RP:Magnus Is Bae
Summary: Brennia is excited to meet another writer. And maybe she inspired someone to see they are not just ordinary.
The Whaler’s Bar
The Whaler's Bar is a well-loved destination in Cenril, and at any given time the sound of raucous laughter and the buzz of talk will be audible from outside its walls. Inside will often reside any number of individuals from all races and walks of life, as the owner has made it clear that all are welcome within his tavern. It is a space especially beloved of the fishermen and sailors who frequent Cenril's shores, and has the sort of worn homeyness that can be expected from such a haunt. The building is made of sturdy oak, though the interior is dingy from time and innumerable patrons. The original dark stain is faded and scratched, especially on the floor, but despite its flaws the Bar is kept cheerily lit by lamps. The bar itself is narrow, pitted and glossy, and at the end of the day finding a seat along its length can be a difficult thing. So too is the task of cleaning made difficult by day's end, and no matter the attempts made at wiping spills and sweeping the floor, surfaces are often dingy and sticky -- not that the regular clientele cares about such trite things as tidiness. Indeed, various old trophies from local sailing legends line the walls in a cluttered display and it usually smells of seawater, sweat and fish. Assuredly The Whaler's Bar is a scarred, beat up bar, but to hear the locals tell it there is no better place for a drink after a long day in all the port cities in the land.
Samson is at Whaler's in Cenril, drinking a hoppy ale alone and enjoying some live music. He's also finally getting back to his RP buddies, the chain letter had been in his hands for enough time to make his companions stir crazy. Other plots had progressed without them, they're eager for the scene to end. He'd procrastinated but now he's figured out his course of action. Magnus, space-wizard, will respond in a vague but favoring manner to the Queen, who will likely bend her husband the King's ear and fund his colonizing mission. Samson is just finishing the tail end of his 'post' as this scene opens.
Brennia decided to pay a visit to some of her students of which she knew performed at their leisure around the taverns throughout Lithrydel during their summer break. She had spent most of the day swimming and enjoying her time alone on the beaches before retiring to the tavern. Other than her height, large onyx wings, tattoos and posture - attention may be drawn by the abrupt stop of music and the clattering from the musicians at the entrance. Easily towering most of them and beaming a bright smile down at them which pokes dimples in her cheeks, she urges them to resume playing after a short greet. Her expression evens to a more relaxed one when she made her way to the bar counter next to this stranger and his papers to address Darius, “how have you been, Darius?” He probably grumbles something about there being less fights since the Bards have been frequenting the establishment, “well, how boring! Coconut infused rum, please.” Being near an Avian, Darius and Samson would pick up on their favorite scent emitting from Brennia and Samson might even feel the warmth of the sun resonating from the mixed woman’s dark skin. The music starts back up and those liberty blue eyes take in the sight of Samson beside her along with his papers, “a writer?” The infliction of interest under her sultry alto timbre and once Samson notices her if he had not already then he would see this six foot two Avian adoring a two piece bright blue bathing suit under a sheer black shirt which had a slit in the back to allow her wings. A thin simple beach towel fashioned into a skirt as well and some flat sandals adoring her feet.
Samson glances over as a matter of curiosity at the woman who's now occupying the empty space beside him. Hmm, well she is unexpectedly womanly, which is to say a lot of her is on display. He's not sure quite what he'd expected, maybe more sweatpants and hair tie, not... the present situation. He doesn't stare, because that would be rude, but then she addresses him in a sort of voice that carries musical laughter, and he looks up. "No, I wish! I'm an undertaker," he says, and then immediately internally grimaces. Oy. Talk about a knee jerk reaction to this glamorous stranger. "That sounded less weird in my head," he tells her, sheepish. He reaches for his beer and drinks some of the foam off of the top. "Are you meeting people?" he asks her. "I'm about done here, I can let you have my seat so you can sit with your friends. It's kind of crowded today."
