Gunpowder Whisky

Tenebrae - Saturday, October 12, 2013, 8:19 PM

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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A06: Warehouse District *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The freshness of the river cuts through this section of Alexandria. Its broad expanse sparkles beneath the sun, its surface dotted with ships and barges. The vehicles move slowly over the water, their sails colorful and proud. Most bear a nod to Rada, or three, for luck's sake. Others bear the colors of different nations and city-states, all of them coming here to bring trade to Alexandria.

Warehouses line the streets, dotted with the names of shipping companies and various industries. These, mixed with the occasional sailor's tavern, set the tone for the area. Overall, it's bustling, busy, about what one would expect for a city of this size.

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Svarshan        Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon!                      2s   2d
Mikilos         Tall male dawn elf, rosey blonde and handsome.        3s   2h
Myrana          Short young woman with coal-black braids.             0s   1h

Myrana points at the rooftops down the way from the Ox as waves slap the docks and ship bellies heave up and down nauseatingly a few yards that way. "And that's where the damn enormous monkey carried me," she says, scowling at the abandoned warehouse a few doors away from the Ox.

Myrana says, "I thought it was going to eat me."

Svarshan looks downwards towards the docks. He's quiet for a while, but then he frequently is. Eventually... "..." and he closes his mouth, with a snap. With a glance at Myrana.

Myrana shivvers and shoves her hands into her armpits, wrapped up in a thick coat of lambswool that allows for her bustle to protrude like the fantastically coloured tail of a tropical bird from all the drab chocolate brown. "Every year it gets colder here. I'm sure these creatures are drawn to Alexandria to siphon heat from the engines and rooftops."

Myrana turns her head to glower at Svarshan over the top of her scarf while the wind whips her coattails and skirts against her booted ankles and a big fluff of black hair cowlicks up. "I can't afford to heat monkey's butts. And the Ox is always freezing-- or it would be if it weren't for the fumes."

The reptile opens his muzzle.

Closes it.

Again.

"Yes," he says, warmth and amusement all roped up into one word. "Sssa. I am...not very good at conversation. But when you sssay that. All I can think of...iss. Yes. There are demons." Pause. "And I am here to ssmite them. It iss a very simple thought." And he looks up at her at the mention of monkey's butts. Silently wonders things like: does she make stew from them?

And if so, was that what they served last Tariday?

"No no, I quite understand. Thank you for trying." Climbing out from belowdecks of a bobbing boat, Mikilos shakes hands with the captain, double checking his backpack is secure before makeing his way across the unstable gangplank to the dock again. Peering around a moment, the elf raises a hand in greeting to a few familiar faces. "Fumes? What?" he inquires, having only caught part of that.

"That's what you say," says Myrana with suspicion she doesn't really feel, jouncing up and down a little on the toes of her Respectable Lady Boots. "But I see fewer and fewer demons and more and more horrible overgrown beasts here all the time. Oh, speak of the devil." She glares up at Mikilos, blue eyes peeping over the combined mass of upturned wool collar and bristly green wool scarf knitted by the most sadistic of dwarven grandmothers. "I wanted to speak to you. What are those wizards at the college doing? There have been weird things running amok."

Svarshan looks up with interest. There are thoughts going on behind those lizard-eyes, but he doesn't voice them.

That'd involve. You know.

TALKING.

Mikilos blinks innocently. "Weird things running amok is Artificer territory, so you'd be best to inquire at the Enclave. But to the best of my knowledge, nothing any stranger than usual has been going on. If anything, experiemnts are toned down, what with worries of the Azure Bitch corrupting anything." The elf smiles, and nods greeting to the BrightBlade.

Myrana says, "I've never heard anything about an artificer setting huge gorillas loose on a city, Mister Mithralla."

Myrana says, "It almost -ate- me, and it... it... It /relieved/ itself on my roof."

Myrana says, "Thank goodness Mister Oxley (rest-his-soul) waterproofed his old apartment which-I-now-live-in so very thoroughly with decades of oils."

A slow look from one. Then to the other. And then back to the wizard. A long, slow look that seems to be imagining if Mikilos was capable of giggling in glee at gloppy gloopy monkey poop. And... "...one doesss not think the sildan has that ssense of humor," most solemnly said. It's true. Sildanyari are forbidden from giggling.

Indeed. Anything but abstract, celestial-like floating with the most Serene of Expressions.

Myrana looks at Svarshan dubiously, a little puff of air clouding in front of her scarf as she hrms suspiciously.

