The Dragon's Flagon - Open RP

[haphazardly parked]

- {Dumbass...} the Staff thought in a mutter.

Patience. We're in a tavern - we can't afford to get in a fight simply because a drunken fool thinks to toy with us. -

Emry didn't follow Bailey's gaze; he understood quite clearly what the pirate was getting at, and it made him shift awkwardly before he straightened and cleared his throat. He considered turning and walking out. It would have been the smart thing to do, but then, nobody ever accused Emry Conte of being smart. (The Council only ever referred to him as a clever b*****d, or devious, tricky fiend so Emry was not lying when he said nobody ever called him smart.)

"It's quite a big deal," Emry said blandly, deciding to play along to see where this would go. Hopefully, the pirate would get bored and walk off. "One of the most powerful weapons ever created."

{No,} the Staff contradicted the reason behind Emry's decision. {i]You just like to brag on me. Oh, stop it! I'm blushing!}  

[Robayn]

"Really?" Bailey's eyes twinkled in merriment. Whether the mage was truly playing along or playing into his/her hands Bailey didn't care. This was far better than drinking alone any day.

"Well then I ought to let you know that I wasn't exactly lying when I told you my sword was magical too.. " he/she paused to lean back slightly on the table and bring one leg up to rest the ankle on his/her other knee as he/she spoke. "You just happened to feel up the wrong blade when you were reaching out with those mystical fingers of yours."

Of course the truth to that statement was clearly unknown, whether a 'sword' truly lay in the depths of Bailey's trousers or not, but he/she enjoyed taking the conversation any direction it might go.  

[haphazardly parked]

Emry's face was a mask of incredulous confusion.

He had been playing along, but now he was just lost.

"Uh..." he faltered, now unsure of what to do. "Right. Well. Uh. You know what I just realized? I am late for a meeting. A very important one."

Chances were, Emry actually was late for a meeting. With an assassin, or something. Or with the Staff? Or a comrade or anyone who wouldn't hit on him.

Emry wasn't feeling picky. He would even go for someone who did hit on him, as long as it wasn't a gender-ambiguous freak.  

[Robayn]

All it took was a deft twist and a little use of some very finely toned core muscles for Bailey to turn about on the table and hop down between Emry and the door. His/her stance was not threatening when the shiny boots tapped onto the floor and Bailey's attempt at a pouting, beseeching expression dismissed any notion that he/she wanted to fight.

"A meeting in the middle of the woods, where a magical tavern just happens to be on the way to... who are you meeting with? The Wicked old Witch?"

Bailey smiled slyly and moved a little bit closer.

"Maybe we got off to a poor start. Would you rather if I introduced myself? I can play nice if that's what you prefer.. or maybe you're just resisting my charms a little too much?"  

[Ronyo Storm]

To say Ronyo was not enjoying the show between the funny mage and the bizarre pirate would have been an understatement. The druid could not remember when he had seen such a entertaining spectacle in his life. He had seen many things over his years in the forest, many of which could be considered funny, however some only morbidly so. This took the preverbal cake though and the druid could not help but chuckle a bit at the whole thing. The changes in the winds had been easily enough detected by the druid and he had a good idea at the moment where they came from, which had him believing the mage about his sentient staff more and more. With a relaxing lean in his chair Ronyo continued to watch the two carry on with their performance.  

[haphazardly parked]

There was no fanfare, no blast of celebratory trumpets to announce his entrance as there usually was. Chamberlain Evatts did not proclaim his Royal Highness en courte, and the susurrations of expensive, well-tailored cloth as all in the room sketched a bow or dipped into a curtsy did not follow.

Quite the contrary; the room did not change a whit with his quiet, inconspicuous entrance. The raucous laughter of regular tavern gamblers was all-pervasive. The drunken villagers and equally inebriated travelers kept on leering, and the voluptuous serving-women continued to evade their wandering hands and swat away pinching fingers with shy laughs and coy smiles. Drinks and food were served, and everything was normal when Darren took his seat. Activity was not suspended for a prince without a throne to inherit.

