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 Posted: Tue Dec 26, 2006 4:01 pm
Owle looked at Jack in confusion, continuing to stare at him with a puzzled look on his face even while she retrieved some eggs from the fridge. "Um...you had this whole huge bag with you, and I think you left most of it upstairs in your room. I don't think it all got blown up, some clothing at least must be up there still. Though I bet all your weapons got destroyed, I think you had those on you..."
Crack the egg, put it in a bowl, toss the shell in the trash. Repeat.
She turned angrily at Paul's statement, giving him a look. "Hey, we may be backwards, but we're not savages. Jeez. You shouldn't be playing with people's emotions in the first place..."
Shaking her head, her eyes returned to Jack. The boy looked really lost...confused. Boy? He'd seemed more a brash and confident young man when she'd last seen him...
"Look, Jack, you're really weirding me out. Why do you keep...looking like that?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 26, 2006 4:09 pm
"Jack...?"
Nameless looked up from his boots with a blink, and then to Paul and what other males were in the room. Perhaps their names were Jack. He didn't really know any of them. Hell, he didn't even know his own name for that matter.
"Weapons? I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what ou are talking about."
The steel blue orbs turned back to Owle, as she was looking to him in the first place. The huge bag that he supposedly brought with him was of interest, but Nameless doubted anything in there would help. Likely it'd be good for another change of clothes.
That's about it.
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Posted: Tue Dec 26, 2006 4:48 pm
Owle stepped forward, setting the bowl of scrambled but uncooked eggs down on the counter. So she had a free hand, which was used to wave in front of his face. "Yeah, Jack. Jack...Handy, was it?" Owle made a face as she tried to remember. "That's what you told me your name was, anyway. Don't you remember?"
She looked even more annoyed and confused when he said he didn't know anything about his weapons. Throwing her hands up in frustration, she exclaimed "What? But you...there were all these things, and..."
Annoyance fading to mere confusion.
"...you taught me how to spar, and..."
Confusion fading into sadness, as she leaned forward to get a better look at his eyes.
"...don't you remember anything?" she whispered, pleading.
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Posted: Tue Dec 26, 2006 4:59 pm
Namelss' memories of Owle tied him into seeing those glasses again, and off to the side were some weapons. He got a blurry image of their meeting, with his equipment off to the side...
"...at a beach."
Nameless was a bit surprised with how Owle acted.
"I guess I'm Jack Handy, if you say so."
Jack looked hard after he heard her pleading voice, trying to remember anything. Just for her. She was his only friend afterall, and he'd nearly killed her.
"All I remember is you, how we met, and that I almost killed you."
Jack couldn't look into her eyes at that, and they shifted to the side downwards.
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Posted: Tue Dec 26, 2006 5:07 pm
"You didn't kill me," Owle said, that note of confusion seeping back into her voice again. He just looked so sad... "Not a scratch on me. See?" And she twirled, showing off her lack of visible injuries.
She smiled up at him, though she wasn't feeling too happy...it wasn't a good feeling, to be forgotten. But if he remembered her...even just a little bit...then that was enough for her.
"Well, I guess that's enough. I don't know very much about you...except you used to be a marine and then you were dropped off on Gaia and started wandering around. You can stay here as long as you want...I'm not going to charge you nothing for the room and board."
It would have to be enough.
Still staring at Jack, Owle slowly pulled a pan out from underneath a cabinet, buttered it up and stuck it on the stovetop.
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Posted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 5:44 pm
Owle Isohos She turned angrily at Paul's statement, giving him a look. "Hey, we may be backwards, but we're not savages. Jeez. You shouldn't be playing with people's emotions in the first place..." At this, an amused sound escapes Paul's throat, but he doesn't interrupt Owle's conversation with the...what was the Terran equivalent... wraith that stood before them. Paul: And she's one to talk...no real time to explain my motives, either.He watches the coffee pot in a hawk-like fashion, having never heard the Terran saying about such things.
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Posted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 8:42 pm
Owle, unlike most endowed with powers like hers, didn't like to use them. At all. Ever. In life or death situations she would make the exception, but if there were any other alternative at all, any other way around the thing that was threatening to kill her or her loved ones, Owle would not use her mind-affecting abilities against it. It was only in life or death situations where it seemed no one else could so something that she would even think of using her powers against another.
She caught the amused sound, but didn't say anything about it, yet. Waiting for Jack to answer as she poured the eggs into the pan.
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Posted: Thu Jan 04, 2007 7:12 pm
The coffee refused to percolate any faster, despite (or due to) Paul's intense focus on it. With a sigh, he abandons his post in the kitchen.
Paul: "I'll be back when this thing starts to boil."
He strides out of the kitchen, scootching past this Jack fellow to return to the main part of the tavern. The sounds of strings being plucked tentatively echo through the tavern to the kitchen as Paul attempts to find a tune to play.
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Posted: Mon Jan 15, 2007 12:25 pm
"... uvabi...!"
