faderift | Down On Skid Row [Closed-ish]

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Down On Skid Row [Closed-ish]

WHO: Athessa, Byerly
WHAT: Repairing friendship maybe??
WHEN: a few days after By's backfired apology (pre-Ghislain)
WHERE: Lowtown
NOTES: Drinking and drug use and probably violence, threadjacking negotiable

Lowtown taverns haven't been Athessa's regular haunts for a long while, probably because she tacitly conceded them to Derrica in favor of drifting along the battlements in clouds of smoke and visiting Hightown apartments where the food is arguably much better. But she's here now, leaning against the bar and trying valiantly to get the barkeep's attention. This isn't the one who passes her information for Riftwatch, just an unaffiliated one who has something against elves, or women, or short-arses, or all of the above.

So while she waits, she produces a blunt and lights it on someone else's match just after they light their own cigarette. It's surprising enough for the man that he stares, confused, until the flame burns down to his fingers and he drops the match and stomps it out when it hits the floor.

"Cheers," Athessa says, though he's already ignoring her again, just like the barkeep. She turns and leans her elbows on the bar, scanning the crowd for anyone pretty, handsome, pretty handsome, or pretty interesting.

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Athessa's own sigh is more disappointed than mournful; a little that the bartender is so petty, and a tad more because she would've liked to fight those brutes. Oh well. She puts the cork back into the wine bottle and stands up with it in hand.

"Still?" Had he not gone to the infirmary?

He glances over at her, eyebrow arched. "I'm not a young man," he replies. "I don't bounce back instantly." Well. "And I'm also a weak and frail fellow, you know. Could never catch my wind as a boy; barely manage it now."

"Well, after you, then," she says, gesturing with the bottle. "I'll give you a head start in case you get wheezy."

"So obliged," he says, dryly, then throws down a few extra coins just to be safe. Then he turns and, hands in pockets, strolls for the door, looking as relaxed and casual as a man can possibly look.

Obliged or not, the head start does get Byerly to the door before the bartender, rather than either mercenary, grabs Athessa by the arm and hauls her back a step.

"Oi!" Is his opener. "You ain't paid fer that!"

"I did, though," Athessa counters, coolly. "I paid the same amount you charge everybody else. Saw you counting the coin myself."

"Price's diff'rent fer knife-ears. Or ain't they teach ya that in yer alienage no more?"

Well. By turns around. As he comes back, his step is abruptly unsteady, staggering. Somehow, by some trick, he even reeks now, more than he did before, exhaling vapors of alcohol that are far worse than they had been.

"Heyyyy," By says, so sloppily drunk that even the world-weary bartender flinches somewhat. There is, after all, a particular sort of drunkenness that is embarrassing for all involved; even a stranger has the impulse to avert their eyes from a grotesquerie.

"Hey," By sighs, swaying, "where's the pisser?" And then he starts reaching for his pants, unbuttoning them. "I really gotta shit. I really gotta shit."

Well that's effective in grossing out the bartender and nearby patrons, anyway.

"Naw, naw, naw," The bartender says, pointing at By's unbuttoning hands. "None o' that 'ere, you wanna shit someplace, you take it outside."

"What, in the street?" Athessa's incredulity is only half an act. People walk in those streets! Gross!

"Quiet, you! I've half a mind to call the guard t' settle this."

"Yeah you've got half a mind alright," she mutters, and the barkeep's face turns a little redder.

Maker, Athessa. By flicks a finger, a message in bard sign - take advantage of the distraction; get out, and then flicks an obscene gesture that has no basis in bard sign - you fucking idiot.

And then he keeps unbuttoning, and starts squatting. One mercenary laughs; the other grabs at Byerly, starting to haul him towards the door. The bartender's shouting at the mercenary, a robust, "Get him outta here!" and Byerly's going limp, making himself as difficult to drag as possible. (Not coincidentally, limpness also helps in case someone decides to direct a kick at him, which is a not-infrequent occurrence.)

She sees the bard sign, but the only bit she responds to is the obscenity. Which, of course, she returns with one of her own.

And then she does take advantage of the distraction and kicks the bartender in the groin, wrenching her arm free of his ham-fisted grip when he doubles over. The laughing mercenary keeps on laughing right up until Athessa brings the half-full bottle of wine down over the back of his buddy's head—

But the glass doesn't break. There's a moment after the clunk of hollow object meeting hollow skull wherein the two mercenaries and the bartender and Athessa and a few of the surrounding patrons just stare, waiting to see what happens. Another practical upshot of Byerly's limpness is that he probably isn't too badly hurt by the mercenary falling atop him like some enormous tree trunk in a storm.

