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Post by kajeayn on Sept 6, 2019 11:21:04 GMT -6
= J O E L =
"When troubles want to find me, I ain't hard to find.”
WC: 487 | Post #1 The Kingfisher Inn had never been known for its peace, or its good food, or its comfortable rooms. It was always crowded, bustling with loud, often roaring drunk patrons, the rooms were always full, and the innkeeper cheerfully ignored any and all complaints. The inn was easy to find- you just had to follow the smell of unwashed equines and mediocre tavern food, drifting far and wide, or listen for the distant sound of a bar fight being broken up, the dim roar of a crowded room singing bawdry drinking songs.
Joel had been here before. Ike was a Vindicator, after all, and a master of his craft. Hiding in plain sight was an art Joel could appreciate well, remembering it from his smuggling days not so very long ago. He admired Ike, the way he could work a crowd, could spot danger in any form from a mile away, whether that be an off duty chevalier or an increasingly surly patron.
It was easy to be lost in the crowd, at the Kingfisher. To be overlooked, left alone and nursing an ale in a corner he’d wedged himself into. The inn wasn’t as crowded as it used to be- the trade was dying down, Joel remembered vaguely, trying to keep his thoughts clear. The presence of every single equine in the building roiled over his skin. He could taste the shitty soup an older mare was drinking a few tables over, could feel the roving eye of a stallion checking out a younger patron, could hear the whispered conversation about some struggling family in Onea.
He didn’t want to be aware of any of it, but it pulsed from inside his head, a living thing he could not close his eyes to. He just had to live with it.
He hadn’t wanted anyone at the Fort to know, to see. He’d bolted like the coward he was, desperately trying to rein in this so-called Blessing tearing him up from inside. He hadn’t been able to sleep in the room Ike rented him for nothing, too consciously aware of everything around him, but it was a little easier here then at the Fort. He didn’t know these equines. He didn’t want to feel the nightmares of his friends and teammates boiling in his chest, feel the phantom pain of missing limbs, dull memories of grief of people he’d never known. Here, he could tune them out a little easier, felt a little less guilty when their emotions rolled over him. He didn’t know their names, their stories.
The tankard glowed in his soft blue teke as he took another slow pull, and for a moment, all he could feel and taste was the faint allure of intoxication, distant and hazy, and the smell of pretty crap beer. His eyes were unfocused, deeply shadowed and face haggard as he stared into the mug, amber contents slowly swirling.
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Post by Dream-Lark on Feb 4, 2020 13:45:23 GMT -6
 Sinarin;Vagabond|Missionary/Thief
The thief-turned-missionary took a deep breath as he passed through the abused wooden door to the Kingfisher Inn. It smelled like unwashed patrons, cheap beer, and some equines were belting out a ballad about maiden not so fair. Sinarin chuckled to himself, a wide grin stretching across his features that tilted into a smirk as sharp silver eyes cast about the room.
It was going to be a good night.
Sure, Kingfisher Inn wasn't the dining go to for a five star experience, but it sure beat a cold camp under a tree that night. And drunk equines made such easy targets to lift some shards (or other easily sold goods) off of. So with a swagger the stallion moved up to the bar, ordering himself a drink as he studied those present. One other in particular caught his eye, tucked away into a corner and dazing morosely into his tankard. Poor fellow looked like he hadn't slept in a week.
Sin considered him a moment, before ordering a second drink and tossing the required shards onto the counter. With the mugs secured in silver teke, he sauntered over to the corner, slapping one down in front of Joel. "Well hey there, handsome. You look like you could some cheering up. Or some sleep. Either way, I hear ale and a charming companion can help with both!" the thief announced with a wink, taking an uninvited spot at the table -- one where he could survey the rest of the room, to pick a likely target while he entertained himself with this poor fella's troubles. Though truly, his efforts to get a reaction from Joel were sincere, the stallion seriously seemed like he needed a distraction from whatever was occupying his mind.
WC:291 | Post #1 |
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Post by kajeayn on Mar 23, 2020 19:10:56 GMT -6
= J O E L =
"When troubles want to find me, I ain't hard to find.”
WC: 233 | Post 2Eyes more gray then blue flickered up towards the stallion taking an uninvited seat across from him.
