RP:Drinks Between Liars
Summary: After eluding capture from the Cenrili Guard, Eleanor lies low in the inn, sharing a drink and a few words with the mysterious Jaice.
Large Inn, Cenril
The spell blade darted around a corner, pressing herself flat against the brick facade of an abandoned shop as several guards raced by, oblivious to her escape route. Chest heaving, an excited flush to her cheeks, the woman chuckled breathlessly to herself before taking a moment to examine the artifact she’d recently pilfered from a merchant on the docks of Cenril. Made of brass and only standing a few inches tall, the small figurine would catch her a pretty pouch of gold on the black market, but for now, she tucked it back into its hiding spot in a hidden pocket in her belt. Carefully leaning toward the edge of the building, she looked around the corner, left and right, north and south up the street. Her full lips formed a dimpled grin of pride. Assured that the guards were long gone from her trail, Eleanor left the dark alleyway, making her way across the street to the inn. This evening the inn held its usual patrons, and El was able to slip in, virtually unnoticed, taking a seat on a stool at the end of the bar. To the barkeep, the woman grinned, giving him a two-fingered salute. “Ah need a bevvy. Whiskey, if ye dornt min'.”
Jaice had been wandering the streets, as per usual, during Eleanor's escape from authority, knocked aside by a relentless pursuit heralded by the clanking of sabatons on cobblestone. He trailed behind the guards, skirting from rooftop to rooftop with relative ease; it made tracking the bandit all the easier, not that he necessarily cared about her crime. Perhaps, above all else, he was more interested in her disregard for authority than anything - a kindred spirit. Her escape led him to the Inn, and, without second thought, he followed into the establishment, a cursory glance given throughout the room; alas, he hadn't seen the individual clearly enough to pinpoint an identity. Relegated to failure, he decided to drown his sorrows in an ale, which - by pure happenstance - placed him next to the one he'd been searching for - though unbeknownst to him - just in time to tack on an order to her drink request, "An ale, browner the better."
Eleanor nodded in gratitude to the barkeep as he poured two fingers of amber liquid into a tarnished, old tumbler. “Cheers.” Without further delay, she grabbed the glass, elbow propped on the bartop, and angled it back, downing the contents in a singular swig; a few droplets escaped, and she used the back of her hand to wipe them away, thereafter returning the glass to the counter. “Mair.” Used to the demanding way she ordered drinks, the barkeep poured another. Before walking away, he eyed Eleanor knowingly and set the whole bottle before her, then turned to tend other patrons - Jaice specifically. It was at that moment that the spell blade edged a celadon stare sideways toward the man who now occupied the seat next to her. His choice of drink inspired a smirk. Gesturing toward the jug the barkeep produced from under the counter, El snickered, “Cannie. 'At jobby will make ye piss bluid.” The barkeep, displeased with her comment but overall accustomed to her remarks, grumbled beneath his breath and poured the contents into a mostly-clean bone mug, pushing it toward Jaice while Eleanor sized him up. Feeling particularly sociable - likely attributed to the thrill of larceny mixed with alcohol - she shifted on the stool to better face the stranger, hooking the heels of her boots around its rungs. “Ah huvnae seen ye aroond afair.”
Jaice immediately noticed 'being sized up' by his current compatriot, ushering forth a snarky response, "You can stop undressing me with your eyes, love. I lose my clothes faster than you could ever imagine taking them off." After, he'd down his mug with a certain expression of displeasure, an overwhelming bitterness filling his mouth. "I'm around," he explained with a belch, hand rising to push back off-white locks from dangling in his face. "Between you and I, I was chasing after a criminal of sort, or 'criminal,'" he'd pause to use his fingers as quotations, "you never can really trust Cenrili lawmakers. Crooks, all of them. Sadly, I'd lost track of the individual when they came in this place. Pity."
Eleanor propped an elbow on the bar as she arched a flaxen brow at Jaice. “Is 'at sae?” came her nebulous reply. Smirking, she went on to say, “Th' place is thrang tonecht. Ah huvnae seen anyain come in fa looked huir uv a ... criminal.” She mirrored his use of the quotations, managing to do so while still holding the tumbler in one hand. Downing the whiskey, she poured herself another helping, shifting on the stool so that more of her side and less of her front faced the stranger again. Although she dropped her gaze away from Jaice to study the whiskey as it swirled around the glass, her smirk remained. “Wa waur ye lookin' fur thes ... criminal?”
Jaice had another pint slid to him before he'd give the woman a response. "Obviously, I'm an acclaimed captain of the Cenrili Guard and the person needs to be brought to justice. We can't tolerate such miscreants terrorizing our streets." Of course, the statement was saturated with sarcasm and his attire was nothing one would expect from a guardsman; the rapier which hung from his waste wasn't even standard-issue. "You'd tell me if you saw anything, right? Or would I have to charm it out of you?" As entirely unbelievable as his charade was, he figured it best to keep it going for just a while longer.
Eleanor snickered into her drink, nearly spewing its contents across the bar; she had to hold the back of her hand to her mouth to prevent this very thing. Her celadon gaze slid back toward Jaice, sparkling with amusement. The man had her attention now, and while she was not interested in his ‘charm’, she was curious to know what else he might offer. Following the direction of her gaze, she turned the rest of her body toward the young man. Tone bone-dry, she eventually replied; “Ye swatch a wee bit yoong tae be a keptin.”
Jaice brushed a bit of imaginary dirt off the shoulder of his overly-large white coat. "Obviously I'm just so skilled they promoted me right after recruitment. They said they'd never seen something like me before, just animalistic in my feats of strength and finesse. And how humble I am just culminates it all into the form of perfection." He couldn't help but laugh at himself and shake his head. "To be honest, I was just interested in the person as a person. You never really know why a thief steals. Sometimes it's for something noble, sometimes for fun- either way, I can't judge," he explained with a shrug.
Eleanor rolled her eyes; arrogance was such a turn-off. She tended her alcoholic needs and poured another shot of whiskey for herself, focusing on the task as she suppressed a dry chuckle. Shaking her head, she took a swig, and only then did she level her celadon-irised gaze at the boy again. “Ah see.” Beat. “Weel, ye dornt gang aroond jist askin' things loch 'at.” Sending a pointed glance toward the barkeep, she slid a few gold coins across the counter, then stood from the stool. “Ye gang pokin' yer beak aroond, yoo're likely tae gie it chopped aff.” The humor had left her tone and expression, both of which were neutral and only faintly wary. “Goodnecht, 'en.” El brushed her pale golden braids off her bared shoulders and offered Jaice a two-fingered salute. Without further delay, she moved toward the door of the establishment; it was suddenly far too stuffy in the crowded pub.
Jaice didn't really register the change in tone or expression; he'd assumed it was all just a bit comical. "I'll take my chances," he replied with a small wave as she walked off.
Eleanor did not hesitate. Although she looked through the corner of her eye at Jaice as she passed, his words did not still her steps. She did not appreciate people trying to weasel themselves into her business, and she definitely didn’t know Jaice well enough to even begin to discuss that business with him. If he was going to learn what her mysteries were, he was going to have to supply something more than a few slippery lines. Head held high and proud, she wove through the tables back to the door, bumping into a young couple as they entered. “Ho ye thaur, sorry,” the spell blade apologized with a sly half-grin. El dipped her chin down to the couple, and in case anyone was watching, she looked cautiously over her left shoulder, then departed through the door.