That's when the other mercenary stops laughing and starts to advance, and somewhere in the back of the tavern a glass shatters and someone hollers: BRAWL!!

Chaos erupts in the tavern. How's that for a distraction?

Maker.

Honestly, what was Athessa hoping for here? Is she intending to fight in this brawl? She must be, if she started it. Is she intending for him to fight in the brawl? How would that look? The head of Riftwatch's diplomatic corps, collared by the Kirkwall guard for fighting with some anonymous drunkards. Besides which, he wasn't lying about still being vaguely in pain - which, honestly, even if he weren't in pain, he's still utterly shit in a fight. All weak arms and awkward limbs. Only with a weapon in his hand is he worth a damn.

So - what?

He hesitates a long, long time. Tries to find Athessa. Spots her - but doesn't go to her aid; instead, he retreats, feeling nauseated, feeling like a complete fucking traitor for not backing her up. Maker, he wants to. But at the end of the day, it just keeps resounding through his head - he has responsibilities, responsibilities, responsibilities, he can't be caught participating in this.

No, of course she's not intending for him to fight in the brawl, which he might notice if he spots her again, signing with the splay of her fingers as she knees a man in the chest. Leave, I'll follow.

It'd take too much waving and flailing around to give a full explanation that there is a plan here, even if Byerly's presence wasn't part of it. Athessa's fighting her way towards the back of the bar, its outlet into an alley that fortunately has a convenient intersection with the street out front.

He doesn't leave, not at first. He stands there, jaw gritted, brow furrowed, hands clenched. Then, finally, after an agonizing pause, he decides to trust her - and so he turns, shoulders hunched, and leaves the front way.

The stress in him is quite visible as he stalks up that street, his face wearing a deep scowl.

As soon as he draws even with the mouth of the alley, Athessa catches his arm and pulls him off the main street, breathing heavy and laughing on the exhales.

"I can't believe - it didn't fucking break," she gasps, letting him go and leaning against the wall of the building they just left.

"Andraste's cunt," he hisses at her. A bit of the displeasure fades, but he still looks at her in supreme exasperation and dismay. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

Still chucking to herself, she holds up a finger to tell him to wait and cups her other hand around her ear. For the bit.

At first there's no sound, but then the clanking of steel-booted feet tromping up the street starts up like a marching band and gets louder as they approach. Four city guards pass the alley and barge into the tavern to break up the ruckus, and Athessa points her staying finger after them.

"That's why. Did you know there's a bounty on those two mercs?"

Ah. By blinks, taken aback.

"There is? For what?"

She shrugs.

"The usual shit, I reckon," which covers all manner of sin, "But I made a deal with one of the guards to let him collar 'em instead of turning 'em in myself, so he can vie for a promotion and he'll give me information on other city guards instead of the bounty."

His lips part in surprise.

"When...did you set that up?"

"Oh, a while ago," she says, waving a dismissive hand. "Baz tasked me with figuring out everything I could on one particular guard, and I've just been sorta...expanding the scope of the assignment just in case."

"And so - " He stares at her, agape. "All of that was planned?"

"Yeah," One of the guards steps back into view and glances down the alley. Athessa nods at him. He nods at Athessa. Then the other three appear, hauling the two mercs along between them.

"Well, not all of it. Obviously I wasn't expecting to see you in there, but. The rest of it." She turns back at Byerly and raises her eyebrows at the look on his face. "What?"

"Nothing." He closes his mouth, finally, and runs a hand through his hair. Then, with a shake of his head - "I'm just - impressed."

The four guards disappear into the night with their collars and the clink clank of their boots receding after, and it's Athessa's turn to gape with genuine delight for a moment before schooling her expression into something a little lest earnest and far more smug.

"I mean the brawl was a little bit for the fun of it, too."

"I suppose one does have to find one's kicks somewhere," he agrees. Then he shakes his head again. "Did you get the information on the guards beforehand, or is it coming later?"

"Both. Got some up front, with the promise of more after. And if he decides to renege, I can tell his captain how susceptible he is to bribery."

Pushing off of the wall, Athessa starts to stroll towards the street. "I didn't manage to keep the bottle. You still got that joint?"

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