But when the mistress speak of mountain magic, his attention snapped back to them and confirmed his assumptions about Solomon, the guardian.

Tsu's grin slowly turned back to his faint smile as he took a step closer to Solomon, now placing him to his right as if a "servant" would do. He took a slow sip from his cup of tea as he stood in a moment of silence, hiding his own intelligence in a strange attempt to see just what might happen to this mistress and her ever so beloved child.
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Solomon allowed the girl to speak freely, a smile creeping across his features when the infant was raised and made to wave at him. He contemplatively munched on the bread as she continued. About halfway through her chatter, her demeanor changed entirely. The girl went pale as a ghost, her eyes gaining a haunted look that she quickly hid by staring into her baby’s eyes, dark curls blocking out both men. When she continued her words were sly, and maybe a hint of smugness. . "Our very tall and handsome guest of the pleasant voice must think whores are blind to make such jokes about station; or else he does not realize that we of Erenor have the mountain-magic in our blood. Right little one? You and I both see the four fingers of our Lord the Guardian." The scholar paused for a moment, about to take another bite. He quickly resumed the action, watching her silently as she continued to insult herself with the confidence of one completely lacking any self-esteem. Not only had she cemented her nationality, but had correctly identified him as a Guardian. Knowledge of his kind was rare, and very few outsiders knew anything about them besides the legends passed from mouth to ear. Soon she was finished, allowing him to finally get a word in edgewise. He cleared his throat softly, swallowing and taking a small drink from the glass of water.

“I am no Lord, Marszenka. My name is Solomon Grundy, and I do not deserve such a lofty title.” He laughed softly, smiling kindly to show he was not mocking her, but was honestly amused. Tsukasa, for reasons unknown to the Guardian, remained silent. Solomon looked at him for a moment before continuing, deciding to introduce the other man, who still had an odd look in his violet gaze. “And my friend here is named Tsukasa Yajuu. And he is not my se-“ The other man surprised him by stepping closer, adopting a position that would seem natural in a master-servant arrangement. Solomon contemplatively stared at Tsukasa for a moment longer as he took a sip of tea, clearly quite content with the girl’s assessment of their relationship. Shrugging inwardly, he turned back to Marszenka. She had used his moment of inattention to stand and walk over, kneeling in front of him. She gently offered the babe to him, and with a combination of amazement and appreciation he held his arms out. The little girl squirmed as she was transferred, little hands reaching out towards a lock of long, brown hair that had escaped the ponytail trailing down his back. Fascinated, he leaned down so that Miera’s chubby fingers could reach the feathery strand, wincing slightly as the child yanked. He chuckled, four-fingered hands carefully cradling the youngling. Marszenka propped her arms on his knees, smiling up at the Guardian. Solomon deliberately avoided looking at her, instead staring gently at the infant. The courtesan was clearly warming to him, despite whatever horrible memory had sparked the strange reaction later. Or perhaps it was not a memory, but instead a reaction to their presence here…? He looked up, still slightly hunched over so that Miera could play with his hair. This resulted in their faces being closer than was probably socially acceptable, but she was probably used to such close proximity.

“… Forgive me if you thought I was mocking you, Milad- Marszenka. I am accustomed to speaking formally to any who appear to deserve my respect, and you fall into that category quite neatly.” He nodded awkwardly at the room, careful to not pull his hair from the girl, who was happily tying the brown ends into makeshift knots. “I would not dream of harming the child, or yourself, but any who offers their home to me is a lady, be they a member or nobility or a girl housed in a rather cramped and rowdy inn.” He fondly smiled down at the child once more before gently tugging the knotted mess from her tiny hands, leaning further back. He carefully cradled her in one arm, resting her tiny feet on his legs, so that one hand was free. He raised it above the girls face, moving his fingers back and forth in a simple pattern that seemed to transfix the infant. Out in the open, it was clear to see why the four digits of the Guardians was their most definable trait. The fingers were equally spaced around the palm, with the shorter, thumb-like appendage near the inside of his forearm and the other three equally long and thin. Only their lack of a fifth finger and the leathery texture of his skin would differentiate Solomon from an elf, with his almond-shaped eyes and pointed ears. “She is a beautiful child, just like her mother.” The Guardian looked towards the strumpet, raising an eyebrow at her. “And what an unlikely mother she is! Marszenka, from the mountains of Erenor, hiding quite a somber tune within a cheerful melody for the entertainment of guests barely fit to lick her shoes.” From this close, she really was quite adorable. He kept that fact from his face, however, and instead turned his attention back to Miera. This female was quite a bit safer to shower affection upon. She would not assume that he meant only to bed her for the effort. “Isn’t that right, dear?” His voice held a gentle wonder that seemed out of place in the usually taciturn scholar.
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Fairy Princess
[ *  *  * ]
Miera made a noise that might have been the beginnings of a laugh, then squirmed some more in the stranger's hands, flailing one little fist in an attempt to grab more of Solomon's hair. Her mother was silent. Truth be told, Marszenka didn't know what to say. She thought this stranger was trustworthy...probably. After all, he liked Miera; and Marszenka would have forgiven a demon his flaws if the demon happened to like Miera. And he was being so gentle to babe and to mother. So it was that the girl looked at the tall scholar with struggle in her eyes, silently trying to decide what to do. There was an unspoken question in his words, and she wished to give him an answer. But he was a man. The courtesan bit her lip and flicked her glance down to the floor, trying desperately to quell the rising urge to spill her secrets. He was a Guardian. A scholar. A mighty being in the middle of some mighty work; he was being polite but what would he really care for a whore in the middle of nowhere? Resolutely Marszenka shut her mouth, but then the thought came unbidden: Maybe he can help the curse.

