Happy Morning
Log Info
- Title: Happy Morning
- Emitter: Aryia
- Characters: Aryia, Verna, Seyardu, Randolf, Paenitia
- Place: Fernwood Pub
- Time: Wednesday, December 08, 2021, 8:12 PM
- Summary: It's a wonderful morning in the Fernwood. That is, if you like the frigid, icy rain outside and the hearth that wards away the chill just barely. Randolf's cramming his face after cramming his brain for a test later today at the college. Verna, Aryia, Seyardu, and Paenitia seek breakfast. Paenitia clangs about in her armor, much to the ire of Randolf who's running on three hours of sleep, and the two elves at the bar. She changes out to something more night owl appropriate. Seyardu spots the two Charnith elves that she escorted from before and points them out to the group. Verna approaches them and welcomes them to the city, her giving some advice with Paenitia chiming in to the two to help them not be hassled as much for their origins. Meanwhile, Aryia is busy fighting off an intense headache that crops up out of no where. The elves leave, and the group helps Aryia to the Soldier's Defense for a check up.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Appearing =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Aryia A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her. Shadow Elf Merek A black-haired, dusky male with golden eyes. Human-ish Paenitia A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery. Halfling Randolf A burly, well-dressed Khazad in wizardly robes. Dwarf Seyardu A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint. Sith'Makar Verna Petite humanoid in bulky gray robes and cloak. Shadow Elf -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Objects =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
- Fernwood Pub, Morning.
Early on in the day, the hearth is ablaze to ward away the morning chill that pervades the space. Not many souls stir at this early bird hour. Save for a few brave folk, a couple of dawn elves at the bar, a khazad at a table, and a sleeping gobbo in a bench off to the side.
A familiar scarred mul'neissa strides in, hands in her pockets, eyeing to get some breakfast. She didn't live here anymore, yet still the food couldn't keep her away.
Randolf sits at his table, most of a full breakfast steaming heartily in front of him. Bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, hash browns, and a plate of biscuits with sausage gravy. Close at hand, a large mug of steaming coffee. He's all of two bites into his hash browns, his fork dug into the savory pan-fried potatoes. But he's got his bearded chin propped up on his fist, his shaggy brows drooping low over his eyes. His head nods a couple times, his fork lazily drifting through hash browns and into egg territory before he stops. A moment later, a low, rumbling snore rises. It's well known around Alexandria that the dwarf is -not- a morning person.
The Fernwood is perhaps known for its food. Whether that falls under great praise or 'nearly as inexpensive as the Ox, centrally located, and won't dissolve your tongue', or perhaps somewhere between, it is, nonethless, rather popular. Verna must sit somewhere on that scale as she enters. Unlike others, however, she is rested and energized, doffing her hood as she enters the establishment not far behind the slightly more mul mul.
Seyardu had no good reason to be at the fernwood, but perhaps she had simply decided what better way to celebrate Eclavdran's demise, coupled with that of the ashwings, than to sleep wherever she wished that night without worry. Though it had taken some apologies to the owners to secure a room, chasing off fiends from the establishment outweighed accidently intruding on someone's beauty sleep. She had even slept in a bit that day, which was not very much by other people's standards, and made her way down the steps to the main room slowly, dressed in the skirt and vest she often was.
The door to the Fernwood opens with a crash and a clank, and the entrance of a waist high, wide brimmed, red hat. Underneath it is the pocket knight, Sister Paenitia, a dark skinned and dark haired lucht siuil.
"Hola! It is the happy morning!" It is miserable and cold outside. She must be suffering in her plate armour, it conducts cold very efficiently. This does not deter her enthusiasm, "I come seek the fat sausage and eggs."
She is a morning person, and not a mourning person.
Aryia gets her order placed easily from her familiarity with the staff, and she offers a silent yet warm wave of a hand towards those that she knows-
>Crash!<
The mute swivels her head over to the entrance, the gobbo startling away and the two cloaked dawn elves peering over in concern.
Blink blink. "Pffft..." Aryia huffs, shaking her head and waving to Paenitia. Others return to their seats, hushed conversation taking place at the bar now that things were a bit more lively.
CRASH! Randolf shoots bolt upright to his feet, face pale and eyes wide as teacups. "THE FORTY-SECOND EVOCATIONAL THEOREM STATES FORCE TIMES ACCELERATION EQUALS THE PRODUCT OF--" He cuts off, blinking owlishly as he pants for breath. He turns around and sees Paenitia. "Beards o' me sweet tapdancin' -fathers-, lassie, ye nearly gave me a heart attack!" He rubs his face, smacking his cheeks a couple times, before plumping his hefty rump back on his seat. He takes up his fork and starts shovelling hashbrowns into his bearded maw, muttering to himself. "Hrmph. Bloody plate-hefters. Makin' all manner o' racket at such an unholy hour. Bah!"