His goal was to be forgotten; he did not take to a darkened corner, where the firelight cast shadows that hid those who were obvious in their desire to be hidden. The hood of his well-made but obviously worn brown cloak was down, his handsome, not-so-clean-shaven of late features bared for all the world to see. Similarly, his boots, though tailored to fit one prince and one prince only, were as worn as his cloak. A layer of dust coated every inch of him, and any sign of wealth in the make of his elegantly simple clothing weeks of hard traveling did not wear away, the dust hid.

Had it really been just weeks since his uncle had usurped the throne? It felt like years - like eternity, at the very least - to Darren. An eternity with nothing but the memory of the Lord Chamberlain passing the King a goblet, an eternity of remembering the final choking gasp of Jasson the Third, the thud as his lifeless body fell to the ground -

- Darren, the second in the royal line of Merailles to bear his name, shook his head and in the action hoped to shake away the memories. Affecting a good-natured but weary look - a disposition he found was difficult to feign in the former but all-too easy to show in the latter - he ordered a tankard of ale from a passing serving women and settled back in his seat, gaze roving.

A druid, looking out of place. A man who seemed to be dressed in a manner that sought to proclaim as flamboyantly as possible that he was a mage. A male - female - ... an androgynous pirate harassing the mage...

Was this an ordinary night for the tavern? If so, the prince could only praise his luck; with patrons this odd, no one would notice a worn traveler seeking refuge for the night. Even if he paid in pure gold.
 

[Kala Kirya]

Inara Quickblade pushed the heavy wood door open with a sigh of relief, glad to be in and out of the rain that had started sometime in the past hour. It wasn't that she didn't like rain, but there was only so much you could stand when it was dark and damp, and you really just wanted to stop for the night.

She inhaled the familiar scent of smoke and alcohol, food and the press of people. She grinned and pushed back the black hood of her cloak, shaking out her wild, curly black hair. Silver eyes flecked with purple surveyed the room, coming to a stop on the bar as her grin widened.

She strode over and tapped on the bar with a dark skinned hand marred by a few small scars. "A whiskey, please, or something stronger, if you have it." she murmured, noting the teasing... person... several feet away. He... she... it, she decided, realizing it was just going to be too confusing to try and figure it out at the moment. She hadn't had anything to drink yet.  

[Robayn]

Bailey pouted at the mage's determination to avoid both pleasantries and names, even her company, and elicited a high, pitiful whining sound not unlike a puppy as he batted his eyelashed at the pale man. After not a single bite or tug on the heartstrings she whirled dramatically, swaggering a bit with the intoxication of her senses, and glared at the room as if it were to blame for her unsuccessful passes.

In her focus on the mage she'd missed newcomers, three of them, and her glare lessened as she studied them each. A druid, tall and fair like the mage but with a countenance that seemed just the opposite - he was, quite, even simply in being. A man of nature rather than the arcane, and a smile to accompany the twinkling green eyes. He seemed comfortable enough, watching them strangely, and so Bailey turned her attention to another who was also sitting.

A wet, sodden boy who seemed equally intent on becoming invisible as the other patrons did on becoming inebriated. He was good looking, that was certain, and Bailey openly appreciated his rugged appearance, a gristle at the cheeks that suggested he was more than mature enough for a satisfying rump in the sack, and a sorry, dirty appearance for the rest of him. He seemed well traveled, or just a dirty boy, and Bailey did tend to like both...

Then she-he-it (sometimes even Bailey forgot which) spied the newest, judging by the space around her at the bar in which company had yet to fill, arrival. A grin revealing surprisingly perfect, white teeth broke the otherwise smudged, dark lips and face and Bailey removed her hand, took a wipe off the table near her where it was the wettest from spilled ale, and ran it through the pale blonde hair that was no doubt bleached beyond it's natural state by the long, sun-filled days of a life at sea. Then, replacing her hat and readjusting the fake eye patch to the other eye (in full sight of the bar), her grin turned wolfish as he sauntered his way over to the new girl with a feminine swagger to a masculine stride - all in all, a precarious walk that Bailey had mastered long ago.

"Now what's a wet-dream like you doing in a place like this - without company?" He said, in a surprisingly articulate manner. Despite appearances, Bailey was just as well spoken as any mage, or druid, or even a scholar, should the he/she wish to be.  