Brennia was served her rum and she takes the seat next to him without asking, “it is quite lively tonight,” she agrees before taking a short swig her rum. A subtle shaking of her head and a friendly hand placed on his shoulder, “no, no. I'm not meeting anyone here, but I wanted to stop in and check on my students… So, you may keep your seat if you wish.” Her hands now occupy only her glass of iced rum as she remembers that a lot of people in this land have some odd aversion to touch and she didn't have a matronly air about her, but it was more friendly and procured a certain respectful adoration from her students. The towel she fashioned into a skirt parts just slightly to expose a tattoo adorned thigh when she crossed one leg over the other. “Hm, so what if it was weird.” She smirked added with a subtle shrug, “I feel like I have a weird job some days.” Easily smoothing over any awkwardness those striking blue eyes look over the facial features of the stranger as she asks, “why just wish? Why not just be a writer if you enjoy it so?”
Samson nods agreeably. "Ah alright," he says, glancing at her hand as it grazes his shoulder. He wonders if she's a celebrity or other notable person, she gives off that air of someone who knows the world is theirs. Would certainly explain why she thinks it's cool to just show up at the pub in a bikini and see through shirt. He's had years of training insofar as politely avoiding gazing at boobs goes, but then again it always throws a guy for a loop when they're out on display in a situation you don't expect. Like the present circumstances. Hence, celebrity. He doesn't expect her to suddenly start providing career mentoring. He takes a breath and drinks from his ale, giving him a second to answer. "Well, it doesn't pay the bills," he starts there, "I don't think I'm good enough... I got a day job. You know." A beat. "Weird job, you said?"
Brennia had tucked some wavy black hair behind an elongated pointed and pierced ear while she sipped more of her rum. Interest of true passions enthrall her attention, but when he said he is no good those plump lips falter in their kind smile. There was a twinkle in her eye when speaking of the more creative passions that made that warm smile seem as if it was only for him. She had a way of uplifting people and making them feel like her equal simply because that's how she truly saw everyone, “good enough… That is a strange thing to be. Practice for perfection because perfection is impossible and this way you will always be improving. Have you ever had someone read your creations for a critique? You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take, you know.” Some cliches thrown in there, but the confidence in her voice unmistakable and possibly contagious. “Yes, I am the headmistress at the Smyth College of Bardic Arts where singers, thespians, artists and writers come to hone their skills. All are welcome, bard or not,” one of those striking blue eyes close just for a second in a wink at him. This would explain why her students don't seem to depend on her like a mother, but look up to her with respect. By now she had turned herself to him and leaned one side upon the bar counter a bit completely I phased by his severe attempt to not check her out. She wouldn't care in the least, but this is a tavern near the beach. She has sandals on and a shirt so she is well within the acceptable social standards to get service. Also, if it is ok to wear a bikini on the beach, why not in here?
Samson is thinking that famous people/celebrities can be so down to Lithrydel, here Brennia is as a shining example, he feels reasonably comfortable (albeit a bit dazzled) talking to her. He nearly sprays his beer when she suggests that someone READ HIS CREATIONS i.e. his nerd-ass RP posts as Magnus the space-wizard. "I have some people read my stuff sometimes," he says in what he hopes is a convincing manner, because he's referring to his fellow RPers, honestly. "I hear you, though," he says about her suggestion. The conversation tilts naturally back to her, and he's expecting her to say that she's a fashion model or something, come directly from a portraying on the beach. It's close enough that she's a bard. "Oh, I see," he says, because that's what you say when people tell you what it is they do for a living. Clearly she comes here to unwind and not act like people's teacher. He decides to try to put that into words in a non-awkward manner, with a leap of logic that probably makes no sense to anybody but him: "So... Are you on vacation?"
Brennia sighs softly when she finished her drink and only had to make direct eye contact with Darius before a single finger adoring a sharpened black fingernail beckons the man over to her, “may I have another please? Another for my friend here,” a glance over her shoulder and between the gap of her wings, “and whatever the band is having. On me.” She smiles again and Darius seemed nearly too dazed by Brennia's charms before he realized and asked if he's just to start a new tab then. A wink a one short nod to him, but he knows she's good for it, even remembered her favorite drink. “A wandering soul is never really on vacation, but no. I've taken my lessons down to one a week as there are some students willing to learn through the summer.” A subtle shrug, “to each their own. You should take some time off one day and come visit us at the college?” She was able to attach a hopeful tinge to her alluring timbre and once their drinks were brought the music died down for a moment as she thanks Darius so sweetly sounding (and possibly a twist of her Bardic magic to boot) that it caused the man to flush just slightly. She felt eyes on her, but merely glanced around to the few men eyeing her only to feel too intimidated to approach. With the raise of her glass, “merry meet and cheers to you, …” she awaits him to introduce himself.