Someone's voice could be loudly and clearly heard just before something flinging sand everywhere came rolling (or maybe skidding) through the entry of the Firebrand, pulling debris and dust with it. The ball of green and brown rolled straight through to the kitchen, where a dull thud could be heard.
A few moments later, a rawhide bomber jacket floated in through the doorway along with the clanging of three katana and a cloud of more dust and sand. As for the object in the kitchen, well....
"Someone's making coffee? Hate the stuff," said the young man named Rage laying in a heap up against the back wall. Seeming to simply shrug off his death-defying experience, he sprung up and put a hand on the percolator - which immediately came to a boil. "Hey there, Owle," he added, as if there was nothing unusual about him entering like this, especially after all this time. He was covered in cuts and scrapes, although not all of them looked like they were due to his recent return.
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Posted: Mon Jan 15, 2007 2:42 pm
The sudden rush of sand and grime took Paul completely by surprise: normally, he'd have played a few notes and blasted the particles away, but now he was coated in sand, grit and whatever else Rage had kicked up on his way in. Blinking furiously, Paul strikes a chord and flips the guitar so the strings face him, and the resulting whump of sonic energy takes care of most of his problem. Then his ear catches the sound of boiling water...
Paul: Finally!
He puts his guitar back into its case and paces into the kitchen just as Rage withdraws his hand from the percolator while he greets Owle. With a nod of thanks, Paul searches out a mug and commences to pour himself a cup.
Paul: Nothing like a good cup of coffee...
The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the smell of cooking eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Paul takes this in with a faint grin...then starts, almost slopping coffee all over his hand.
Paul: "Whoops. Almost forgot the cardinal rule of kitchens: if you're not cooking, get out."
With an apologetic grin, he returns to the main part of the Firebrand to drink his coffee there...and maybe to clean up the main section of the tavern afterwards. It was the least he could do; the owners had pretty much taken him in and he'd done nothing in return.
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Posted: Thu Feb 22, 2007 4:05 pm
((So...whenever people are ready, feel free to time jump this to after HoH.
It's been frozen way too long.))
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Posted: Thu Feb 22, 2007 6:42 pm
((I might have Paul go off and do something, only to be replaced by Gareth for a bit. I think Paul's gone and attached himself to the Firebrand, though, so I doubt he'll be gone long if he leaves.))
It's been several weeks since Owle, Rage, and every other customer mysteriously disappeared from the Firebrand. Much to the chagrin of the dwarves there, Paul had taken it onto himself to run the booze end of the tavern's business, serving what customers did meander in to wet their throats with the alcohol of their choice. All his earnings went into the till, even the barkeep's tips (what tips were given). He figured this was only fair, as he was practically freeloading before.
Today, Paul is sitting on the porch, having been driven there by a lack of customers. He strums his guitar absent-mindedly, no recognizable tune issuing from the strings as he watches the sunlight sparkle on the waves.
Paul: Ah...I miss the feel of a deck under my feet...
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Posted: Wed Mar 07, 2007 10:47 pm
Out of seemingly nowhere, a stocky, grumpy, travelwork dwarf appeared at the front steps of the tavern, twisting the doorknob and giving it a "gentle" shove, which slammed it against the wall. Heavy boots fell upon the floorboards as the dwarf stepped inside, stopping just inside the doorway and taking a quick look at the place before casually strolling over to the bar. He stood just a little over four feet tall, with fair, rough-looking skin, reddish-brown brown, a thick beard that hung down to his chest, and blue eyes. He wore a dusty sleeveless shirt and a lizardhide vest, a leather belt around his waist which held up his dark pants, and dusty leather boots on his feet. Hanging from his belt was a waraxe and three throwing axes, and slung over his back was a travelpack, holding his armor and other equipment, with a round shield hanging off the side of it. He appears to have been travelling for quite some time, which means he was mighty thirsty.
"Oi, barkeep! An ale fer me, if ye'd please," he called out as he dropped his pack and seated himself in a stool at the bar.
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Posted: Wed Mar 07, 2007 11:37 pm
As soon as the dwarf had made his way up the porch steps, the red longcoat-wearing guitarist was packing up his instrument. Once the door was booted open, Paul winced as he examined the wall behind the recently offended portal. Seeing no real damage done, Paul hopped behind the bar as the dwarf made his order.
Paul: "Your ale will be poured sh--er, nimbly, sir."
With a grimace at what was almost a faux pas (never mention height around a dwarf if you can help it), Paul retrieves a glass mug and goes for the ale, returning a moment later with the mug full and a decent head on the ale.
Paul: "You'll forgive my not being at the bar, sir. Business has been slow of late."
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Posted: Wed Mar 07, 2007 11:52 pm
"Aw, don't worry about it, barkeep. Ah've been travellin' fer days now without any drink. Ah can wait another minute or two." He took the mug in his hand and brought it to his lips, gulping the ale down immediately. He placed the empty mug down, wiping the froth off his beard and then tossing a few gold coins on the countertop.
"Ah, that's the good stuff," he said with a content sigh, then burped. "Fill 'er up, an' start me a tab, bwahaha!"
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