[Kala Kirya]

Ina raised an eyebrow at the... being. She took the whiskey the barkeep handed her and downed it in one fell swoop, putting it down with a snap and motioning for him to give her another.

She straightened to her full height, rather tall woman that she was, and cocked her head, a grin flirting with the edges of her lips as she regarded the person in front of her. Roguish, androgynous, and obviously hell bent on getting a strong reaction out of whoever "it" happened to confront.

This could be fun.

"I was passing through, but the rain discouraged me from going any further. Besides, it's a cold night out there, I thought I might need something to warm me up." She traced the grain of the wood in the bar, eyeing the person. "That should answer the first part of your question. As to the second... Well, we had a disagreement." she said with a small smile. "Why do you want to know?"  

[Ronyo Storm]

Ronyo watched as another road wary traveler entered the establishment. This time it was a tall female with long dark hair and eyes that did not seem completely natural. She ordered a strong drink from the bartender which helped to strengthen the idea of being on the road to much. Indeed the rain outside was a bother to most people who traveled but Ronyo only saw it as a convenient shower that helped wash away not only the dirt and grime of traveling but the worries of the mind. A smile appeared on the druid's face as he watched the pirate turn...in truth Ronyo was finding it hard to determine the gender of this one. Normally the winds would carry a scent that screamed male or female but this one was too layered in the scents of the sea, the drink, and blood to make any solid deduction.

Ronyo shook his head of the thought while he watched the pirate saunter over and give another rogues greeting to the newcomer. The women seemed perfectly contempt with the confusion that was the pirate and almost seemed to enjoy it. Hearing her talk of the discouraging rain gave the druid a pause but understood the sentiment. That being said he found it a noticeable place to try and strike up a friendly conversation himself. The druid had little social contact with people over the years of his defense of the forest and the animals that lived therein. That was not to say he was not possessed of social graces and manners enough to talk and mingle amongst the masses, he just preferred the conversations among his animal friend more. Ronyo stood up from his table near the window and made his way over to the bar where the new woman had just finished her answer to the pirate. He hoped he was not being too rude with his butting statement but thought it was as good time as any to join in.

"It's a shame you consider the rain a discouragement towards your travels. Rain is just a welcome gift from nature that people often times fail to understand and truly appreciate in full. When else do the clouds simply part and let fall the most life giving element to all those who seek it?" Ronyo smiled as he spoke then went right into his introduction so as not to see overly rude, "Please excuse the intrusion upon the conversation, I am Ronyo Storm a humble druid," Ronyo gave a quick bow and held his glowing smile the entire time.  

[haphazardly parked]

It isn't noticeable, the way Emry's attention momentarily flickers from the interesting (if annoying and disconcerting he-she pirate before him) to the young man who enters the tavern. Green-eyed like himself, the young man holds himself proudly and walks with a certain graceful elegance the likes of which this tavern has never seen before; ah, Emry thinks. His mark -- the prince who'd contacted him, requesting his help... Emry's decided he's impressed by the prince's resilience. He's been king without a throne for quite a while now, and he still hasn't given up.

But is he worthy of Emry's help? Warmage that he is, Emry doesn't simply throw his lot in with any old prince requesting his support. He has standards -- how down to earth is this prince, how adaptable is he?

The pirate slips away drunkenly, so Emry gets to his feet and makes his way over to the prince with a grin and the code phrase on his lips; "It's a nice, sunny evening, isn't it?" (It really isn't -- it's pouring rain, and Emry would be lying if he pretended it wasn't his doing.)

He doesn't wait for the proper response before dragging the weary prince to his feet and over to the druid, the drenched traveler, and the androgynous pirate. "Right you are, my dear druid!" he agrees, jumping into the conversation with a whimsical smile and a jocular tone to his voice. "Well, sort of -- regardless! Rain is one of my favorite things, as my young friend Alerin here can attest to!"  

[haphazardly parked]

When the white-haired mage with old eyes that belied the easy smile and youthful expression turned his attention to Darren, the prince noticed. It wasn't much -- a flicker of green the same shade as Darren's own eyes -- but it was enough that Darren knew the mage had recognized him for who he was. The prince took a long draught of his ale and sighed, hoping the mage would not intrude upon what little peace he managed to make for himself these days...