Samson greets this free beverage with a smile. "Hey, thanks," he says to her, pleasant surprise in his tone. He finishes the last of his current beverage so that he's ready for a new one. "Mmmm," he has beer in his mouth when she makes her offer of him coming to visit the college. Pretty sharp recruitment pitch, he thinks, though he also reads a bit of flirting in it. "Maybe," he says politely, not wanting to disappoint her, since she'd graciously bought him a drink, but also he's got a job and further higher learning is unlikely to make a difference in his career. (Maybe because he's not ambitious.) Their drinks arrive, and then he realizes that she's looking around the room, and many sets of eyes are on her, but she's talking to him. OK, it's a little flattering, maybe that definitively had been a little flirt in her voice earlier. He grows his eyes as if the question overwhelmed him. "Samson, or Sam. Samson Bumgarner." He extends a hand to her.
Brennia is actually just polite even though he is more than welcome to interpret her as he sees fit and she even adds, “we are pretty laid back up there. I think you would especially like the library.” The offer was way more for his own benefit than her own and no recruitment attempted because ambition and cut throats tactics are definitely not what the college is about. “Samson…” she sort of hums the name as if it were a delicious snack, but there was some sort of twist on the word as her subtle Veretian accent bled through onto it. “Sam,” a smile said with his name, “pleasure to meet you.” Her own hand reached out to his for him to shake or kiss and he could feel the silkiness of her caramel hued hand. “I am Headmistress Smy-” she cuts herself off with a short and soft raspy chuckle, “excuse me. Habits.” A shrug, “Brennia.” Sounding like Brren-eye-uh. Okay possibly by now Samson was earning a few envious glances, but nothing to worry about. Her eyes now glanced to his papers in a curious, but non-intrusive way, “would you consider letting me read perhaps?” What better person to read your ‘not good enough’ writings than an actual professor. Those large liberty blue eyes staring into his own and that dimple inducing grin could be convincing enough to sell clamshell bras to mermaids…. A dangerous trait, really.
Samson does not kiss hands, that's for fancy guys and he's just a regular one. He offers her a smile that doubles as a shrug as she nearly introduces herself with her job title. "Nice to meet you, Br- Brennia," he struggles with her name a little, it sounds foreign, which fits with her whole .. thing she has going on in general. He colors when she asks about his chain letter, he exhales the word "uuuhh" and then rubs his clean-shaven jawline. Oh man, this woman wants to read about Magnus. In his present RP, Magnus is recruiting an old friend of his, Iris, to join him on his space-wizarding adventure. Magnus is the man with the plan, but Iris is the best galleon pilot around. Iris also happens to be his ex-wife, or at least the snappy dialogue suggests some pre-existing relationship. He's having a hard time convincing her, apparently his last trip suggestion hadn't panned out so well (no wonder they broke up). "Uh," he repeats again, then, "...Sure," because to refuse her seems rude, somehow. She seems perversely invested.