Mikilos quirks a brow, and waves vaugely. "Huge gorilla's aren't -that- weird. Boshter has lived here for years. But I hadn't heard of any wildlife running loose. Well, not recently." He frowns mildly at Svarshan. "Now that's not true. Sildanyari comedy has a long and varied history. Though it is something of an aquired taste." A bit like Sith humor, really.

"...one heard a rumor," Svarshan says in a low tone to Myrana, as if in apology. And then turns to regard Mikilos with a solemn expression. His eyes would give him away, though.

Myrana's lips twitch, but she sort of ducks her face down into the scarf-and-collar rather quickly before any sort of a smile can be seen. Her cheeks perk up a little, though, betraying it. Actually her ears turn a little pink. Probably the wind.

"Hrm." She hops a little, trying to warm up. "...You know, maybe it isn't really getting colder as such. Maybe I'm just feeling the cold more distinctly." She slides a sly look at Mikilos... then pauses, and happens to catch a glimpse of something sneaky on the 'Makar.

Her eyes narrow a little. "...Svarshan."

Myrana says, "What were you thinking just then?"

Mikilos just smiles. It's a trick he's picked up form Kerbasy. Blessed Be The Kittens. "I can't say as I really notice the chill that much. It's the snow and damp that tends to get to me."

Sandy has arrived.

Svarshan widens his eyes, though the rest of him remains still. Still and quiet. The closest analogy would be a pup who's been asked where the deliciously juicy bacon went. It's there briefly and then he looks towards Mikilos. "Iss it that cold in the Blessed Woods?"

Myrana jounces a little, still eyeing Svarshan. But she uncrosses her arms and chafes her palms together, hrmbling to herself.

Svarshan works on stilling his face. It's clear he's working at it, though.

No, Myrana. I do not know where the delicious bacon went!

Mikilos shakes his head. "No, not any colder really. Just a simple enchantment to keep out the worst of the chill is almost second nature. But damp gets into the books." Tragety. A wizard could freeze to death, but so long as his books are alright...

"Or you could wear a coat," suggests Myrana, the naturalist.

Looking again at Svarshan, Myrana's blue eyes narrow to little slits. "...Svarshan. The last time you made these faces."

Myrana says, "I found a whole bunch of knitting ladies in my parlour, making booties."

Svarshan jerks back and gives Mikilos a long look. And... "Or hot coals. I used to get them from the vendors...and sstrap them to my scales when I first got he--" and Myrana's giving him That Look. "--re," he finishes. And then... "...the auntss?" he asks weakly, and then looks ready to use his own axe on himself.

Mikilos nods, and waves vaugely. "Eh, if have time to find where the coat has gotten to. And of course once it gets -really- cold, minor magics won't do." He peers a Svar a moment. "...think I recall them, if is the same group. Very nice ladies. Bit of the gossipy side."

Myrana says, "Did he send them to your house too?"

Myrana says, "Svar!"

Svarshan opens his muzzle and then snaps it shut. His gaze strays to the open sky, like someone solemnly looking for an escape.

Mikilos grins, and shakes his head. "Couldn't, I havn't built mine yet." He frowns mildly. "Stupid Zoneing Council."

Myrana puts her hands on her hips. "And I crawled into bear carcasses for you," she tuts. "Really stinky ones-- oh. Still?" Myra looks in concern at Mikilos. "I suppose there is the college to live at. I recall they allow for some very generous rooms to mages willing to teach. Is that why you're so eager to renovate the Ox? To have more practice?"

The night sky looks so pretty. Svarshan continues to regard it with the utmost, solemn fascination.

Just in case Myrana mentions 'the aunts' again.

Myrana is distracted, thank goodness, from the subject of Svarshan's continued hope that she will start reproducing and the resulting swarms of little old ladies knitting booties.

Mikilos nods, and shrugs mildly. "Yes, the dorms are fairly nice, though they- *cough* Erm... well... it's hardly the -only- reason." The elf takes to examining the sky as well.

Myrana looks between the elf and the Lizard, frowning.

Myrana says, "Is there something about to fall on us?"

It's a total misunderstanding. But the sky is so INTERESTING. Svarshan uh. He. That is. Uh... The reptile gives himself a shake and... "The auntss, you said?" he asks, solemnly. His scales are crawling. "They came /here/."

Myrana peers at Svarshan, starting to feel bewindered. "You mean you didn't send them?"

Myrana says, "But they were all huddled around my stove, knitting!"

Myrana says, "One of them made me this."

Myrana wiggles the end of her super bristly scarf at Svarshan.

Svarshan looks down at the scarf as though it contains spiders.

It is almost twice as long as she is tall and looks like it could be used as a leash to contain wild bulls who were rude to their mothers.

Mikilos peers and moment, and nods. "Same group I remember. Pretty sure one of them was knitting some chainmail. Very.... solid... group of ladies."