He could feel the stranger’s intentions, tasted them in the back of his throat. As strange as it was, he was actually… sincere. He could tell that much. This wasn’t an act of pity, or a feigned interest to see if he was as easy of a target as he looked.
The stallion definitely had a look about him that chimed a warning bell in his mind, but he wasn’t dangerous. He doubted he could do anything against him without Joel sensing his intentions, at least. It was of little comfort. He half hoped the stallion could pull something without him seeing it coming. At least it would be a surprise.
And, as simple as it was, it’d been a long time since anyone had flirted with him. He could at least entertain it for a while. It was… nice. Maybe the distraction he needed.
“Not a bad idea. You see any of those charming companions around?” He asked dryly, raising a brow at his new drinking companion. He took the new tankard in blue teke, gaze still on the newcomer as he took a long pull.
Unable to help himself, though, his mouth quirked up at one corner as he set the half empty drink back down.
“So, who do I owe my thanks to?”
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Post by Dream-Lark on Jun 2, 2020 10:57:13 GMT -6
Sinarin;Vagabond|Missionary/Thief
Well, this equine was reacting more or less the way Sinarin had figured he would. Not very involved or interested, but not putting of his company either. This one seemed very...indifferent, was the word the thief would use. However, a sense of humor did appear, and that caused a grin to flash across lips like lightning, and a laugh to crack from his chest. "Oh, I think that bard looking type over at that table could be called so," the Missionary commented, tone light and cheerful as he glanced toward a bay with silver hair, a tattoo of flowers and waves spiraling up one fore leg, and a set of pipes strapped to their saddlebags.
"Though you never know. They're stories might lack any sense of humor and that would be dreadful," Sinarin added, quirking another grin, and noting that those same saddlebags looked like they'd be easy to pilfer. He just needed to walk by and make the bottom intangible, anything useful would fall right into his teke to be tucked away. Then again, if it was just packed with more instruments and travel gear, he didn't want it. Sin wasn't about stealing a fellow travelers livelihood away. No, he'd best wait till he laid eyes on someone tucking a shard purse away. He'd use his corrupted blessing to make anything in the way of that intangible and come away with a clean pick pocketing.
He'd just have to be patient to pick that target out.
"The name's Sinarin," the common horse added, tossing a cheery wink to Joel. With that he tipped back his own mug to take a hefty swig. He set it down a moment later, studying the contents with a light chuckle.
"Well, that's not the worst I've ever had."
WC:296 | Post #2 |
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Post by kajeayn on Sept 14, 2020 12:39:57 GMT -6
J O E L
"When troubles want to find me, I ain't hard to find.”
WC: 379 | Post 3
“There is nothing worse,” Joel said solemnly. “Then an unfunny bard.” He cracked another small, tired smile, taking another long drink. The ale was beginning to blur the world at its edges, making the barrage of feelings a little easier to tolerate. He could focus in on the newcomer better, surprised at the genuine feelings he could sense so far.
It wasn’t a fake name, or he was very, very good at lying. Enough to not have even a ripple of emotion about it.
But then, Joel hadn’t felt anything insincere since the stallion had sat down. Even the wink was genuine.
It made him smile again, inclining his head towards Sinarin.
“Joel.” He could have given a fake name, maybe that would be safer, but it was hardly as if a random vagabond knowing his real name mattered.
Nothing really mattered.
Something a little too close to misery bubbled in his chest, and he took another drink to swallow it back down. He hadn’t wallowed in years now. He hadn’t given himself the luxury of it.
He supposed being terrified by being blessed, and then facing a nonstop barrage of emotions from every gods damned horse in the area had earned him the right to sulk for a night.
“It’s the best not-awful ale in the region,” He agreed with a soft rumble of a chuckle, barely making a sound. He’d missed this, chatting with a stranger, maybe a bit of a flirty undertone in the glances exchanged, getting to know someone. He knew every vindicator fairly well- he was almost aggressively social. He made it his business to keep tabs on everyone.
It was his stupid, damn bleeding heart. The one that cared about everyone, the one that cared enough to pray for help and get slapped with a double edged sword in return.