At that point the young woman broke and slumped forward to bury her face in Solomon's knee, hiding from him so he would not see her blush. "I would argue that a strumpet like myself is almost a more likely mother than anyone else I can think of."

She laughed weakly, and the sound was muffled in the fabric of the scholar's breeches. "And sometimes the guests do lick my shoes. Not so." Marszenka's fingers twisted themselves helplessly into her hair, a measure taken to prevent them fluttering all over the place like nervous butterflies. She felt sick. It wasn't fair, that she wanted to confide in someone so badly yet still couldn't speak for shame. Still, the girl was no coward, and she was tired of secrets. So tired of secrets. So she continued on, staunchly but softly revealing herself to the creature that had called her Lady. "There is an unasked question in your mind. I will answer for you, because you are so nice to Miera." Marszenka swallowed, then turned her head to the side so it was her cheek on Solomon's knee and she was looking away from his face. She did not want to see his expression as he learned.

"I have a large and very nice family in Erenor; very poor. But we were fine until our village lord died and his son became lord. The son made us poorer. So you can imagine how happy I was when I found work in the manor; I would make money and it did not matter if the crops lived or died. It was such a blessing." The girl did not look up. "Until Lord Czcibor decided I was pretty. " Her voice faded to a dry whisper, barely audible. "When I would not have him, he lured me somewhere quiet--the stables, with the promise of seeing a new colt. And then--" She shuddered once, stiffening all over again to remember the knife and the wild look in his eyes and the way his smile had twisted when he'd broken her wrist. "Then..." There weren't words. So she sniffled and hid her face further against Solomon's leg, trying desperately not to cry and to think of something to say. "He hurt me. And after he thought I was very hurt and very broken, he cursed me and sent me home. And then I was with child."

Marszenka struggled valiantly to just tell the story. It was just a stupid story; she didn't need to stop every two seconds to sniffle away her forbidden tears. They both probably thought she was an idiot. "When Kazimiera was maybe five months grown, I decided to leave. My parents would take care of me and baby both, but truly they could not afford to. And I the ruined would never marry and find support. The only thing to do was leave, far away where I would not shame them and they could no longer worry. So I did. I went maybe ten villages away and looked for work and found none lasting because I had no husband and a growing baby. Everywhere it was the same, so I went over the waters. Miera was born in the mountains between cities, under a pine tree." Finally the courtesan lifted her head and gave a tiny smile, looking at her daughter with unmistakable love. "I am proud of myself for that; for giving birth by myself with no one to help. But mostly I think it was a miracle we both lived." Her eyes brightened, then dulled again as she remembered the rest of the story. "So yes. We lived, I found a city, I found a brothel that would hire me. So I did it. I had to feed her now too; I had to work. Did not matter that the touch of men sent me into terrors; she had to eat so I had to work and I just made myself do it. I was not very good though."

She blushed. "Madam finally sent me away, here, because the upscale clients at her place were too sober to like the kind of whore I was. I have gotten a little better since then; I can mask my fear and pretend. So I make money, and Miera eats, and I am still cursed. Now you know why I sing sad words to a happy tune. It is me."
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