Seyardu blinks, and squints at the door, only to jerk her head back to where Randolf has vacated his seat. "Be at ease Randolf, Dame Paenitia Snapdragon del Harana, knight of the pillar and paladina of Tarien, she is just a positive soul, and she did not mean to interrupt your morning." She attempts to appease the dwarf, before offering the lucht and mul'niessa waves, and the not quite mul'niessa as well. "Peace on all your nests, did all of you not wish to cook this morning? I find such acts enjoyable, usually."
"I am not the plate cow." Paenitia clanks over, looking up at the dwarf. She drags a tall chair over with a screech of wood on wood. "That is Dax. She is more the horse."
The lucht surveys the table, "and not one for the plate armour." She has immediately encountered a problem, full plate isn't the best dining dress. She snaps a gauntlet. "I back soon." To the others, she waves, "Hola friend dragon, Aryia. I need the minute."
>>Crash<<
She hops to the floor.
Clank-clank-clank
She heads to the kitchen, passing Verna to pester one of the servers. Loudly, "I need the back room to change."
"Into what?" The half-sil asks.
"Into the tapdancing walrus." Yes, she's going to turn into Randy the Grouch.
Aryia blinks at Randolf's outburst, and scratches her head. Was the college that harsh on students that they would have to recite things on a whim? She shrugs, grabs her food, and meanders over to a nearby table. She shakes her head at Seyardu. "I usually don't cook, but I kind of wanted to get out of the house again is all," a hand twists and flicks to say.
Just as she gets settled in, Aryia pauses, and just stares at Paenitia.
And she just bursts into breathy, raspy laughter. Followed by a coughing fit.
Such ruckus makes those at the bar look over as well, the two dawn elves staring just a tinge too long at the assembled group. <Handspeech>
Verna dips her head to Seyardu and lifts a hand to wave to her and others, though her eyes pan to follow the passing lucht that clomps past. Eventually she looks back and belatedly answers. "I am neither skilled of hand, nor stalwart of heart, enough to attempt food preparation."
Randolf's grip on his fork turns white-knuckled at Paenitia's antics. The poor dining implement soon bent nearly in half as his beard bristles and his teeth grind. "Pae-ni-tia. Would ye -please-. Stop. Makin'. So. Much. -Noise-?" He bites each word out, one after the next. "At -least- until I've finished me breakfast an' had me coffee. I'm runnin' on three hours o' sleep as it is." With a scowl, he bends his fork back into a (mostly) straight shape, and attacks his eggs with a vengeance. Yeah, take -that-, eggs!
"Armor is noisy, and Paenitia has a vow to not be seen. It is not that bad, really. Noises are worse for those with not enough sleep. That is not healthy, and the clerics at the soldier's defence can offer sleeping spells if you need." Seyardu chuckles, though she lingers on two dawn elves for a moment before she pulls a stool over to where Verna and Aryia are. "You can not cook? I do not imagine that is the case, it is not difficult. And Aryia, would you be willing to help me? There are two refugees here from Charn who could benefit from your experience I feel, though, I should warn you, I do not know if they worship Taara, or only pay lip service as I have heard many there do." She adds quietly.
The half-sil waves Paenitia into the kitchen then returns to her sidelong glances at the pair of dawn elves and the adjustments to her posture that emphasize her... charisma.
There is a clanking from inside the kitchen, muffled by doors and distance. It might be the lucht, banging around like an armoured bumblebee, or the chef simply up to his antics. Things go silent.
Eerily silent.
She emerges. Something emerges. Her vow to remain armoured at all times has been fulfilled. She wears the formal armour of a marital combatant, a baggy jumpsuit with crosses on the front and back. A little circle on each makes them resemble a targeting reticule. She also has on a leather mask, a wrestler's mask that has the Smiling Man's face sewn onto it. Gloves and slippers complete the ensemble.
She resembles a white ninja, barely. Her hair, on her head and shins, bounces behind her. She moves very quietly, even as she marches back to the table and her seat.
That little fact about Paenitia was news to Aryia, her tilting her head to the side to ponder what would cause one to take such a vow? Though, she shakes her head, scooting away juuuust a hint as Randolf bristles.
... she slowly chomps down on some toast to break her silence.
Her attention whips to Seyardu, eye brows raised high. "Huh? Who? Where?" she signs quickly, with a tinge of nervousness to her gestures.