The one that cared about someone who he could now feel care about someone else.
“What brings you to this fine establishment? The company?” He asked, and he genuinely wanted to know. He did like to hear about a stranger’s life, if only for a conversation. Maybe that was part of the appeal. A brief glimpse into someone else’s life, and then it was gone, a flash in the pan, a shooting star.
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Post by Dream-Lark on Sept 19, 2020 21:47:31 GMT -6
Sinarin;Vagabond|Missionary/Thief
Well, at least his joke had earned a small smile. But it looked so tired and heavy, lacking the usual energy of responses he was given -- whether pleasure and joy at his flirtatious passes or disgust or dismissal. This fellow, Joel he'd said, and certainly had a tough time of it recently.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet ya, Joel," Sin replied, hefting his tankard in a salute before taking another swig.
The thief was good with people, and he had the feeling they were using each other as a distraction this evening -- though not in the best way possible, he thought to himself with a mental snigger.
"I'd say the company is keeping me here," Sin remarked, casting another wink to his companion, "but nah, I came to spend a night in a bed that's not dirt, and maybe make myself a might richer in the process. Drunkards are always a good time, in many a different way." The stallion added with a laugh, wiggling his brows and inviting his companion to join in on the innuendo's. The thief was being overly ridiculous, but he felt it was needed this night.
"Truly though, shards, gossip, ale, and company. Not a better spot for them than an Inn! Well, outside of Asylon, anyway."
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Post by kajeayn on Dec 4, 2020 23:05:07 GMT -6
J O E L
"When troubles want to find me, I ain't hard to find.”
WC: 221 | Post 4
He cut an amused glance over to his apparent new drinking companion, his thick brows raising a fraction.
“On the hunt for a bed warmer, then?” He asked lightly, nothing in his face giving away disinterest at the idea. He certainly wasn’t against it. It would be the first time in a good while, certainly, but the distraction wouldn’t be unwelcome.
And maybe he didn’t hate the idea of closeness with someone else, even if it was brief. Even if it meant nothing.
Maybe especially because it meant nothing.
“If you’re looking for a drunken romp, you came to the right place,” He said, lifting his teke in his tankard as he let his gaze flicker up over the other stallion, lingering at his eyes a hair too long to be casual.
“Though I will need another ale or two,” He hummed, taking another drink, the edge of his slight smirk hidden behind his tankard.
The mention of Asylon made one of his pierced ears twitch, turning towards Sinarin from where it had been lazily scanning the room. Always alert, listening for anything.
“Asylon?” He repeated, lowering the mug. He’d heard of most Onean settlements, and knew every Eithne one. Maybe it was somewhere in Sirith? Sedo? The infamously mysterious Aquore?
“Can’t say I’ve heard of that place. You from there?”
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Post by Dream-Lark on Dec 24, 2020 21:38:05 GMT -6
Sinarin;Vagabond|Missionary/Thief
"Well, it's never unwelcome, anyway." Sinarin replied, a similarly light tone, though surprise did register in his features when the other stallion actually took him up on the offer. "Truly? You didn't seem like you'd be in the mood for such a thing," the thief mused, returning the glance with something equally sly and pleased. With a hearty chuckle he lifted his mostly empty mug into the air, signaling to the server that they would be needing more drinks. "I can definitely supply you with that, and a distraction from your own woes for the evening, for sure." Words were accompanied by a wide grin, confidence in this statement only tinged by a little arrogance -- the usual sort of someone who knew they could preform but wasn't typically disposed to feeling prideful about it.
"Oh, aye. But I doubt you have, it's newly created by Digend herself. It's in Sirith, protected by her Arcane Storm. Only one of her Missionaries, such as yours truly, can guide newcomers there. Strong stuff, but suiting to our caring chaos deity." This time, pride did well up in his tone and features, a fierce devotion to Digend that honestly, a short time ago he never would have seen himself having. But She had proven that She cared about Her people, that She could provide and protect, and wouldn't leave them hanging as the other gods had. And She wasn't the monster he'd imagined the Cultists -- those bloody bastards -- sacrificed to.
She had taken him in, even altered the blessing the Wave Mother had once granted him, and now he couldn't -- and wouldn't -- turn back.
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