@ProxyInc and @Dark Cloud
<< Alcoholic Establishment
Shoulders slumping. One lens obscured eye caught a hint of the bar lighting and kept it opaque. Previously wild smile, erased; replaced by a somber pursed set of lips.”Excuse me, sir,”
"Oi the fu-
"”A bit rude, don’t ya think? Coming in and intruding upon a business proposition like ya did.”
"Whoever the fuck you are here, just-
" "Take it, no charge at all on the house. And uh...
No. No no no. No, no NO no.”I dare say I think you owe our dearest barkeep more than just a decent tip, sir."
"Good gods, sir-
""As for me, I think I can let you off with an apology.”NO NO NO NO NO-
"I ain't a bloody pastry chef.
And like that, it all stopped. A stillness, a quietness, to this dystopian
nightmare he had awoken into. Had time truly halted, or was Omi sucked into a true delusion? None were to say, none could judge, none could perceive
but he. And though the bizarre man's body could not move either, in this state of timeless self reflection, he did not bother questioning it. That was just a price. A price for time to ponder.
"Alright. Let's regroup.
" Words without lips moving, meaning without sound. Thus began his internal monologue made external, to an audience of one. "I've never seen this business before. It's unlikely to have been constructed in the short time I was away.. yet here I am. I know, I ABSOLUTELY know, I first entered from the eastern gates of Latent. The first contradiction. This should not exist and yet it does. Secondly, it is staffed by degenerate beast-men who smell of liquor and mud.
" Stillness, quiet, yet his eyes still moved. "And, patronized by.. I don't even know what. Sassy, likely armed women of a younger age; probably orphaned. Likely a brigand. Latent was never this poor off, they wouldn't have drunkard rejects for waiters and muggers for customers. Furthermore, neither of these "people",
" The sound of clapped lips and drawn breath was imparted, yet neither took place. Neither could take place. "Neither one recognizes me despite my renown. So we must assume the very worst.
Muttering and meandering of vocals for a moment before "Mmm, no, there are two possibilities. Three? Three. The first: I've been egressed from Latent, against my knowledge, to this unknown land. Second, I was perhaps, frozen? Frozen in some kind of stasis, unknown to time and unknowing to change. So then this is the Latent of say, a century or two ahead, dumbed down and unwashed. That could be. Alright. Alright, I have to assume then that their senses are muddled, their intelligence is worse, and their ability to be sophisticated is nonexistent. No, no EVEN.. even if it is the former. Was there three? Oh I've already forgotten the third possibility. Let's assume for now we are no longer in modern Latent. Bother. So then. The bartender is just incompetent and the woman is trying to intimidate me to establish power. I see. I see!
To those around him, the man said not a word. Nothing of the above took place. It was not reality, not their
reality. He seemed for just an instant "spacey." Nothing more.
But that energy
shot through him like lightning once more, as his fanged teeth suddenly flashed white with their exposed enamel and glint first at the bartender as though to entirely disregard the other customer
: "Why my apologies fine sir, I must have mistaken this for a different sort of establishment. Free of charge simply won't do, I will make sure when I'm done imbibing to tip you most handsomely. Thank you very much~
" Absolute adrenaline rush, the lightest tinge of sweat, blood vessels swimming
-- yet his voice. Now it was much more even toned, with an almost sultry rattle of stones. You could certainly interpret it as condescending.
Much more so as he suddenly looked over his shoulder in a sudden lurch, half-masked face at a 50 degree rotation eyeballing the third component to this social exchange: whatever her name was
. Truth be told, if this was a foreign land in space or time, Omi didn't see the need to know titles of a bartending drunkard and a street urchin. So then he'd name them appropriately within: Washedup and Urchin. Urchin had prodded him and made some thinly veiled threat. So never once minding the social faux paus underway with Omi's face uncomfortably close and fully exposed to reprisal or attack -- he thought to smooth the situation over.
"Likewise you've my apologies, I only assumed a smith at their station creates swords and a bartender at his bar serves drink. It was not my intention to slight you nor your business.
" Still not a single blink. It was unnerving. His neck was exposed. Madness could be a justification one gives for the behavior, yet.. his posture reeked
of confidence. As though awkwardly elbow propped against a bar counter with his head comically turned sideways ignoring his flank was the most natural and secure one could ever hope to be. As his hands worked to grasp the bottle sans a single glance in that direction, his brown eyes were boring Urchin.
It was anything but natural in feel. "I can fetch you a coin for your inconvenience once I have my bearings about me. What say you, fine lady? Would you forgive my rudeness?
" A question asked with a barely contained curling of his lips; something about the question humored him greatly.
Yet, it was necessary. Pests swarmed in packs. He didn't need trouble with the local low lives; not just yet.
If placating this woman and showing simple courtesy to the likely illegal employee was enough to deter needing to take action, it was a cost worth paying. Even if his fatigue was washing away with a brutal tension building within, it would not disappear forever. He would eventually need lodging, not blades and arrows in his sleeping form.
No. He'd imbibe the whisky, in increments as to ascertain the odds of it being poisoned.. and then after slipping the offended parties their bribery, fetch his jacket which Omi just KNEW was safely upfront
and depart to better decipher where he was. That was the likely day's agenda.