2017-03-18: Drinkin' At The Drippin' Oyster
- Log: Drinkin' At The Drippin' Oyster
- Cast: Parbody, Kent Hauch, Vin Barrett, Gwen Whitlock, Riesenlied
- Where: The Drippin' Oyster, Port Timney
- Date: March 17, 2017
- Summary: The Black Tie Gang are enjoying themselves, having drinks, and trying to show the newcomers and other impressionable sorts that the Impeccably Dressed Fire-Obsessed Thug's Life is quite pleasant, and trying to subtly get some other passin' folks of Quality to have a few drinks and maybe consider a career change...
========================<* Port Timney *>=========================
Port Timney is the Kingdom of Adlehyde's premier port town. The city hugs the southern coast of the ranchlands and several trains terminate in Ardyne Grand Station at the northern part of the town. Cattle brought from the ranchlands tend to end up in the northern part of town, before their meat and hides are shipped as far as Krosse and Nortune. Timney has the look of an industrial city, without much of the simple style that Adlehyde's other cities are popular for. While it has few factories, it has many workshops and tanneries in the northern parts of town.
Most of the people live in between the northern factories and southern docks, in apartment homes of varying quality. The markets are functional, meant to serve locals rather than sell the imports and exports making their way through the port. The docks, however, are something to behold: numerous large piers, fit for both wooden sailing ships and the newer ironclads, extend out onto the blue waters of the South Ignas Sea.
BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9KZlk_t4Ww
<Pose Tracker> Parbody has posed.
The DRIPPIN OYSTER is a bar near the docks in Port Timney. As the name suggests it sells oysters, which are cheap protein, and beer, which is cheap everything else, to people who live near a dock - viz, sailors, in the main, but also people who travel on a budget.
And criminals. Criminals are often on a budget.
It would be inaccurate to say that the Black Ties have 'taken over' the Oyster, given that it's a converted warehouse, but there's definitely a half-dozen Shirts and a couple of Vests lurking around three tables near the open patio section. (It's a very risky patio, even without the criminals.) They are playing cards, smoking cigars, and generally having a good time.
At the epicenter with her back to a brick wall is Parbody. She has no drink or oyster or smoke because she is wearing a gas mask. At the moment, in fact, she's writing something in an account book, with what is, presumably, a fossil bone deployed to weigh down the book's pages against the sea breeze.
<Pose Tracker> Kent Hauch has posed.
The worst-dressed Black Tie at the Drippin Oyster is an older-looking man in a black coat and a red shirt. His clothes are stained, especially along the sleeves, he smells like an apothecary, and his riotous grey hair has some singed spots.
He also brought his own booze to a bar which is how you know that SAMUELH THE MOLOTOV is a true OG.
He is currently at one of the tables telling an improbable story about himself and a cattle rustler three daughters. Five minutes into the story, it becomes four daughters.
<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.
In hindsight, Vin figures he reeeeally needs to have a better vetting process for 'places to get a good bite to eat'. Honestly, his cousin's friend's co-worker had recommended the DRIPPIN' OYSTER for it's cheap oysters and cheaper beer, and for someone who spends most of his time in the middle of a landlocked desert wasteland, well, seafood seemed like a right fine luxury!
Also, after nearly getting his head taken off by a giant zombie, Vin Barrett, Baskar Guide, figured he deserved a break and a treat to celebrate that whole 'not being dead' thing. So, the Badlands Baskar has, well, drifted his way down to Port Timney and found, to his vague annoyance, that most of the seats inside are taken. But hey, Patio!
...Annnnnd Vin pauses for a moment when he steps out there, blinking at the rather riotous band of ne'er-do-wells enjoying themselves outside. He sighs, muttering to himself. "Well, that explains why the seats inside were taken."
Still, the cheap oysters he's got in a small basket smell really good, and the beer seems tolerable, so, well...Vin's a Badlander. He's dealt with worse. Settling in at a table, the Baskar pops a fried oyster into his mouth, chewing tenatively. "...Huh. Not bad."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
No one here needs oysters to be delivered, especially when there's a ready supply just a hop, skip, and a jump away. There is, however, a need for other ingredients, and what's better for people to have oysters with? Why, lemons and vinegar! Maybe some horseradishes for that secret DRIPPIN OYSTER cocktail sauce. What else is in it? Probably not a good idea to know.
And when someone needs a delivery to be made, Gwen is there. In fact, she's rather surprised she was able to luck out on such a job! Just a run from Point A to Point B, good pay, nothing illegal. Why hasn't anyone else taken on this job? Drifters in the eastern side of the Aveh line must be used to cushy delivery jobs, or else, actively prefer those high-tension, high excitement digging type of jobs. See, in the Badlands, delivery often involves both.
