RP:Conditions

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: Meri can ask Lionel a couple of questions, but they are going to make a game of it and he is going to ask her some questions too. Meri is also welcome to keep rolling her eyes at Lionel, only if he is allowed to roll his back. Oh and she is part of the Warrior's Guild now too.

Frostmaw Tavern

Lionel is here physically but elsewhere in every other conceivable sense. A lacquered, neatly-calligraphed book full of sharp red art streaks and bold black text is held so close to his face that his identity will not be readily apparent. Perhaps those familiar with his choice in wine will have a leg-up on recognizing him; after all, a half-emptied silvery bottle of the Cenrilite sweet red spring wine is awfully close to his arm. He’s dressed in thin simple blacks with his back turned to the crowd -- not that there is much crowd to be had here today to begin with. It’s a quiet time at the tavern, the sixth such volume in the past seven days. Whisper is made of a somewhat struggling economy in light of the recent substance abuse outbreak. There are almost as many off-duty soldiers as there are merchants and townsfolk, which is not to say there are a great many soldiers. Frostmaw is like a giant, slumbering.

Meri enters the Frostmaw Tavern in that boring ol' way that one would expect from most humans. She uses the front door and steps inside. For a change she is not bundled up in a thick fur-lined cloak to battle the cold of the region that she admittedly is not fond of. Alvina was kind enough to buy Meri a coat, one that is enchanted so Meri's layers are actually fewer thanks to the generosity of the red-head. Enchantment aside, the coat looks any average black jacket. Meri is not so familiar with this particular Catalian that she would be able to identify him by his preference in wine, perhaps his attire, but it seems the simple black outfit Lionel wears doesn't even pull Meri's attention. She passes right by him and makes a straight shot for the bar where she orders a short glass of whiskey from Drargon. She would let him move off to grab a glass and fill her request before voicing the inquiry, "I don't suppose you have seen that Lionel guy around lately have you?" Maybe it would make more sense to ask one of the soldiers in the room, but Meri saw no sense in disturbing them, besides a good bartender knows a good chunk of the happenings in the area, usually. They are in a position to see a lot of faces and overhear a lot of conversations.

Drargon pauses just before passing Meri’s whiskey to her, holding it in his thick vicegrip. The glass is comically small relative to the man’s massive forearm. He studies her briefly, making some kind of snap judgment before clearing his throat and giving her the beverage. “Aye,” the barkeep begins, fetching a few dishes and passing them to one of the waitresses. “Lately, ye say? Aye, I’ve seen him lately. Lass, I saw him wrangle two crooks before sunrise. I’m not sure he slept. I saw him march the forward infantry across the city six hours ago. I’m not sure -they- slept. I saw him lasso a rope -- a rope! -- around a man what was caught stealing a fig from a little girl and -hoist- the thief into a wagon full of summerdew berries. Have ye ever been bathed in summerdew barries, lass? The stench will nae be off that poor sod for months. And I see him right now, too, reading a pristine copy of Veritas, if my eyes do not be mistaking me.” Drargon tugs his great beard and gestures forth toward Lionel, who is placing his book down and reaching for his wine. It seems he’s overheard. The Catalian’s bold blue eyes flick over Meri very quickly. “Whiskey’s on the house, by the by. Go tend to your business with him. And don’t call me a saint for it, neither; it’s on his tab. Always is.”

Meri just wanted a drink and a quick answer but that is not what she got. A brow is lifted as Drargon praises Lionel's most recent exploits. Any question that might be aimed her way is presumed to be rhetorical, passing this little speech off as something similar to a song a bard might sing about a hero of the lands. Which. Lionel. Basically. Is. "Should have ordered a bottle then," since Lionel was the one buying. This is more of a snarky, in hind-sight comment, not a serious request put forth toward Drargon. With drink in hand, Meri moves over to where Lionel is presently sitting. These interactions between Lionel and Meri were always a little hit and miss, weren't they? Sometimes this was Meri's fault, rolling her eyes and sassing off....but Meri has warmed up to two Catalian's and Khitti speaks quite highly of Lionel, so she is going to put her best foot forward. Which is to say, she is going to be obnoxious and probably slightly on the ill-mannered side, but this is how it goes. She is a handful. It's not a polite hello that Lionel gets, no meek 'hey can I join you at your table'? Naw. She approaches his table and kicks the leg of his chair, just enough to give it a slight jolt to try and gain his attention, if he does not take his nose out of that book on her approach. A cheeky smirk forms across those red lips, "Lionel. I've got a question for you. Well a couple of them actually. Let's start with...how the heck are you?" And then she would help herself to a seat at his table, because he was going to talk to her, one way or another she has determined. Sucker.

