Welcome to Gaia! ::

Remi Martineu knocked the snow off of his boots politely and glanced up at the sign over the tavern door with a small smirk. The Bawdy Boar, eh? Sounded like a good time, at the very least. And from what gossip he'd been able to catch in town, the food wouldn't sicken him. That was the last thing he needed. And the lively strains of a well-played violin from within sounded like just the thing to lift a man's spirits.

"Stay, Beau," he instructed his faithful companion, a shepherd dog called a bas rouge from his home region that he'd raised from a pup. The dog whined, trying to wheedle his way into coming inside to warm up by the fire, but Remi shook his head with a fond smile and petted the animal's silky black ears. "Next time, maybe. I don't know if they'd welcome you yet."

Conceding the point with a grumpy sigh, the large black-and-red dog curled into a ball by the steps with his tail over his nose, unbothered by the cold in his thick winter coat to await his master's return. With an amused smile at the dog's transparent attempts at manipulation, Remi made sure his dirk was ready to hand but not so obvious as to be threatening and made his way inside.

After the bite of winter outside, it was akin to stepping into a sauna, but the Gallian welcomed the warmth. It was during the winter that he missed his homeland the most; the winters there were so much kinder. Slamming the door on the frigid Sunderland air, he stepped into the entryway and removed his thick woolen cloak.

He kept it draped over his arm, though. He never let go of possessions he wasn't willing to lose, and with his finances in their current sorry state he couldn't guarantee his ability to replace the garment if it was stolen. Without it, he would freeze, so despite any odd looks he earned in the process he kept his hand firmly on it.

Noting his surroundings with keen green eyes, the mercenary relaxed a touch. There were some rough customers here, but nothing he couldn't handle. And the violinist was a woman. Interesting. More interesting than that, though were the scents drifting out of the kitchen that were like ambrosia to his hungry body.

Sitting down he signaled a wench and reluctantly inquired about prices. Likely this little indulgence meant the last of his coin, but he still held out hope for finding work soon. Ignoring the urgings of his empty stomach, he ordered only a modest meal, enough to keep body and soul together for himself and Beau for another couple of days, and treated himself to a small cup of mulled wine. It would probably be godawful drunk straight, but not so bad mulled with the right spices.

Order placed and the warmth of the fire finally seeping into his frozen bones, Remi sat back to regard the entertainment for the moment.

Remi listened to the piece with a smile and a shake of his head. He was well used to people of other nations poking fun at his homeland (and everyone else's but their own), and he felt so far removed from the place of his birth that even true vitriol wouldn't have rankled much; this was just a gentle patriotic ribbing, all in good fun. He applauded with the rest as the song ended and with it, apparently, her set.

Turning to face the bar again, he regarded the appearance of the violin case with only mild and momentary surprise. But of course; she had to stow the case somewhere, and behind the bar was the safest place. He wasn't sure what the bartender was playing at, forcing them into proximity like this; he certainly wasn't in the mood to chat, but... well, he was suffering from a lack of business due in part to a lack of friendly faces in this part of the world. He could ill afford to turn away any chance to make connections, but he gave the lady her space as she sat down and took to maintaining the violin.

He couldn't help but notice the fading shadow of a bruise along her jaw and wondered idly at what that might be about. She didn't seem like the type to tolerate a cruel suitor. No, more likely she'd taken her licks in a brawl in a place like this. She didn't move like a bard or a barmaid, though... interesting.

When she spoke, he glanced up at her curiously. Her only answer at first was a wry grin as he took a sip of his wine and hid a wince; the spices hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped, but as it was the last he was likely to see for a while he persevered. "That obvious, eh?" he said, a faint trace of his Gallian upbringing showing through in his voice, though he spoke a little quietly in between bites of his food. "I should be cross with you, making fun of our wine," he allowed, though his tone and persistent smile betrayed no such emotion. "But my country's honor hasn't been much concern of mine in some time. And if this is all you have to judge us by, it's no small wonder you think the wine doesn't measure up," he groused with a small frown that quickly faded to be replaced by another smile.

"I'm Remi. Remi Martineux. You have quite a talent with that," he said, nodding to the violin she held.

He chuckled and shook his head again with a grin, watching in affable amusement as she absconded with and thoroughly disapproved of his wine. Good- it wasn't just him. "Trust me, you've a talent. It's easy to make one of those things sound like a horde of murdered cats, but she sings sweetly for you."

He took another bite of his dinner, savoring the flavor and forcing himself to eat slowly rather than burying his face in the delicious roast and eating his way to freedom; it'd be rude and he wanted it to last. "Well, Gaels... I've not been there, but if her people know their way around music and spirits as well as you, miss, I might be tempted to head up that way."