"... Nah, nah, it's fine, I can carry these. Where'd you want these?" the courier asks around a tall assortment of boxes, as the teenage staffer escorts her through the back door, through the kitchen, and into the food storage area. Which, coincidentally, has a window to the serving area. Setting them onto a counter, Gwen wipes her forehead with her gloved right hand and looks through the open window onto the seating area.
..... oh. These people.... kinda all dress similar here, don't they... Huh. Welp, nothing illegal here, at least!
Well, that answers her question as to why there weren't any takers for this delivery job. Has nothing to do with laziness, and everything to do with her being a misinformed Drifter who has no idea what the cityscape of Port Timothy's like. YOU LEARN SOMETHING NEW EVERYDAY.
<Pose Tracker> Parbody has posed.
Parbody keeps doing the books.
Or does she? She looks up, maybe, for a couple of seconds. There may have been speech from behind that mask but it was certainly quieter than Samuelh's raucuous story about rustling up some daughters.
MYSTERIOUSLY, a half minute or so later, a Shirt approaches both Vin and Gwen. (Not the same one.)
Gwen Shirt has his hands in his pockets and his thumbs in what are still conventional worker's dungarees, empty beltloops filled by those grubby digits. "Looks like you've got a great haul there, huh. Hey, we're going in for a pitcher, me and my friends; it's bad luck to have four on a pitcher, right? Could I bug ya to come and have a seat with us?"
Vin Shirt has a simpler offer. "Hey, we need a fourth for our game, whatdaya say? We'll stake you twenty gella since I can tell you're eatin your dinner. Just don't get any grease on the cards, huh?!" This guy seems unduly excited about the entire prospect. Also, his pants are slightly less crappy than Gwen Shirt's.
Parbody meanwhile closes the books. Book. It makes an imperious noise, and she passes it to a Vest afterwards, who makes it go away. Having done this, she folds her gloved hands on the table.
<Pose Tracker> Kent Hauch has posed.
The Black Ties don't so much have a uniform as they do a dress code. They aim to dress well - some are accomplishing it more than others - but their primary identifier is that they don't act at all with the class their outfits would normally represent. Samuelh punctuates this pose's narration by emptying his bottle, letting out a belch with a chemical haze, and producing another bottle from the sack at his waist.
Alarmingly, it is definitely a molotov cocktail. The older man simply tugs the rag out of it, stuffs it down the front of his shirt, then grabs and throws his empty. The bottle whizzes across the patio, barely misses Vin's shoulder, rebounds off a support pillar, and crashes into a garbage barrel filled with more glass.
Samuelh's table goes briefly silent for a moment until the older man gives a horse-toothed smile at Vin and shrugs in insincere apology. Everyone has a good time.
<Pose Tracker> Riesenlied has posed.
An interesting task had fallen in Riesenlied's list of things to do.
'Discover an abandoned town suitable for our purposes as a forward operating base, and take it over without anyone noticing.'
Port Timney was a decent first point of all, being the largest city outside of Adlehyde -- it was also a port town, which by necessity meant that it received a lot more traffic from the outside and heard a lot more things than a safe, secluded capitol would.
The blonde woman with the horns was... perhaps somewhat familiar as she stepped into the oyster bar, glancing around. Hmm. She hadn't spotted the Ties quite yet.
<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.
The Baskar quirks his head to the side, hair ruffled by the passing bottle, frowning slightly as he glances over at the rude chap demonstrating -such classiness- and even better dental hygiene. Eeeesh. Vin eats another oyster, pondering his options. Hmmm.
Well, the patio looks easy enough to escape from shold everything end up going totally Badlands, so he figures he can risk it.
"Fine."
Standing up, he moves over to the card game, carefully sitting so that the other classily dressed hooligans are in the line of fire of further bottles, so to speak.
...Classy hooligans, classy hooligans...That rings a bell...
Vin covers his Thinking Frown with a deep sip from his beer, washing the taste of delicious fried food down as he carefully pulls an old, but clean, rag out to keep his fingers clean while playing cards, mentally prepping his well-practiced Inscrutable Baskar Tribesman Face routine (It's great for dealing with 'tourists' to the Badlands!).
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
So Gwen will just do her delivery, get her pay, and the scram, right? Noooope.
To be fair, it may not be trouble at all that's approaching her. Waiting for her payment to arrive, a man comes up, catching the courier's attention with the mention of beer. He seems amiable enough, and his comfortable clothing makes his identity vague enough that Gwen can't guess from looks alone whether he was with the grouping of well-dressed men or not. Looking to the nervous staffer who arrives with her pay, Gwen simply receives a vague shrug that could mean anything from 'i dunno, man' to 'don't make any trouble by refusing' to 'I wish I could drink anytime I wanted to, you lucky bastard'.