Lionel is also a handful. There are many reasons for this. His interactions with Meri are routinely hit-or-miss because they are both of them handfuls. There’s very little centering, except when one of them becomes that center. Lionel can very abruptly set aside his own brand of trademark snark when it is vitally necessary, but oftentimes even in life-or-death situations he does not seem to arrive at that conclusion. Truthfully, he’ll don a veritable cape of snark when the need arises. Lionel has already set aside his book, and his eyes follow Meri in the final heartbeats before she kicks the chair. Could he have stopped her? Possibly. Instead, he feigns mild shock, building on her attempts at deviant artful arrival. “I’m always happy to answer questions, but mainly when I get to ask them back. Let’s make a game of it. You ask, then I ask. You went first. I’m doing well enough, all things considered. Mind you, ‘all things’, in this case, is a very extensive list of troubles both great and small, personal and external, which may at any given moment burst into a literal war to save the world. So, with that being said, I’m doing well. Thank you for asking, though. Now my turn: what’s got you in Frostmaw again?”

Meri is not such a fan of this game but her features would not betray as much, that smile remains cooly on her lips. It did not matter that her intentions in the area this time were entirely innocent, she hated questions. Stay out of my business, thanks, even if I want to weasel into yours. "Not really the question that I was expecting you to ask, usually how are you is also met with another how are you. Not a question that some could view as suspicious. What am I doing in the area again? Are you really that surprised to see me flitting through here?" Her index finger taps the side of her whiskey glass before it is drained in one drink, just in time to catch a serving girl bouncing between tables. The empty glass is passed off to her. "Do I need to have an excuse prepared every time I decide I want to roll through now?" A brow is lifted but Meri concedes after playing mule. She can still angle this to her advantage. "I came to speak with you, if that much was not obvious." She was sitting here questioning him with intent, after all. "I answered. My turn again. So what does a girl like me have to do to join up with your little gang of warrior's?"

Lionel offers a jovial wince but otherwise maintains his relaxed posture. He hates turnabout, regardless of fair play. Stay out of his business, thanks, even if he wants to weasel into yours. “Technically that’s four questions, but,” he waves his left hand idly, “it will suffice, I think.” A swig of sweet wine is followed by the clanking of golden coins as he removes two and places them both beside his book. Just seconds later, the nearby waitress fetches them, giggling off to who-knows-where. Six silvers would have been sufficient for the bottle and a good number of refills for Meri, including the one she has just received. Two gold is a new kind of overkill. “In truth, not a whole lot.” The statement is made with curious finality despite its abruptness, and Lionel allows it to linger briefly before he explains. “There isn’t much you need to do to get into the Warrior’s Guild, not after what I’ve already seen you do. Which, to note, is considerable. A great deal of doing. A veritable shrine of things being done. All I need is a spar and an answered question. Which is just as well, really, because it’s my turn again. Why?” He cants his head. “Why the Guild? Why -this- Guild? Why now? I ask everyone.”

Meri had actually not been intending to go for a second drink, all snarky comments to Drargon aside. The one would have been more than sufficient for her, and not because she is a lightweight. Nope. Lionel is a busy man and the woman is not seeking to take up more than his time and coin than he is prepared to give. However! Since she has that refill now, she is not going to turn it down. What a sad waste of alcohol that would be. Shoulders are shrugged indifferently at the notion that Lionel needs a spar out of her, a request that she would easily be able to fulfill, it was not unreasonable or of concern. Nor is it a first time. "Alright," she concedes to the spar. "Whenever." Now, later, whenever. "Why now? I don't make these decisions lightly, for starters. I see no point in recklessly joining up with a group only to find that I may not fit in. Or perhaps that personalities will clash to the point that I will be removed from their ranks." As was the case with Eirik, though that was not just a case of personalities clashing but more outright disrespect (due to personalities clashing). "I mean, I might roll my eyes at you from time to time," cue a bit of a smirk, "but I can at least express my concerns respectfully and privately, if I have them. Anyway, It would not be a bad idea for me to attempt to hone the skills I do have, I have decided recently.....Thanks in part to my assisting Khitti with her endeavors. With that in mind, and having actually spend time with the members in battle, I have finally come to the conclusion that it would be a good fit. If you would have me of course."

Lionel furrows his brow considerably. A brief silence comes to pass, aided by the low amount of din hailing from the other tables. “Huh.” He gingerly hoists himself up off of the chair and extends his arm for a presumptive handshake. All-the-while, his free hand is digging a commemorative torc made of brass and golden linings, which he will pass to the woman. “I wasn’t expecting so many words. You’ve really thought this through. Not that I suspected you hadn’t, but… wow. I’ll be damned. That’s the best reason since Rorin told me ‘duh’ and left it at that. Welcome to the Warrior’s Guild.” Another pause. “Oh. Wait. One condition. I have to be allowed to roll my eyes, too.”

Meri grunts at Lionel. If she had thought she could get away with giving a shorter answer, she probably would have. Thanks. Lionel. "Duh. I will just have to remember that response next time you decide to try and grill me." Red lips twist up into a smirk. "Fair is fair, whatever you dish out, I can take." The torc is taken at this point and her glass is drained for a second time. "So you are a busy man and I am sure that you have some meeting to run off to, or some damsel to save, so I am just going to go right ahead and get out of your hair." As she rises from the seat she claimed for herself she goes on to explain, "I am not out in Rynvale though. I have opened up shop in Larket. So if you ever need to summon us for any more adventures," ideally that do not involve bugs, "send word to the shop in Larket. On that note? It was good to see you in one piece."