The silverscale could pick up from the smells in the air that the two elves were of the same folk she escorted the other day.
The mute glances to where Paenitia went as the clanging ceases. She tilts her head to the side and- oh! She's seen that outfit before! A long while ago, when they wrestled Thurid. Looks a bit more updated though. She waves again to the Lucht as she returns, though her attention lingers on Seyardu. <Handspeech>
Randolf visibly melts as the clanking diminishes to nothing. "Praise Reos," he mutters. He spears a sausage and chompfs it in half with one bite. He looks over at Sey. "Aye, well," he grunts as he bolts down the morsel of seasoned pork. "Soldiers dinnae have an Evocations final worth half their final grade tae be crammin' fer, I'll warrant." He chompfs down the rest of his sausage, washing it down with a guzzle of coffee. He turns his attention to his plate of biscuits and gravy. He pokes an entire biscuit and lifts it. And stops with it halfway to his mouth, dripping savory white gravy back onto his plate. He can only stare as ninja-Pae makes her triumphant appearance. Blink. Blink. "So -that- just happened," he mutters, stuffing the biscuit into his maw. "Must be a damn sight more comfortable, at least. Never could figure how anyone could get along, wearin' an entire stove's worth o' metal on 'em."
"Soldier's defence, the place where people who need to recover go." Seyardu sighs. "Honestly, is it a rite of passage for wizards to overwork themselves? Considering the amount of research necessary, more should do some research on the direct correlation between amount of sleep, and efficiency of work. If you are only sleeping for three hours, then you have wasted several in exhaustion. Or worse, you may have learned something improperly"
She looks to see Paenitia leaving, and blinks before looking back to Aryia. "Ah, those two at the bar there. They have been travelling from Charn for some time." She explains. "The two dawn elves."
"They must be great tired. With luck they arrive soon." Paenita says cheerfully, and she seems to be smiling. The face-fitting leather mask moves more than her metal ones, and there is an opening at the mouth. Her lips are hidden, but she can eat, and it moves as she speaks. Eyes, mouth, hair, hints of expression, she's virtually naked. Excepting the baggy, sail-cloth suit.
She climbs back into her chair, waves at a server and points at Randolf's meal, then her companions, "We have what he is having. One for all."
The dark lucht peers at the mul'niessa and sith'makar, "They are the troubled lovers? The quarrelling adventurers that will overthrow the kingdom? There is story, yes?"
Aryia signs to Randolf, despite his basic knowledge of Handspeech, the best way one learns is to be immersed in the language. "Seyardu is right, it's important to rest. I don't sleep and I still take time rest. It's important my body is healthy, and the mind is your weapon. Do you want to keep it sharp. And plus, all the armor just means they don't have to waste energy dodging around." <Handspeech>
Like I do, she doesn't add, but Randolf has seen her do that before, and didn't need to explain it further. She gives a thumbs up to the armorless Knight, her way of thanks. Her meal was supposed to be meager, but a hearty one wouldn't be passed up at all.
The mute hones in on Seyardu, listens closely, then looks over her shoulder at the bar.
The two dawn elves are staring back, their conversation having ceased some time ago. Aryia begins to turn back to the table, her shrugg-
"Who's that?" the man mentions quietly, tightening his cloak around himself.
"I... am unsure. First kin I've seen here... doesn't look like the Marked despite..." the woman mentions back in a tongue other than Trade. Deep violet eyes glance between the group and her companion. <Undercommon>
Aryia all but freezes, beyond confused for some reason.
Randolf has finished off the last of his breakfast at long last, crunching the last strip of bacon and washing it all down with another guzzle of coffee. "Ahh... there... -that's- better," he says, patting his hefty middle and releasing a rumbling belch. "And aye, I know, sleep is important. But they -will- insist on usin' the outdated curriculum. Great, yuge, lengthy lists o' maxims, theorems, proofs, codicils, addenda, corrigenda... it's all so tiresome." He glances at the two dawn elves, perking a shaggy brow curiously. But they're not known to him, and so he doesn't interject for the time being. Instead, he looks back to Ariya, studying her handspeech. "Well aye, but yer light an' quick on yer feet. An' me, I just use magic tae keep me arse covered. I'd be miserable in armor. I don't see how me kinsmen manage it. The -rash- it must give ye, eh?"
Verna follows Seyardu's comments and indications towards the unfamiliar sildanyari pair; a return to Paenitia with her addition, and back. Intriguing. "Have you considered combining the two?" she inquires of Randolf. "Enchanted armor can be both robust and comfortable."