The scarf. So contains spiders. Svarshan says not a word for a while, except... "...chainmail?" As though Mikilos had just pronounced the end of the world.

Myrana looks at Mikilos as one who shares deep pain considers a comrade-in-arms. "They ate all my jam," she says. "And that box of apology chocolates you gave me for almost burning my bar to the ground." Give me more chocolate, is what that means.

Mikilos hesitates, blinks. "Wait, this was recent? As in this week recent? The group I'm thinking of was several years ago." He also makes a mental note to get some chocolates, and give a brief moment of thanks to whomever sent the earlier gift. Which he just assumes actually exists.

It totally doesn't. Myrana just thinks she can get chocolate by being terrifying and blaming little old dwarf ladies.

The sith'makar gives his head a shake, and... straighten shoulders! Look on the bright side! "...one isss. Perhaps they will not stay through the winter." Hopeful words. BRAVE words. Said in a solemn, hopeful voice so he doesn't run screaming. "They come every year. Ssometimes more than once."

Mikilos frowns thoughtfully a few moments, then shrugs. "Anyway, Myrana, how comfortable are you with Clockwork devices?"

The reptile gives himself a hard shake. He's not communicative on the best of days, and now? Now? Myrana had just confounded him with untold horrors.

And now Mikilos is talking about Clockwork.

He undoes the flask at his belt and unscrews it.

Myrana turns to Mikilos and considers this for a moment, blinking and taking a slow breath as she switches mental gears (hah). Icy white fingers creep from the overlarge sleeves of her thick peacoat and toy numbly with the wide face of part of her hoary green scarf. A geometric pattern goes down the length of it in a rose colour, and she unconsciously picks at the softer threads that make up this secondary wool yarn.

"I haven't ever really had a bad experience with it," she says, hesitatingly. "Before I really came into my, er, nature, I thought I had the potential for artifice," this is said with a slightly sheepish, self-depreciative smirk. "When it was really just a talent for not getting burned when I climbed into mana engines. So, eh, while I haven't kept up with the study of it, Its not something that makes me uncomfortable."

Myrana says, "But the simpler a thing is, the better. A door that works on hinges will always be better than one that's pulled by gears into position."

Mikilos frowns mildly. "Clockwork and Artifice are very diffrent fields." He -might- be bias. "Anyway, a water heater and pump are simple enough, and easier to fix if anything goes wrong than an arcane enchantment."

Myrana pauses.

Myrana says, "Having hot water would be... nice. In my apartment."

Myrana probably owns so many clothes so she can avoid doing laundry regularly.

Myrana HORRORS.

The flask? Is delicious. Svarshan takes a draught, then reseals the cap. The flask itself is young--composed of fresh, shining metal recently purchased. He tucks it away into his belt, then glances at the odd and icy fingers. "Water heater," he says, sounding distracted. Then he looks up and fixes a curious, if cautious, look towards Mikilos. As though interested in the topic, but hesitant on anything that. Resounds of artificer.

"How's it different?" Myrana asks, raising a brow. "Mister Solace-- he is an artificer I've recently made the aqquaintence of-- seems to use clockwork in most all of his devices."

Myrana says, "I thought they went hand in hand."

Mikilos nods. "My orginal plan had been to just replace everything with stone. But so long as the ground floor is relitivly fireproof, everything should be alright. Oh, though does remind me. When you make up a batch of that GunPowder Whisky, just how large of a batch is that?" Don't try to follow a wizard's line of thought. They don't move in newtowian dimensions. "Anycase, the main diffrence is magicite. Artifice uses it. Clockworks are simple effects of natural physics. Though most artifice uses clockwork as well. It's.... like Negative Energy. All necromancy uses negative energy, but not all negative energy is necromancy."

Myrana blinks.

Svarshan hones on The Important Words. "Gunpowder Whisssky?" he asks. He sounds interested. /Interested/, and he looks from one to the other.

First, confirm that this magical item exists.

FIRST.

Myrana tries to follow this... she really does. But as she tries to focus on Mikilos' face while he talks wizard talk, she can feel the.... the little muscles behind her eyeballs. Trying. To cross. Trying so /hard/. With a fierce effort she wills them to stay straight and focused, so that she doesn't look dumb. DO NOT LOOK LOST IN FRONT OF THE WIZARD! her brain tells her eyes. And so with a mighty force of will she keeps them straight, clenching her jaw and breathing through her nose and focusing so intently on the one thing of not drifting off mentally or looking confused that she actually just ends up glaring at Mikilos like he just suggested she dip children into butter before baking them into pies.

"Gunpowder Whisky?"