Running a hand through her short curly hair, Gwen shrugs. "Sure, why not." What, why would any criminal really care enough to notice a Gwen was there and try to rope her into some trouble? That is, assuming this person *is* with them. She'd hate to pass up on any potentially free drink or meal at this point with her meager funds.
She grins. "Just don't get your hopes up. I'm a woman married to my job, though I'm always up for some pleasant company. But yeah. Lead the way."
<Pose Tracker> Parbody has posed.
GWEN SHIRT leads Gwen to several other people in their crisp white or off-white shirts, who have in fact obtained a pitcher of beer and five cups. Gwen is poured one, ceremoniously.
"So you look tired," says one, and "yeah," agrees another. They seem solicitious here, even as the fourth one asks, "You work in delivery, or?" ("Must be a hot job." Laughter ensues, but gently!)
VIN SHIRT leads him over to a table where cards are being shuffled. He is duly extended the promised stake. As the cards are given extra shuffling, the guy who hauled him over asks: "That poncho of yours looks like it's got some miles on it. Where's it from?"
Riesenlied is cruelly ignored because criminals can't do EVERYTHING at once, although she does see Parbody get up and walk over towards Samuelh's table. "Starting the embalming process early, I see," she tells him, even as she sets elegantly down in the chair and swings one leg over the opposing knee, the trouser creases remaining perfect even so.
<Pose Tracker> Kent Hauch has posed.
Samuelh smoothly lowers his voice from his typical bellow to match Parbody's tone: "Boss tells me to come watch the kids try to pick up the fresh laundry, I come watch an' see if they fold it right." The dirtiest Tie takes a swig of his molotov and pointedly thumps it down equidistant between himself and the masked woman. "I'll be damned if I have to worry about remembering it tomorrow, though! Hyah hah hah!"
MEANWHILE AT TABLE VIN, a short-haired woman in a vest has an annoyed expression on her face, jabbing an elbow into the Shirt's kidney. "He's Baskar, you look like an idiot asking a question like that." She gives Vin a sharp smile, leaning back, waiting for her cards. "Far from home, I'd wager. It can be tough, making ends meet in those wild years."
<Pose Tracker> Riesenlied has posed.
That woman... she was the one I fought in Tindus. Which means...
Riesenlied's eyes scan rather briefly as she glances towards Sameulh's table, and then quietly moves towards the bar with a little hum of thought. So, they did hang around here. Timney did have its shadier parts, she thought, and this was a good start. Perhaps she can start asking about some of the more out-there locations...
It's fortunate Odjn isn't here, and is instead serenading a crowd out in a nicer plaza somewhere to the tune of how she needs a hero (and he better be fresh from the fight).
"I'll have wine, please," she smiles softly to the bartender, before leaning over to glance back at the table.
<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.
VIN PONCHOCLOAK calmly fixes eyes on the chap shuffling those cards with extra scrutiny. He is, after all, a Badlander. Still, the Lady Vest's comments get a small smirk on his face. "Nicely spotted. I was going to merely enigmatically say 'November City', before." He sips his beer, sharp eyes still carefully watching those cards for any sign of Card Shenanigans, waiting for his hand to be dealt as his free hand taps the small stake of gella that the Shirts handed to him in a bid to enjoy some Card Games.
He pauses mid-sip. Waiiiit a minute.
Sharply dressed. Kinda hooliganish. Recognize folks from the Badlands.
The Baskar's Stoic Face gets a quick test, helpfully aided by the props of Beer and Oysters, as he remembers seeing wanted posters for a certain fairly infamous gang that is made up of Sharply Dressed Hooligans.
oO(...Awwwwww, Zephyrdangit...)Oo
Yeah, Vin just figured out who he's playing cards with. But on the other hand, these oysters really are pretty good, and he's a Drifter, not a Lawman. He doesn't have a reason to 'throw down', as the vernacular goes, with his Cardgame Companions at the moment. Instead, he concentrates on a more important issue! "Hmm. Need to find out the recpie for the sauce. Quite tasty. Hmm." Vin glances at his first interrogator. "Do you think it would work well on chicken? Much easier to find chicken back home than seafood, after all!"
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
"Thank you kindly. Nothin' like a good drink on a hot day with some local gossip on the way. Y'all look like you know a few good yarns." They seem to be a pretty friendly bunch, and they're all sharing a brew. Plus, it's nice to have some comforting, interested chatter with people who aren't going to go 'hey did you know your ARM might turn you into a TERRIBLE MONSTER' or 'hey remember when I saw your hand' or even 'remember when you helped wreck a tavern? also, weird arm'. Just nice, *normal* chatter between *normal* folk, and FREE BEER.
And Black Ties.