She might speak further of the topic, but the comments of the somewhat distant pair drift to her. While her ears may not be as sharp (in sensitivity nor form) as others', they are still reasonably alert.
Verna considers Aryia's reaction for further context and then turns to step towards the pair of Charneth. As she does, she offers, "Good day to you both. If you seek the familiar, or perhaps guidance with the unfamiliar, I may be able to assist in some manner." <Undercommon>
"Then you need to make further time for your studies, or go over the unnecessary less. If they expect someone to live on 3 hours of sleep, then someone should do something about that." Seyardu sighs. "Armor is not bad, even for those without scales beneath it. It is no different from wearing a heavy coat, really, at the end of the day. Though your range of motion may be limited, it is not overly so.
The two elves speaking in a foreign tongue catches her attention though, as does Aryia's reaction.
"Is everything alright?" She asks, concerned. "What are they speaking of that puts you at unease?"
"Ha, he is fine without. If all wear the armour I have no tasks to do as I do now weave the magic." Paenitia says cheerfuly. The food arrives. The truism is true, if you want to eat well, order like a dwarf. The little knight dressed as a judicial divorcee waves at the two elves, "Come, you are much thin. Put the food in there."
Inviting the fru-fru-iest of the elves to eat like a dwarf, is the halfing trying to start a war?
"The chaffing can be great, this is true."
Aryia would have comments for the others, but at the present moment in time, she's a bit locked in position. Seyardu's concern unjams her, the mute's face twisting into a expression of dulled pain as she rubs the side of her head. "... I-I don't know... I just got the... the worst headache again..." she mentions slowly with her free hand, dropping her half eaten toast back onto the plate. <Handspeech>
The two dawn elves shape up as Verna approaches. Both were lightly tanned. The man with eyes of silver and toussled red hair peeking out from under his hood, the woman having long ivory strands spilling out. The man glances to the woman, and she clears her throat. "A Mourner for the Grey Harpist," she succinctly points out, tone rich and full of Charneth accent. "Good day. You could be of service to us? How fares your guidance, then? We're just passing through, foreign to these lands." <Undercommon>
The man glances to the small Lucht, him tightening his grip on his cloak some. "Ah... no thank you, Mistress Paenitia," he mumbles in Trade. "We have eaten."
"Indeed. So, too, was I a stranger, here,," Verna acknowledges and admits, her own accent perhaps diminished over time, though likely more prevalent in this particular tongue,"not so long ago. Thus my offer. As to guidance, I would suggest the local vernacular, when possible. Concerns are high, as of late, and many are biased and suspicious upon origin, heritage, or both."
"Else," she continues in trade," the city and its denizens are quite courteous and welcoming. If you have need of something, they are inclined to accomodate, even if your stay shall be brief."
"But do not trust the nobles! Or the guards!" The dark lucht laughs, starting on a sausage, stabbing and slicing it. "You will be the statue and sold back to Charn. Though I hear, the Lord Altay is in the jail for that."
She waves a gloved hand in the air, as an introduction of sorts, "My name has been shared, I am the Mad Dog of Isobar!"
Her expressive wrestling mask turns towards Aryia, "are you drink enough water?"
Seyardu looks as the others go over to see the two, and she sighs. She takes a glass of orange juice brought over and drinks it slowly. Though Aryia catches her attention. "Your headaches again? Clearly it is not something insignificant if they are back again for so long. You should go to the Soldier's Defense, and get a proper check up Aryia." She suggests.
The violet eyed elf's brows pinch slightly, but she gives a light sigh and a faint dip of her chin. "Very well," she concedes, switching to the more common language of the city. "We had some... troubles entering the gates for being truthful. Your warning is appreciated. What brings one such as yourself to this city?"
The duo watches Paenitia, heads tilting to the side in unison before they share a look. A shrug from one, and brief glance about from the other with a slight raise of the brow. All sorts of small ticks and tells that convey a breadth of information that can only be parsed by being around someone for a long, long time. "... yes, it has," the man notes softly. "Denoted by your... exuberant entrance. We will steer clear of both. And we... do hope that no such thing will befall upon us."
Perhaps they were not morning elves at all either.
Aryia's expression grows more pained, her giving a slight nod-nod towards Paenitia. "... I drink... a lot of water..." she motions slowly. "Uh... y... yes, sure, we can go over there again...
The llyranesi woman, crooks a finger towards Aryia, her leaning towards the half-mul'neissa conspiratorially. "... is... that one going to be an issue?" she whispers. "Seeing as you know her?"