No such luck, of course. The moment the ... woman? man? who had had the mage's attention left, the mage got to his feet and made his way over to Darren.

And whatever the prince had expected him to say, it wasn't the code phrase. It's a nice sunny evening, isn't it?

It was pouring rain and evenings were never sunny, and the one-liner was innocent enough not to attract attention but paradoxical enough that one wouldn't say it on purpose... But surely this all-together too mischievous looking mage wasn't the Conte, the famed warmage-for-hire who supposedly had morals and might even be swayed to help Darren fight for his throne? Surely, surely not.

Darren didn't have time to protest internally; the mage dragged him to his feet and introduced him as 'Alerin' to a group of strangers Darren was sure even the mage (Conte?) didn't really know.

"Uh, yes," 'Alerin' told the group. Meet at the Dragon's Flagron. It's a nice sunny evening, isn't it? -- Uh, yes, rather no, well, I am a bit fond of the rain. "Rather, no. Well. I am a bit fond of the rain?"  

[Kala Kirya]

Inara caught the scent of the forest and wild things, alerting her to the presence of the druid before he spoke. She turned to regard him curiously, taking in white hair and eyes a striking shade of emerald. His clothing was unusual, but nothing she'd never seen before. Her gaze lingered on the blades strapped to his back, before moving back to the intriguing face and that warm smile.

"There's nothing to excuse. A conversation always becomes more interesting when there are more than two involved, although one on one conversations do have the tendancy to be more in depth." she replied with a little grin of her own. "I'm Inara Quickblade... It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ronyo." Her gaze slipped over him once more, and she inhaled through her nose, taking in his scent once more.

"You're quite out of your element, aren't you?" she asked curiously. "You smell of woods and animals, not people... What brings you here?"

Ina was a shapeshifter, her second form that of a wolf. One of the things that stuck with her even in her more human form was a keen sense of smell, which had given her an intense hatred of men and women who wore too much cologne and perfume, respectively. This man wore none at all. His scent was clean and natural, nearly soothing to her nose.  

[Robayn]

Bailey the Pirate usually loved company, in more ways than one, and was considered one of the most hospitable Pirates on the open seas. She'd always been more than willing to open her doors, arms, and legs to strangers, but in this particular circumstance she found herself glaring at the druid who had progressed, seemingly, from voyeurism to interrupting. She'd been smiling delightfully at the pretty woman's response to the commonly unsuccessful pick up line, the first in many a night here at the Dragon Flagon Inn, and he was starting to think that being land locked so long may pay off after all.

But another comment from the woman, one that may or may not have been intended to suggest all that Bailey was now imagining, shattered her glare into a stupid grin. More than two involved.

As if the thought hadn't already elevated Bailey to a drunken high, a mixture of silliness and arousal brought on as only drink could, but he/she actually giggled when the Mage came by and brought with him the ruggedly handsome, rain-soaked boy. She noticed in a fleeting moment that the two of them had the same eyes, and knew each other though they hadn't been speaking before... that thought was stopped by a quick, intense fantasy that ellicited another giggle as he waved for another drink from the bar keep and gestured that it would be another for all of them.

She couldn't resist winking roguishly at the mage as her strong ale found her hand. "I knew you were just playing hard to get."  

[haphazardly parked]

Emry is pleased to hear the code response from Darren; it's not the confirmation of his identity that he needs, it's the fact that Darren actually remembered Emry's vague and nonsensical reply that endears the prince to the mage. Even Emry admits it's an idiotic thing to say, and could potentially be a difficult thing to remember, but Darren-Alerin is a convincing actor with nice smile.

{ Careful boy, you're liking that prince a bit too much -- remember what happened last time you got attached to a job? }

"Yes," Emry murmurs to the Staff. "I got stuck with you." In more audible tones, Emry says to Bailey with good-natured humor, "It's not that I was being hard to get. You're just not quite my cup of tea."

He slings an arm 'round Darren-Alerin's shoulders and grins broadly.