Gwen may not know much, but she knows enough to feel a little guarded. While drinking her free beer. Potentially free. "Work as a courier, pretty much!" Gwen, for once, drops the 'super' part. Sure, the man at the Adventurer's Guild said it'd drum up business, but *Black Ties*. Possibly at her table, or in the next one or possibly *everyone*. "Normally I work in the Badlands, but this Aveh business has cut mine down a bit." Normally the last thing a person does is complain about pay in the business they just left. But, again. Black Ties. "So if you're lookin' for someone to help ya with the bill, I'm afraid I can't do much but offer some amusing stories n' all."
You know who isn't a Black Tie? The guy in the table not far from her, on account of his distinctive cloak. Well, she had something to deliver anyway. "Gimme a sec, speaking of that." Getting up from her chair, Gwen takes a drink of her beer and goes towards the Baskar Drifter. "Got a letter for you." He's playing cards with criminals now? Man, if his village only knew...
<Pose Tracker> Parbody has posed.
"Don't got any wine," the bartender informs Riesenlied. "You want a beer?" Or is this place now far too low class for her to survive within...?
TABLE VIN: The talkative shirt gets elbowed in the kidney. "Guh!!" he whines. He continues whining: "I was just makin conversation KAREN you don't got to do a thing." Cards get dealt by the guy dealing, who is silent. Vin gets a surprisingly good hand, though it could use a little improvement.
TABLE SAMUELH: Parbody says, "Ha ha ha!" Yeah, she says it aloud - it's a little strange. She ignores the thump. "That's a peaceful way to live your life... but how will you remember if you forgot on time?"
TABLE GWEN: "Hey, nah, we ain't gonna ask you to PAY or nothing." "I mean, if you want to chip in, we won't stop you." "Yeah, but we know how it is." "Ye-"
Gwen gets up to walk over towards Vin. One of the Shirts looks - no, she took her beer with her. He sucks on his teeth. "Awkward..."
<Pose Tracker> Riesenlied has posed.
There's a very faint sigh. "No wine? Really. Well, beer shall have to suffice, then," Riesenlied answered, slipping a gella coin across and peering across to the table once more. Ugh. Beer. If they have their way with world subjugation, beer shall be high on her list of things to eradicate. Everyone shall be of at least sufficient standard to drink wine.
She gestures towards Gwen's table, and then slips closer towards Vin and Gwen, since she was moving to his table. "My, gentlemen, a fascinating game of cards you have there," she expresses with a soft smile, lightly folding her arms. "You boys playing for a high stake, or is this all in gentlemanly fashion?"
<Pose Tracker> Kent Hauch has posed.
Samuelh's gaze is drifting. He has a way at looking at someone without looking directly at them that Parbody's come to recognize. He might be kind of an old garbage trash criminal man, but he's an old criminal, which means a thing or two. He squints, like he's trying to remember something, looking in the direction of Reisenlied. He wasn't actually there, but Kent handed out sketches of all the significant Drifters he ran into in his heist, just to make sure his men knew what was up. He scrats at his shitty stubble with the neck of his bottle.
Meanwhile, inside the bar, a large man seems to have dozed off in a small table against the wall, a cigar lying in a little ashtray, smoking merrily. Unlikely to be important.
The Black Ties are, generally, not trying to be outwardly threatening. Most of them aren't even capable of being threatening on their own, the Shirts all generally young and fresh-looking, a few of them even potentially local recruits.
The Vest appears to think about Vin's words for a moment, tapping her chin with her bottle. She has a small scar along its side from a knife. She takes a moment to smirk at the Vest at the other table. "Hell, I don't know," she says. "Brown on beef, white on whatever, right?" She looks up at Riesenlied, but seems willing to let one of the others field her, her eyebrows tilted up. She looks amused.
<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.
The Baskar eyes his hand, face impassive as he looks the cards over, then discards two to the dealer to (hopefully) swap them for even better cards! That is how carding works, after alL! Go carding!
He pauses, though, putting his cards down and hanging his head when he hears THAT VOICE. "...Noooooo..."
Resigned to his TERRIBLE FATE, Vin looks over his shoulder at Gwen, his face that of someone who expects ONLY DOOM AND GLOOM. "...Hello, Gwen." His voice, previously fairly polite and chipper, is also full of DESPAAAAAAAAAAIR! "...Thank...You...Gwen." He sadly takes the letter, the paper envelope charred with a pattern matching his cloak, unfolding it and reading it. Then rereading it. Then slumping. "Dangit, Auntie...Seriously? THAT again? Ugh."
Shaking his head sadly, he folds up the letter and tucks it into a pocket under his ponchocloak. He offers a couple of his fried oysters up to Gwen as payment for her Couriering, setting the basket nearby and then eyeing his hand with the fresh cards. "Hm." He tosses an extra pair of gella into the pot. Confident!~
"Hmm. Suppose I'll just have to experiment. Unless I can find some sort of weird sandfish thing that's actually both edible and palatable. Hmmm...."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Gwen may have commented that she was a woman married to her job, but it was probably a good thing that the people at her table were around her age, baring little to no clues that could mark them as possibly one of the Black Ties. .... Then again, those marks kind of happened to everyone in the Badlands, so it's not really significant in itself- just speaks to more what Gwen expects than what may be reality.