The violet eyed elf's brows pinch slightly, but she gives a light sigh and a faint dip of her chin. "Very well," she concedes, switching to the more common language of the city. "We had some... troubles entering the gates for being truthful. Your warning is appreciated. What brings one such as yourself to this city?"
The duo watches Paenitia, heads tilting to the side in unison before they share a look. A shrug from one, and brief glance about from the other with a slight raise of the brow. All sorts of small ticks and tells that convey a breadth of information that can only be parsed by being around someone for a long, long time. "... yes, it has," the man notes softly. "Denoted by your... exuberant entrance. We will steer clear of both. And we... do hope that no such thing will befall upon us."
Perhaps they were not morning elves at all either.
Aryia's expression grows more pained, her giving a slight nod-nod towards Paenitia. "... I drink... a lot of water..." she motions slowly. "Uh... y... yes, sure, we can go over there again..." <Handspeech>
The llyranesi woman, crooks a finger towards Aryia, her leaning towards the half-mul'neissa conspiratorially. "... is... that one going to be an issue?" she whispers. "Seeing as you know her?"
Initially, Verna starts to glance to Paenitia at the inquiry, if only due to her exuberance. She adjusts her eyes to Aryia with the aid of the indicating finger. "An issue? Not that I am aware. She came seeking a change of circumstance, not so different than I did, myself. If your journey is similar, I bid you good fortune in such, wherever it may take you. For now, I welcome you to Alexandria."
Her offer made, and not wishing to impose upon them a lengthy interruption, she excuses herself and steps back. As well, unless they wished to discuss, perhaps, the discrete interaction of mana upon various materials in varying environments, Verna might not be equipped to provide lengthy conversation.
"Seyardu sighs, and looks to her large plate of food, reaching to spear an egg and several sausages, even a slice of toast. For anyone else it would be impossible, but the makari is able to chew on it with ease for a long moment and swallow. "Yes, we can go there. And, I still have the cake I meant to give you the other day, that I would have been punched for delivering. We should share that and celebrate, perhaps at the baths?"
Though she stops, and looks to Paenitia for a moment. "Would you be able to join us there? I am not sure, but it is not often we get to relax and celebrate things with you, it feels. Verna, you are welcome to join as well of course, and Randolf as well."
Randolf is busily refilling his cup of coffee, rubbing at his eyes. Now that his hefty belly is full, he's getting sleepy again. "Mmh? Eh? What?" He looks up and around, blinking owlishly, before cracking a mighty yawn. "Oh! Bath? I've already had one this mornin'. But... kind of ye tae offer, all the same." He peers at the two elves, gulping another swallow of coffee. "Mmh. I should probably be gettin' back. Still got another three chapters tae get read in..." He checks his pocket watch and sighs. "Four hours. Shit." He drains his mug and hops to his feet. "If any o' ye need me, I'll be at the Arcanist's Guild. Hammers high friends." With that, he turns to lumber for the door, yawning all the while.
"Ah, the baths? I am the stinking one?" Paenitia raises an arm and dramatically sniffs underneath it. "No. It is not me."
She watches the dwarf, lumbering away.
"It is the good invite and you are the great friends, but I have the tasks to do today. Ramirez, he wants to see if he can fly above the rain, I have the curiosity about this too." She waves her hand, shaking her head, "I have the little more of this big meal, then I go do the things. I meet up later."
She spears a sausage, takes a bite out of it, "You should seek the gnome with the steak eating monkey. He give the good massages. This help the head aching."
The dawn elf woman dips her head some, though she raises a brow. Food for though the half-mul lays out for her. "... yes. Thank you for your advice and your words."
Aryia slowly bobs her head at Seyardu. "Yes... we can... go there after we stop by the Defense..." she signs slowly before rising to her feet, her food left barely scathed. The mute rubs her neck at the mention of the monkey. She knew exactly who she was speaking of. Maybe they'd help, who knows. "Good luck with that, don't crash," she offers despite Paenitia being unable to catch what she was saying. Hmm... now she was curious if flying above the rain was possible. It's a story she'd love to hear later. When her head wasn't killing her.
She turns to head out the door along with Randolf.
And the three elves catch eyes. Torch-bright on both violet and silver. And vice versa.
There is a pregnant pause.
The woman slowly rises to her feet, the man follows soon after. And without as much as a word to the other, they briskly file out of the building. The pugilist seems to have reality slapped back into her, the mute about to step after them, but she almost crumples into the bar as a migrane erupts in her skull. "... Defense... l-let's go..." she motions to Seyardu, eyes fixated on the closing front door. <Handspeech>
OOC
Pae's attire:
<OOC> Paenitia says, "Visual reference, http://cellar.org/img/divorce3.jpg"