Brennia sort of squirms just subtly in her barstool with excitement. A hand out as she waited for him to hand over his own work because snatching a creator's work up was seen as rude in her eyes. She emptied her glass, uncrossed her legs, scooted herself in and laid the writings out flat (making sure the countertop was dry firstly) so she may use the empty glass to clarify the words for her… Seems she needs glasses to read up close and forgot them somewhere, but the glass bottom works fine enough. She was quiet, concentrated and her free hand idly tapping the wood of the counter as if she were tinkering with the ivory of her piano. A smirk at all the right spots, the soft tuck of her lip between perfect pearly teeth during the more tense scenes. Trouble is afoot when a well known burly arse stumbles across the bar towards the Avian and attempts to get her attention by tapping her on the shoulder, but she gives him the ‘wait’ finger as she was still reading. He didn't see to kindly to this and started in on calling her names… Very unsavory names pertaining to the plethora of love bites and scratches about her neck and shoulders to which only elicit an eye roll from Brennia. He's still ignored before his loud obnoxious voice bellows, “hey, bitch! I'm speakin’ t’ya!” This causes everyone to get eerily quiet including the band, but is still ignored by Brennia and the brutes hand starts to reach for the precious parchment before her. Quick as a hiccup and if ya blink you'll miss it she was standing and being six two she nearly edges the man on a couple of inches when she got in his face, but what was more impressive was the obsidian Sai dagger poking at the man’s neck - where did that come from and how did she procure it so fast. He backs off with a snarl and she follows while no one dare move, speak or breath. Brennia airs on a fake nice timbre, “was there anything else you wanted?” The man shook his head, “are you going to go over to the corner now and enjoy a pint?” He nods quickly, “have a pleasant night.” A fake smile spreads across her lips and exposes her perfect teeth, but the difference between this one and her true one was the dangerous glint in her eyes. Swiftly, she spun the Sai dagger to secure it back in the hidden hilt between her back and her wings as soon as the man let her be. “Apologies,” she was just at the end of Samson’s writings as the chatter picked back up around them and as if nothing happened she smiles warmly, “I like it, Sammy,” she realized immediately what she did and sort of grimaced apologetically before stacking his parchment pile nicely and handing it back to him.
Samson tries not to stare at Brennia as she gets going on reading his RP. He tries to drink his beer and Be Cool like this isn't a little embarrassing. He also wants to point out that obviously Iris isn't him - see how the handwriting is a woman's - but he decides to wait until she's done. Except they're interrupted, by a burly fellow with a bad attitude. He rarely has to contend with a flight or fight response, he doesn't know what to do right off the bat. The more he stays out of it, the more he feels embarrassed for not saying something right away (! Hudson would have). The bartender seems to be trying to get involved, the guy's drunk, Samson defers to the guy who works here and maybe has a relationship with this guy. ...And that doesn't seem to be working. And there's a foul silence in the room. "Hey, man," Samson FINALLY starts to say, feeling a bit like he's late to the party insofar as rescuing the woman is concerned, but better late than never. Brennia doesn't need his help, though, she seems to have the situation well in hand. Hard to believe she's the same woman of moments ago. He looks at her wide-eyed as she returns to him, unfazed by what's just happened, maybe only a little annoyed that it happened at all. "Uh," he doesn't even know what to say to to any of this, the interruption, her praise, his being called Sammy. That's only a thing his sister Charlotte does, and even then only sometimes. "Thanks," he manages. He flushes. "That guy was awful, I'm sorry that escalated." And that he did nothing!
Brennia waves his apology away lazily as if a fly were bothering her and a sarcastic expression came across her face, “not at all. I'm sorry you just met me and had to see that side of me so quickly, but furthermore I am sorry for him because he's the one that embarrassed himself.” A shrug, “people can call me names all they want, but dare harm art or my students and I won't think twice about having to mar someone.” She also doesn't care if he jumped in or not, it wasn't his place and he really did just meet her. That's the thing about Brennia - she just accepts people the way they are… Which is an odd trait from an Avian, heck, it's an odd trait for royalty, but either way Brennia is good people and treats all equality. “I think you are good and I still think you should save up some vacation time in order to spend a long weekend at the college to just ‘hang out’. Create at your leisure and enjoy a bit of time away.” What she was suggesting is what a number of writers do that she's known; they take a week off to go stay in a cabin or an inn to get out of their element in order to get inspiration. It was at this time a rather handsome male member of the band excused himself into their conversation to which Brennia didn't mind. He was another tall Avian with a grey sort of tint to his white wings in contrast to Brennia's own onyx ones, “merry meet, Hinder. This is Samson if you haven't met him before. Samson, this is Hinder. He's a student of mine who plays for the Schezerade blitzball team, amazing soaring back for The Cardinals and an even better saxophonist.” This bragging caused Hinder’s cheeks to flush a bright red and the subtle clearing of his throat so he can speak, “h-hello Samson… I-I just came over here to check if you were all right Professor Smyth.” Again she reaches out and a hand is gently placed on Hinders bicep this time, “very sweet of you Hinder. I'm better than ever,” but she really wasn't and she made a good show of ‘dutiful principal’ as to not rile her students. Some days it is more difficult than others to put on such a facade that she isn't carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders/wings, but she gets through. “Would you play Jubel for me?” A slight tilt of her head as she looks up into Hinders deep brown eyes and he beamed a smile right back with a nod before leaving their company.