Taking another drink from her glass, she opens her own vest with that same hand, pinning the fabric between her pinkie and glass, to reveal a number of envelopes. Flipping through them with her right hand, she slips one out and presents it to the crestfallen but polite Vin. How are these letters getting past Aveh's blockade? Baskar sorcery! Or maybe some sort of communication line. Gwen never questions the power of an aunt wishing her nephew would Come Back Home. "Oho, these look good!" Taking the offering of free food, she looks over the table, from Vin to Riesenlied. "Ah, I'm from over there," she says, pointing to the table of young gentlemen sharing a pitcher. "Wanna join us?"
A friend of Zed's is... a friend of Zed's after all. Zed. Now Gwen's thinking about her arm all over again. Damn it.
<Pose Tracker> Parbody has posed.
The Black Ties at TABLE VIN are probably now more alert to this new and emergent social dynamic. Perhaps the intelligence leaked out of TABLE GWEN and into them.
Vin gets matched and even raised. Seems like the gangsters don't think he's got a killer hand...
Actually, though, the bidding takes long enough between miscellaneous jocosity and japery that when Gwen gets involved and seems to be chatting with Vin, and also waving over yet a third person, there is one bettor that remains. He immediately folds. Cowardice? Or is this guy deciding to play for keepsies?
Parbody does not, of course, visibly react, but her head turns to look towards where Samuelh is looking, which in this case is right towards Riesenlied. Her head tilts ten degrees to the side - which is, funnily enough, an exact mirror of Ribaldy's own motions - as she says, with theatrical clarity despite 'talking to someone at her table,' "Oh - it's my old friend. What are the chances, Samuelh? In this great, howling waste-land of ours?"
<Pose Tracker> Riesenlied has posed.
There's a luxurious chuckle from Riesenlied as she nods, saying, "Sure, why not? Company is always good." Still salty about beer. Ugh, beer. She peers towards the platter of food for a moment, perhaps silently judging, but saying nothing. Vin's garments are quite curious -- she's never been to a Baskar village before, and perhaps for the better... though she'd always been curious about what the opinion of those that are in tune with the Guardians are. Of course, this one didn't particularly look close to his roots. ... but, looks can be deceiving.
"Who are these friends of yours?" the horned woman asks as she moves back to Gwen's table.
Her glance is back to Parbody for a moment, but the smirk just grows as she seats herself primly, not seeming to have an ounce of nervousness or deceit in her. Not that she really fits the image of this seedy oyster bar, but she doesn't look like a princess that's bit off more than she can chew either.
<Pose Tracker> Kent Hauch has posed.
Samuelh props his dusty boots on the edge of his table, leaning his thin frame back, pulling from his bottle. He responds to Parbody by snorting up a deep, rich load, hawking it into this mouth, and then chewing at it rather than spit. He swirls it up with the alcohol in his mouth and swallows down the whole kaboodle.
So that's how Samuelh gets down.
"Ahhhhh," he complains, "come off it. Surprised it took this long to bang into someone from that job, anyway." The woman looked right at Parbody - safe to say the jig, as it were, is up. Though they weren't hiding. "Hey, girlie!" he slurs at the horned woman. "Whawas yer name, anyway? The boss wasn't worrying too much about in-tro-ductions and whatnot.
Meanwhile, the game with Vin seems to be going well for him, because people don't like to join gangs they're losing piles of money to. The Vest tosses her hand away and leans forward, elbows on the table. "Gettin' hassled from back home? I know how that can be. My folks carried on and carried on until I started sending good money back." She drops the hint like a brick into a trough.
<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.
Vin scores the current pot. Nice!~ He calmly stacks the money up in front of him for easy access, then accepts a fresh hand. Hm. Not nearly as good. The Baskar sighs, watching his initial bet go bye-bye, tossing his card into the center of the table. "Mmmm? Oh, that? Nah, Auntie's got her heart in the right place. It's not about the money with her, she just thinks I should go home and settle down to do my family duties and all that." Well, it is obviously a right of meddling older ladies to good-naturedly hassle their younger relatives into starting familes so they can have nieces, nephews, and grandchildren to spoil, right? Right.
That is totally why Auntie hassles Vin Barrett, Normal Baskar Wasteland Guide.
Eyeing the empty beer, he hmmms, then shrugs. "One sec." He pulls a well-worn leather travel satchel out, pulling several repurposed glass bottles with a slightly murky liquid in them out, the tops sealed with old wine corks and wax. Smirking at the card players, he sets the bottles on the table for easy grabbing. "Baskar Brewed Cactus Juice. It's got a bit of a kick, if any of ya want to give it a try."
