WHO: Kostos/Alistair/Jehan/Silas & Various Others WHAT: Miscellany WHEN: Kingsway WHERE: Probably Kirkwall NOTES: See comment subject lines! And if you would like to do something feel free to just drop it in here.
The Broken Chain is one of Kirkwall's newer establishments, built up out of a section of rubble from the Chantry explosion that lingered for years until the Inquisition's arrival more recently began boosting the local economy, but it's not one of its nicer ones. A month in business and the sharp scent of cut wood and stone from its construction has almost entirely faded under sweat, smoke, and stale bodily fluids. It's more metaphorical new-tavern smell is still fresh, though, and the floor is packed with people still here for the novelty of somewhere new to go.
Kostos doesn't care about novelty, but he does care about places where the barkeeper isn't yet wary of his unpaid tab or tendency to cause trouble, which is why he's braving the crush of bodies around the bar. He turns away from the counter with a metal tankard in each hand—both for him, so he doesn't have to come back anytime soon, but maybe that's negotiable—and right into a face that's familiar.
(Not familiar enough.)
He doesn't smile, and he doesn't apologize, but the sharp interest on his face isn't hostile. After a second, he offers one of his mugs.
Doesn't have any other idea what to do with his hands — smoking was a fine plan outside, but shit in here, where it's cramped enough to set any given body alight. And so it's a delayed bit of business to swipe up an empty glass (protest from the sot still nursing its nothing), and pick out average-dark-and-surly from the crowd once more. Old friends. Or what passes for them in a dark and vomit-scented room.
"Saving on candles are they," Muttered. He takes a moment to look up and find Luca. An elbow edges lightly into Kostos' ribs, "Back in town already?"
Not that he, you know, takes note of certain faces that come and go from the Gallows. That'd be weird, possibly creepy. Particularly without a name.
Luca'd been on his way to the bar to get exactly what Kostos just returned from it with, and when suddenly finding himself presented not only with just what he'd had in mind, but a lovely couple of faces attached to it, the look of mild surprise and lofted brows, turns to a warm smile (that borders on a smirk, because pretending at wholesome takes more energy than he wants to spend in a tavern) to Kostos.
"My thanks, serah. Here I feared I'd have to brave the crush of overly-familiar drunks." You know Kirkwall drunks - the huggy ones, the handsy ones, the ones who don't bathe. After accepting the mug, brushing his fingers against Kostos' as he does, Luca turns outward to gestures towards a table he'd secured not far, against a wall. Since Kostos shared his drinks, he'll share his table with the two of them.
He knows their faces, both of them, like he knows practically every face in the Inquisition, because it's his job to. Mages, if he recalls correctly, but beyond that, he can't say he knows much personally about either, which is probably for the best, as it means they don't likely know much personally about him. Since they're both painfully nice to look at, Luca figures it's as good an opportunity as any.
"Luca Montalis." He introduces himself, offering out a hand to shake.
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bad decisions: luca & isaac.
Kostos doesn't care about novelty, but he does care about places where the barkeeper isn't yet wary of his unpaid tab or tendency to cause trouble, which is why he's braving the crush of bodies around the bar. He turns away from the counter with a metal tankard in each hand—both for him, so he doesn't have to come back anytime soon, but maybe that's negotiable—and right into a face that's familiar.
(Not familiar enough.)
He doesn't smile, and he doesn't apologize, but the sharp interest on his face isn't hostile. After a second, he offers one of his mugs.
no subject
Doesn't have any other idea what to do with his hands — smoking was a fine plan outside, but shit in here, where it's cramped enough to set any given body alight. And so it's a delayed bit of business to swipe up an empty glass (protest from the sot still nursing its nothing), and pick out average-dark-and-surly from the crowd once more. Old friends. Or what passes for them in a dark and vomit-scented room.
"Saving on candles are they," Muttered. He takes a moment to look up and find Luca. An elbow edges lightly into Kostos' ribs, "Back in town already?"
Not that he, you know, takes note of certain faces that come and go from the Gallows. That'd be weird, possibly creepy. Particularly without a name.
no subject
"My thanks, serah. Here I feared I'd have to brave the crush of overly-familiar drunks." You know Kirkwall drunks - the huggy ones, the handsy ones, the ones who don't bathe. After accepting the mug, brushing his fingers against Kostos' as he does, Luca turns outward to gestures towards a table he'd secured not far, against a wall. Since Kostos shared his drinks, he'll share his table with the two of them.
He knows their faces, both of them, like he knows practically every face in the Inquisition, because it's his job to. Mages, if he recalls correctly, but beyond that, he can't say he knows much personally about either, which is probably for the best, as it means they don't likely know much personally about him. Since they're both painfully nice to look at, Luca figures it's as good an opportunity as any.
"Luca Montalis." He introduces himself, offering out a hand to shake.