WHO: sam drake, beth greene, laura kint, & YOU WHAT: open post to try and get back into the groove. starters in comments, hmu for something custom. WHEN: post-modplot, generally in august WHERE: the gallows, kirkwall NOTES: tbd
Spend enough time in taverns, and one will inevitably run across John Silver.
Tonight: a fish story, after a fashion. (Yanev Duff, captain of a ramshackle ship chasing a sea dragon from Rivain to the Fereldan marshes only to discover there'd been no dragon all along.) It's the kind of story met with roaring laughter, that bends to an audience. (Yanev Duff, hapless navigator, hailing from wherever is most convenient based on tonight's assembly.) The story is good, and when it finishes there is a brief circuit of the room where John checks in with an older man sporting a turtle tattoo, a spate of Rivaini sailors in one corner, and finally—
"What's best tonight?" is directed at the barkeep, as John lands at the narrow, sticky strip of bar along the far wall. It prompts the woman in question to pull her attention from Sam, humming over the query as she ducks to sort through the bottle kept below.
"Apologies," is for Sam, because John isn't blind, knows when he's interrupted, and can express some sympathy for the circumstances.
God damn it, he was close to sealing the deal here.
(Maybe, anyway. New place, new women, new standards - it takes a couple days to know exactly how to charm your way into a free drink or under a skirt. But it felt like he was getting somewhere, and frankly, he could stand to.)
But there's something about a man in his line of business that's easy to spot, after a fashion. Maybe he's a fisherman himself, based on that story, and maybe he's a town crier screwing around - what matters is that the man's a tale-teller, probably a con artist. Maybe a con artist? New place, new criminals - he's still feeling the place out.
Not that it matters, at the moment. Sam's always loved a good story, never cared who spun it up.
"Eh," he says, waving a hand as if to say no problem, and takes a sip of his ale. "You from up there? Rivain?"
(Where Rivain is, he's not entirely sure, but he's aware that it's north of them in some form or fashion. And not a little intriguing - if not for this war business, north is where he'd be tempted to head.)
A brief look, tracking the barkeep, before returning his full attention to Sam. Who has posed a question, and while John hadn't necessarily intended on striking up a full scale conversation—
"I've conducted business there," is not necessarily an answer. John's smile widens just a fraction though, good humored. "Mostly in Llomerryn, but I've spent time on the mainland before. Long enough to pick up a few things."
"'Fraid not." It feels like a good opportunity, so he takes it. "Where do I sound like I'm from?"
His shard's currently pressed up against a tankard, unlikely to be visible. Today, he's decided to try blending in with the local color, so he's got breeches, boots, and a linen shirt that hangs a little loose on his frame. Feels like being a Renaissance fair reject, but it gets less attention than the jeans, so he's giving it an unwilling try.
If this guy's been around the Gallows and seen Sam there, the jig's up, but it's possible this is a chance to figure out a cover story or two. Once he knows where it seems like he's from - assuming Thedas' Boston equivalent is out there at all - he can start researching.
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taverns.
Tonight: a fish story, after a fashion. (Yanev Duff, captain of a ramshackle ship chasing a sea dragon from Rivain to the Fereldan marshes only to discover there'd been no dragon all along.) It's the kind of story met with roaring laughter, that bends to an audience. (Yanev Duff, hapless navigator, hailing from wherever is most convenient based on tonight's assembly.) The story is good, and when it finishes there is a brief circuit of the room where John checks in with an older man sporting a turtle tattoo, a spate of Rivaini sailors in one corner, and finally—
"What's best tonight?" is directed at the barkeep, as John lands at the narrow, sticky strip of bar along the far wall. It prompts the woman in question to pull her attention from Sam, humming over the query as she ducks to sort through the bottle kept below.
"Apologies," is for Sam, because John isn't blind, knows when he's interrupted, and can express some sympathy for the circumstances.
no subject
(Maybe, anyway. New place, new women, new standards - it takes a couple days to know exactly how to charm your way into a free drink or under a skirt. But it felt like he was getting somewhere, and frankly, he could stand to.)
But there's something about a man in his line of business that's easy to spot, after a fashion. Maybe he's a fisherman himself, based on that story, and maybe he's a town crier screwing around - what matters is that the man's a tale-teller, probably a con artist. Maybe a con artist? New place, new criminals - he's still feeling the place out.
Not that it matters, at the moment. Sam's always loved a good story, never cared who spun it up.
"Eh," he says, waving a hand as if to say no problem, and takes a sip of his ale. "You from up there? Rivain?"
(Where Rivain is, he's not entirely sure, but he's aware that it's north of them in some form or fashion. And not a little intriguing - if not for this war business, north is where he'd be tempted to head.)
no subject
"I've conducted business there," is not necessarily an answer. John's smile widens just a fraction though, good humored. "Mostly in Llomerryn, but I've spent time on the mainland before. Long enough to pick up a few things."
Stories, and otherwise.
"But you don't sound like you're from Rivain."
no subject
His shard's currently pressed up against a tankard, unlikely to be visible. Today, he's decided to try blending in with the local color, so he's got breeches, boots, and a linen shirt that hangs a little loose on his frame. Feels like being a Renaissance fair reject, but it gets less attention than the jeans, so he's giving it an unwilling try.
If this guy's been around the Gallows and seen Sam there, the jig's up, but it's possible this is a chance to figure out a cover story or two. Once he knows where it seems like he's from - assuming Thedas' Boston equivalent is out there at all - he can start researching.