...What? Getting your competition a little bit tipsy is a long-honored tradition among Badlands Card Players!
He also pauses in his Commissierating About Family and Trying To Get Impressionable Criminals Drunk to nod politely at Gwen's friend, but is otherwise fairly quiet!
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Eating one of the oysters offered as a tip, Gwen drinks from her glass. After finishing, she says, "Oh, just some nice group who wanted me to finish off a pitcher of beer with them. Have you tried the oysters? They're great!"
But her glass is nearly empty. Seeing Vin display some jars of cactus juice, Gwen rubs her chin. Setting it down her glass on a nearby table, she reaches over and hovers over Vin's shoulder. "Hey, those treats you had were pretty good. Lemme snag one of those too~ Consider it as going towards the next letter." Because there will be another letter. There always is another letter.
Wait, which one was her glass? Damn. Okay, this one. Picking up the glass and downing what was in it, Gwen uncaps the bottle and pours. "Bottoms up!"
<Pose Tracker> Parbody has posed.
Parbody gets up from her chair with a smooth unfolding and saunters over towards Riesenlied as she sits, smugly.
Nobody is probably much looking at her due to the offer of Cactus Juice, which is a powerful appeal. Her hands, thus, come to clasp down on Riesenlied's shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze as she leans downwards, practically right up along side the horned woman's face.
This close there is a hint of a face in those dark lenses. Or is that just Riesenlied's own face? "My dear lady," she says, "are you finding everything here alright? It's such a pleasure to meet you again. SUCH a pleasure."
There is a smell of something like camphor. "If there's anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask. Do you follow the papers?"
She doesn't interfere with the card game, at least not directly. Why bother? Of course Samuelh is calling. "And you do have me at a disadvantage. What IS your name?" This is accompanied by a second, malicious squeeze of the shoulders.
<Pose Tracker> Riesenlied has posed.
Riesenlied glances towards Gwen for a moment, but before she can answer, she feels powerful hands on her shoulders, and places a finger to her own lip. She has a purposefully coy look on her face.
"Ah, me?" she tilts her head. "Riesenlied. Pleased to meet you, love," with a chuckle, though she pauses as Parbody squeezes just a little bit firmer. "Perhaps I'm just not versed with Ignasian culture, but you are being a bit forward, aren't you...? What was the phrase -- 'do buy me dinner first'?"
<Pose Tracker> Kent Hauch has posed.
Samuelh looks at Riesenlied, and then he looks at Parbody.
Wordlessly, he tilts himself away from the table, extracting himself from the situation with a coward's instincts.
The lady Vest takes a bottle, one eyebrow up as she bites onto the cork, jerks it out, and wafts the neck under her nose. One of the Shirts takes one and starts struggling with it. "Well, maybe you just need to stay busy. Get in a good social group." She isn't looking quite as gung-ho. Vin's starting to feel evasive as far as the actual point of this meeting is supposed to be.
MEANWHILE: A brawny Shirt with... you know, kind of a goaty face, like he's a little bit of a goat, grabs his glass and takes a swig. "Baaah!" he complains, sterotypically. "Where's my rye?" He looks at where he got his drink, a little dotted line extending to where there are two rings of condensation. He scratches at one of the nubs where one day when he's a big tough man he'll have rad horns.
The young Shirt finally gets his bottle open and, without hesitation, takes a drink. His eyes bug out and he starts coughing. "Little sharp for you, boy?"
Samuelh the Molotov is propping one hand on his chair. The Shirt looks up at him with watery eyes until Suit #3 taps his shoulder with his bottle. "Go wash yer face and get me an exhaust sample." He scrambles out and the old man takes his seat at the table, grinning at the Vest and stretching out his spindly arms with a few pops. "Baskar cactus juice," he says appreciatively, taking the bottle the other ganger left behind, peering into it. "A bit soft for me, but good for sobering up."
He grins at Vin. The man smells like he's been soaking in alcohol since he was born. There's a slight chemical haze rising from the bottle he brought with him. "You enjoying the game, son?"
<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.
Vin calmly puts a couple of his (well, actually, the Black Ties, but whose counting?) ((Besides Vin.)) gella back into the pot after he gets a look at his third hand of cards, a small smirk on his stoic visage as he calmly downs a straight shot of the Cactus Juice without trouble, that small smile the only sign of his amusement at the reactions he's getting to both his card playing and his fermented cactus juice. "Mmmm...That's the nice thing about my current occupation. Quite a bit of freedom, you know. Pay isn't too bad, either. Grew up learning to handle the Badlands outside the cities, so by comparison, isn't quite so bad down here."