Come on, Myrana. Stick to the IMPORTANT topics.

Mikilos coughs mildly. He should know better than to mention necromancy in polite company. And really should remember that Myrana counts as polite company. "Ahem. anyway, yes, Gunpowder whiskey. i don't think it uses actual gunpowder, but it's got.... one hell of a kick." He nods to Svar, and then grins brightly to Myrana.

"Keep talking." Svar prompts.

Myrana jerks back to normal, slightly bewildered. She feels like she pulled a muscle.

Myrana says, "H-- oh."

Myrana really does give Mikilos the stink eye.

Myrana says, "It's not very good." Firmly. "You wouldn't like it, Svar."

"Gunpowder Whisssky." In case they forgot.

Svar looks from one to the other.

Myrana looks at Svar.

Myrana says, "Really."

Myrana's fingers wiggle like maybe her hands itch. "It tastes just awful."

Mikilos nods. "Most booze does." He's helping! He's a helper! He's talking up Myrana's product, because it's good!

Svarshan rubs at his jaw. Scratch, scratch, scratch. "One could..." he looks down at the hands. Back up to Myrana. Then... "One would be pleassed to find ssome dretch to add to the mix," solemn. "And chilis." His eyes are bright, now. Gunpowder whisky. Plus devilblood. Plus ghost chilis.

Myrana purses her lips... but with a reluctant motion slips her hand into the breast of her peacoat and draws out a glass flask. A /glass/ flask, mind you, wrapped in insulative leather.

"You can have some but it's-- it's flammable, Svar."

Myrana says, "Flammable."

Myrana eyes him.

Mikilos nods. "Hence my concern. I mean, if, gods forbid, the Ox were to have a real flare up and the booze caught. Well, the whole place would burn down in minutes. But if a keg of Gunpowder Whisky were to spark, well, it could take out the whole neighborhood."

Svarshan eyes the golden glass for a moment. Just a moment. And for that moment? It's as though the sun broke free from the clouds. As though there's a tiny, singular ray jutting through the darkness and alighting on the...

...the.

Well, it WAS there.

It WAS.

And he has the oddest expression on his face now, as Mikilos talks.

Myrana hands the flask to Svarshan with a look that says: 'Flammable' before glancing at Mikilos with the guiltiest of expressions. She does usually have two barrels of it. TWO BARRELS. Hidden in a place the Oxleys would NEVER look: The cleaning supply closet. "I... don't think it would blow up the -whole- block," she says, guiltily.

KABOOM!

Svarshan stands there, looking flummoxed. His eyes stare unfocused at Myrana.

Mikilos hasn't been insisting on fireproofing them place on simple whim, you know. "Well, no, but spread enough flaming bits around there wouldn't be much left by the time it was all extinguished."

Myrana glances sidelong at Svar... but she looks at Mikilos. "W-well I agree, it is dangerous," she ventures. Then; "...Svar? Svar?"

Svarshan hands the glass back to her, his gaze still unfocused.

Mikilos peers at the Sith a moment, then grins. "I told you it was good."

Myrana takes the glass flask delicately. "Are...Is he okay?" She whispers to the wizard.

Svarshan gives himself a shake, then grins at Mikilos. "...sss..." he starts to say, then looks to Myrana. "That. Wasss very. ...it was very good." He's so bad at words.

Myrana looks nervous that Svar might burp gouts of flame.

Mikilos wasn't certain himself, but was less concerned. Svar chomps demons. The wizard can only guess what that sort of things does to ones insides, and how that will them react with a potent alcohol. "...seems fine."

Myrana says, "Maybe we should get you a sandwich."

Myrana says, "Would you like one, Mikilos?"

Myrana says, "There is a place, they do very good pulled hog with-- with little ancho peppers and crumbly cheese."

Myrana puts a hand on Svarshan's back in an attempt to start to steer him towards absorptive foods.

That are not in her apparantly highly explosive bar.

Gunpowder Booze. Sandwiches. Svarshan brightens at the topics which seem nicely focused on the Important Things in Life. Before, see, all he was hearing was blah blah Clockwork. Blah blah wizard blah blah Explosion.

But.

Delicious. Anchovies.

Somewhere in his lizard-brain, he decides it is the Best Evening Ever, and drops an arm about them both. "Sandwiches," he says, solemnly.

Mikilos perks a bit himself. The wizard has, generally speaking, given up on eating. But there are those nostolgic moments. "...that does sound quite tasety. Please, lead on."

"Oh gods," squeaks Myrana, who has given a fire breathing lizard gunpowder whiskey. "Okay, lets go get sandwiches."

Svarshan has left.

Myrana has left.