Lithrydel is a bit HAM sometimes, Samson knows, in that attractive women sometimes turned out to be basically secret ninjas, so he nods along with Brennia's explanation. It makes sense because Lithrydel. He chuckles nervously as she compliments his work. "It's not all me," he clarifies, pointing to the womanly handwriting on the page. "That's another person, the person responsible for Iris. I only write for Magnus." He wonders if Brennia is just being charitable and secretly judging him, if so, she's hiding it very well. It's at this point that Hinder approaches, evidently of the same glamorous avian race as Brennia. They seem to fit together, like puzzle pieces, it's no wonder the guy walks right up to her and addresses her. Samson lifts his hand in a wave as she makes introductions for them. But just look at the effect Brennia has on Hinder. Someone's a little hot for teacher. Samson isn't the type to comment directly, though, he holds that thought to himself and waits until Hinder has left to smile at Brennia. "Your students like you, you must be good at what you do."
Brennia nods along with his explanations, “oh of course. Her writing is rather decent, maybe she could be a bit more descriptive, but that's just me. I love little details. The more thorough the more of a picture is painted in my mind. I'm sure my fellow colleague at the college, Omry, would better analyze such work.” Should be obvious by now she wasn't just blowing smoke up this perfect stranger’s ass. She returns Samson’s smile, “oh I am sure I am not everyone's favorite.” Another subtle shrug, “but in my profession you can't always please everyone.” Her usual teacher apparel is a little more conservative side complete with high waisted pencil skirts, long sleeved blouses, high heels and glasses. The bartender leans across the bar towards Brennia and possibly in a flirtatious manner he asks if she will be having another drink, “not tonight, thank you. I best get going before I have a little too much and embarrass myself any further in front of my new friend here and my students.” Brennia runs long tattooed digests through her long silky hair as she was pulling it up into a high ponytail and bringing herself to stand once more. “With that… It was a pleasure to meet you Sam. I do hope we get more chances like these, merry part until we merry meet again. Thank you for sitting with me and sharing.” She damns it all, maybe being a little buzzed too, and leans in to wrap her arms over and around his shoulders in a hug, “if you ever need anything send word to the college.” He could easily be immersed into his favorite scent from her and definitely feel the warmth of the sun on her supple smooth skin as she is very…. pliable. As she pulled back she placed, or attempts to place, a platonic smooch on his cheekbone.
Samson feels a little bad for Iris's writer, who sometimes takes criticism for writing shorter, perhaaaaps lazier posts. She's well meaning, and he has an attachment to Iris the character because she was married to Magnus once, maybe for like a month, because shortly after their marriage he forgot to reply to a bunch of posts in the game and she started RPing that he'd vanished in-character, so... the marriage ended. Actually, if he memory serves, she'd left him for a salamander person, which never quite sat well with him. He'd never commented OOCly, but he'd heavily side-eyed how Iris could be into salamander guys. Like you should pick up on these things if you marry a woman. But maybe the short tenure of their marriage just... prevented such truths from bubbling to the surface. Anyway. All's fair in love and war and space-wizard roleplaying games. He offers Brennia a jaunty smile as she announces her departure. "You're not embarrassing yourself," he reassures her. (If anything, he's embarrassed.) It had been nice to bask in her relative celebrity, normally women who look like her don't talk to him and he doesn't talk to them either. He chokes on his words when she hugs him, though, and flushes a little. "Of course, yeah," he exhales in response to her invitation, playing that cool. (This woman is drunk! ...They just met, and she's just in a bathing suit and see-through shirt! What.) "Nice meeting you."