Course, then Samuelh sits down, and Vin's smile turns just a smidge more artificial. From how he's suddenly breathing shallowly, it's prooooobably the smell. Still, he stays polite enough. "I'm told it's an acquired taste. And the game's amusing enough, I suppose. Thank you for the inquiry, Mister...?" He accepts a fresh card, humming, and then puts a few more coins into the pot.
Unfortunately, Samuelh's arrival and the Goat Kid failing to handle his Juice distract Vin from the TRUE THREAT...which is probably Gwen, the inoffensive courier, rather than the table full of pyromaniacal bandits and hopeful bandit rookies/groupies.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
See, here, Vin warned it had 'a kick', which in Badlands jargon means 'will knock your socks off'. But it also means 'see if you can down this!' Sipping the brew in her glass, Gwen winces. "Wooow. That is something." A bit of a weird taste, but she really can't offend her frequent 'customer' by only taking one sip and then dumping the rest later. Smiling at the young Shirt, Gwen boats, "In the Badlands, when someone gives you something good, you down it, like so." Taking her glass, she downs the brew, then presses the glass down, the smile on her face spreading even wider. "Ah. Gooood stuff."
Really good. Wooo. Vin was *not* kidding. This stuff definitely has a _kick_! Kind of pleasant, too, really.
Seeing Parbody and Riesenlied, Gwen moseys on over with a small giggle underneath her breath. The steadily-rising tide of fermented Cactus Juice logic means Zed's friends are friends that are Gwen's friends, horns and baby cat dragons and all. Even if he might be a werewolf. And maybe Riesenlied is too, but what sort of wolves have horns? Horned wolves, that's who. "What's going on over here?" She lands a friendly arm around Riesenlied's shoulders, unheeding of the fact that there's not only a Riesenlied here, there is a Parbody. "Is this your friend too? Or a new friend! Friends are good alll around, haha..." Wooo, this stuff is goood! "Woo, not gonna do any more deliveries today, nooo." Wait, what's Riesenlied's name again?
<Pose Tracker> Parbody has posed.
Riesenlied raises the stakes. Perhaps she feels she has a killer hand. Parbody's hands move to pinch at the blonde woman's cheeks, to rub at them, to run quickly and deftly in the orbits of Riesenlied's eye sockets. This would have been unpleasant fast, potentially, but other than a perhaps refreshing moment of massage and a lingering scent of petrochemicals, nothing bad happens.
"Ha ha ha," Parbody replies. Saying it aloud, even.
And then she leans backwards with brisk efficiency, completely avoiding personal contact with Gwen. "Oh," she says, "I'm sure we'll all be."
Her hand goes down again to ruffle Riesenlied's hairstyle. "Friends," she concludes.
With this she absents herself and loops round towards the bar. Is she actually going to drink something or immediately go rat everyone present out to "the Man"? It's a mysterious question: drink your cactus juice instead, though.
<Pose Tracker> Riesenlied has posed.
Riesenlied's cheeks, fortunately, are not Terminator-cold. Inferior or not, liquid metal is termed for a reason, and that includes largely synthetically accurate look and feel of flesh to those of human counterparts. It'd only be under terribly close scrutiny that Riesenlied's more doll-like features would make themselves apparent.
How dare you ruin her hairstyle, though, Parbody. She spends a lot of time on it every morning.
And then Gwen descends in a manner that can only be described as 'limpeting on'! "Oh dear, look at you now..." she muses, as Parbody makes her step away. That scent of camphor... just where does she find that scent, Riesenlied wonders? How fascinating. Does it serve a purpose for her? Scents affect humans in interesting ways.
"Gwen, dear, was it?" Riesenlied strokes at the Courier's hair gently, and then says, "We'd best get you to rest before some ne'er-do-well takes advantage of you, hmm?"
<Pose Tracker> Kent Hauch has posed.
The hand ends. Another win for Vin. Samuelh takes the deck from the Vest, who watches him with interest. "Samuelh," he responds with another grin. "Samuelh the Molotov."
Despite all the alcohol he's been drinking, his long-fingered hands move deftly, shuffling the cards together, sorting them around his fingers, tossing them from one hand to the other. "I've always liked the Baskar people. Used to run a travelling carnival. Could always count on y'all to trade fair, food for a show." His voice is creaky, worn from barking, drink, and desert winds. Cards fly between his hands, a classic card trick. He fans them, fits them back together, cuts, and deals.
"I figure you're savvy, son, know what you're doing around here. Dancin' circles around my kids here. I'll lay it straight out, no nonsense." The completely unkempt man puts Vin's last card down. "Are you, or are you not, interested in a life of security and freedom, takin' from people who have a bit too much, gettin' rich and having fun while doing it? We're on the rise, I'll have you know."