He smiled and nodded in thanks as Patrick delivered a glass of better wine and made off with the offensive one. Taking an appreciative sip, he sighed happily. "Ah, thank you for that. Seems I should raise my expectations of Sunderland's grapes. A bit."

Remi laughed quietly at the thought of her brother struggling with the fine instrument; he'd never met the man, of course, but his mind supplied the image of a big fellow struggling even to hold the delicate instrument in hands overlarge for the task.

He glanced down in sharp surprise as his hand bumped an object that hadn't been there before, only to find a hunk of fresh bread. Glancing up at this Lady Siobhan he found that his pride stung a bit at the charity, but he nevertheless smiled, tucking the bread on the edge of his plate for later with a nod of thanks. The lady was astute, there could be no question of that.

"It's a bit of a long story," he admitted. "The short version is that I was with a..." He shrugged. "Well, a group of legionnaires out of Gallia. I had a disagreement with my captain and am no longer in their employ, however."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his mind turned back to his current troubles, eyes on the surface of the bar. "I've found the same thing you have, I'm afraid. A chilly welcome at best."

"Perhaps later," he said of the ale with an amiable nod. "I'm not alone, I'm traveling with my friend Beau. But dogs are notoriously terrible conversationalists, and worse cooks." He took another long, appreciative pull of his wine and smiled, and this one finally touched his eyes.

It had been quite some time since he'd enjoyed amicable conversation like this; it was... good. That, and he could feel the wine warming his stomach and loosening the knots in his shoulders. Yes. Today was definitely a good day.

"What about you?" he asked with a curious tilt of his head. "I'm sure they'd have appreciated your musical talents in your homeland. Why come so far south?" He chuckled as another guest came inside, accompanied by a flurry of snow. "If you're looking to escape Lady Winter, you've a but further to go yet."

Beau followed along a respectful distance from Siobhan, looking up at the woman cautiously. She knew his name, but he didn't know her. All very strange. However, on seeing Remi, his ears perked up and his tail gave a slow wag as he trotted to his master's side.

Mildly dismayed by the hawk's rather unfriendly attitude, Remi had quickly retrieved his plate and his wine glass from the bartop and leaned back out of range of that cruel-looking beak. "I kept him outside because I wasn't sure he'd be welcome in here," he answered Siobhan when she returned. "And besides, he's a Bas Rouge. He hardly feels the cold. Don't let his pitiable act fool you, either, the b*****d eats better than I do."

Smiling as Patrick sat down a bowl for the delighted (and immediately distracted) dog, he shot a nervous glance at the bird. "Is this a friend of yours?" he asked with the barest of nods towards the hawk. "I don't think he cares for Gallian cuisine, but that he might indulge anyway, just to make a point."

His eyebrow raised a fraction, though he still kept a wary eye on the bird as he finished his meal. "Slavery, eh? I see that didn't go so well for your captors," he said without an ounce of surprise in his tone, though he began to scowl a bit as his train of thought continued. "Filthy business, slavers. I was lucky not to fall into their hands myself."

Having wolfed down his food, Beau wasted no time returning to Siobhan's side (giver of warm places and tasty foods) and shoving his red-and-black snoot upon her knee. The sheepdog looked up at her with liquid, pleading brown eyes, his black tail thumping a hopeful rhythm on the floor.

Remi snorted in disgust, but it was tempered with wry amusement. "Don't let him lie to you. Famine-face there gets all the food and affection he knows what to do with, and he is an accomplished con artist. However, if you want to cement your position as a goddess in his eyes, his favorite place to be scratched is on the side of his neck beneath his collar," he informed her dryly.

"I would be delighted," Remi answered, standing and offering his hand with a bow in a gentlemanly fashion even as he shot the interloper a venomous glare. While he wouldn't consider himself an expert in matters of the heart, if that tiny smile of hers had been anything to go by then Siobhan's heart was spoken for whether she realized it or not.

That made the drunken lout's intrusion even more of an insult than it already was, and Remi was not the sort to tolerate insults to his friends lightly. He didn't have enough that he could afford not to defend them tooth and nail. "Play his instrument" indeed- did none of the men in this country have a clue how to talk to a woman?

Biting back on the tirade that was building, he made a small, breathy whistle as he stood from his bow that could have been a verbal tic of some sort, perhaps a reaction to an old wound pulling at the movement. It could have been- except that Beau quickly hopped up and moved to sit between his master and Siobhan and the drunk, watching Remi attentively the entire time with the single-minded intensity only a sheepdog can muster. And the dog, with the typical canine attitude towards personal space, nearly knocked the man off his stool in the process.