Samuelh barely glanced at the cards while he shuffled, but he's dealt out a two of hearts, three of clubs, six of spades, seven of diamonds, and ten of spades. Quite possibly among the worst hands that exists. He drains the cactus juice, apparently oblivious.
<Pose Tracker> Vin Barrett has posed.
Oh. A recruitment pitch. How nice. The Baskar just calmly allows a single eyebrow to quirk up, face impassive as Samuelh the Molotov puts his (metaphorical) cards on the table while dealing the (physical) cards onto the table. The Baskar glances at his hand, then up at the dealer...and then calmly tosses his cards back. "Mmm. Not a great hand for me. I fold." The Baskar finishes off his cactus juice, setting the empty bottle down as he glances at the small pile of Gella in front of him. He then glances over at his Minor Acquaintance as she gets hit hard by the ol' Cactus Juice.
Shrugging, the Baskar folds his hands on the table, smiling pleasantly at Samuelh the Molotov.
"In a life of freedom? Yes. I'm a Drifter. Doing so by becoming a bandit? Not interested in the least. There's enough pain and misery in the world without trying to add to it. I'll find my own path, thank you." He pulls an empty leather pouch out, scraping his winnings into it and standing up from the table, inclining his head politely to the younger Black Ties. "Pleasure playing cards with you. If you'll excuse me, I have an acquaintance who's hit the Juice a bit hard."
And, regardless of the risk to his beloved Baskar Cloak, Vin steps over to help escort Gwen away from the band of Black Ties, sighing as he nods politely at her other acquaintance as he reaches down and hefts one of Gwen's arms around his shoulder. "C'mon, Courier, you're due for a delivery of Yourself to a bed to sleep off chugging that much juice that fast."
Vin's walking off with a smidge more gella than he was staked, to boot. Not much, really, but it's the principle of the thing.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Seeing Parbody walk off, Gwen raises a hand in a cordial wave. "Oho. The gas mask is neaat, haha. But probably hot in the desert! She takes care of her hair too."
Gwen jolts as Riesenlied strokes her hair, than chuckles. "Hhey, that tickles. Oh, my name? Gwen. Gweeen Whitlock. Your name was.... Reese? Reesel." Something like that. At least Gwen is a moderately happy drunk, even if the arm that's curled around Riesenlied's shoulders seems a bit stronger than what would be expected for a human her build and size. "If anyone did try somethin', I'd probably punch them," Gwen giggles, her cheeks beginning to flush. "I've got a nasty uppercut!"
Pointing to Vin as he approaches, the courier holds up her empty glass. "Thissss is some good stuff, Vin!! You weren't lyin' when you said it had a kick! Badlands kick, haha." She readily transfers herself from poor Riesenlied to Vin, weaving as she slings a happy arm around the Baskar's neck. "The day's still young, though! You better get Gulliver too, he'sen th' back. Silly horse probably wonderin' where I am." Looking over her shoulder, she waves with her free hand to Riesenlied. "Seeya later, Reesel! And say hello to yer cat for me, that cat is hilarious!"
Thus ends this verse of the ballad of Gwen. The next one will be Vin taking Gwen to an inn, and, most likely, getting puked on for his trouble. Probably on his cloak.
<Pose Tracker> Parbody has posed.
LATER, when the accounts are settled:
"Six G to that Baskar man?" Parbody says, a frown audible in her voice. "He said all of that, and he kept our money? It makes you wonder who the real bandits are."
<Pose Tracker> Riesenlied has posed.
Riese just finds herself blinking as she rises in turn, letting Vin take Gwen with a nod. Well, better him as someone she knows and hounds; she had other business to attend to, anyhow. "Hmm, that's a new one on Odjn. Do be well, Gwen. And it was nice to meet you, Vin."
She stalks out of the bar, with that, with a quiet grumble. Right, that was a bust. A sniff. The scent of camphor...
What does someone have to do to get a decent glass of wine around here, really?
<Pose Tracker> Kent Hauch has posed.
The Black Ties don't turn hostile or anything as the 'offer' is turned down. The Vest sips at her juice, gesturing an acknowledgement with it at Vin as he rises. Samuelh lays his own hand down: four Jacks and a King. "Good instincts, kid." His tombstone smile doesn't reach his eyes.
The party leaves. "Watch your backs out there!" Samuelh calls after them. "I heard there are some troublemakers in town!" The Black Ties reshuffle themselves and continue the proceedings. It's slow going, but the Shirts learn how to act, the Vests learn how to oversee, the Jackets learn the area, and the Suits... well, Samuelh's generally done learning.
An hour later, as closing time nears, the big man unfolds from his side table, picking his cigar up. He stomps his way out to the tables, shaking his coat out, pulling his hat off and fanning air into his face. "Right," he says. "Figure it's time t'make some adjustments to how we treat the Drifters 'round here, innit?"