Post by Mя. Saяah on Jun 2, 2008 18:38:14 GMT -5
"One ale, as cold as you can possibly make it."
"Aye, sir," the bartender nodded, taking the mug he was currently cleaning over to the large barrel of drink behind the counter.
The man ordering said beverage took a seat at the bar, setting his bag down with a thick 'thunk', followed by the claymore strapped over his back. Only this he set down more gently, leaning the gold-colored hilt against his chair.
"Here ya are," the bartender set the now-filled mug in front of the red-haired man, who set a few coins down for the server.
"Thanks..." He murmured, staring into the liquid. One crudely cut chunk of ice, obviously saved from the ice over the pond last winter.
'One must be sparing with limited resources, I guess...' He thought, before taking a long swig.
"Shor is hot out, eh?"
"Pardon?" He looked up from his half-empty mug.
"It's hot."
"Oh, yes, it is."
"People get irritable in this kind of weather, so keep yer sword thar close to ye," he waved his hand towards where the man had set his large sword down.
"Whet kina sword izzat, anyway?"
"Claymore. Two-handed sword. Very heavy." The man explained, looking back into his glass.
".... well, aurite, then." He figured there was no use trying to make conversation with this one, and went on to other waiting customers.
He set his mug down, turned it, then pushed it from one hand to the other across the counter.
'Right hand, left hand, boring boring bo-' The glass slipped, the rest of the contents spilling onto his neighbor. The burly man yelped, pushing back his chair, sending ale splattering to the ground.
"Oh... whoops..." The red-head looked up as the victim of his spill took a few pounding steps towards him, looking absolutely peeved.
"'Whoops'? I finally get my hands on a new pair of pants today, and all you can say is 'Whoops'??"
"... yeah, pretty much." He shrugged.
The larger man's expression twisted from anger to fury at this little punk's nonchalant attitude. He threw his arm back behind him, and thrust it forward to punch the clumsy ale-spiller.
"Ah!" He leaned backwards in his chair, toppling it over, to dodge the attack.
"Hold still, ya dirty worm! Lemme hit you!"
The red-head gave him this incredulous look, like 'do you think I'm that stupid?' and skittered backwards on the ground as the attacker picked up a chair for his new weapon.
He scrambled to his feet, bumped into the person in the chair behind him, and, seeing that a few other bored men thought joining in the beginnings of this bar-fight would be fun, found no other way out.
He grumbled, then ducked slightly as the man brought the chair down over his head.
He grabbed one of the chair legs, just barely stopping it, then pushed his whole body forward, slamming the back of the chair into the man's nose.
"Aye, sir," the bartender nodded, taking the mug he was currently cleaning over to the large barrel of drink behind the counter.
The man ordering said beverage took a seat at the bar, setting his bag down with a thick 'thunk', followed by the claymore strapped over his back. Only this he set down more gently, leaning the gold-colored hilt against his chair.
"Here ya are," the bartender set the now-filled mug in front of the red-haired man, who set a few coins down for the server.
"Thanks..." He murmured, staring into the liquid. One crudely cut chunk of ice, obviously saved from the ice over the pond last winter.
'One must be sparing with limited resources, I guess...' He thought, before taking a long swig.
"Shor is hot out, eh?"
"Pardon?" He looked up from his half-empty mug.
"It's hot."
"Oh, yes, it is."
"People get irritable in this kind of weather, so keep yer sword thar close to ye," he waved his hand towards where the man had set his large sword down.
"Whet kina sword izzat, anyway?"
"Claymore. Two-handed sword. Very heavy." The man explained, looking back into his glass.
".... well, aurite, then." He figured there was no use trying to make conversation with this one, and went on to other waiting customers.
He set his mug down, turned it, then pushed it from one hand to the other across the counter.
'Right hand, left hand, boring boring bo-' The glass slipped, the rest of the contents spilling onto his neighbor. The burly man yelped, pushing back his chair, sending ale splattering to the ground.
"Oh... whoops..." The red-head looked up as the victim of his spill took a few pounding steps towards him, looking absolutely peeved.
"'Whoops'? I finally get my hands on a new pair of pants today, and all you can say is 'Whoops'??"
"... yeah, pretty much." He shrugged.
The larger man's expression twisted from anger to fury at this little punk's nonchalant attitude. He threw his arm back behind him, and thrust it forward to punch the clumsy ale-spiller.
"Ah!" He leaned backwards in his chair, toppling it over, to dodge the attack.
"Hold still, ya dirty worm! Lemme hit you!"
The red-head gave him this incredulous look, like 'do you think I'm that stupid?' and skittered backwards on the ground as the attacker picked up a chair for his new weapon.
He scrambled to his feet, bumped into the person in the chair behind him, and, seeing that a few other bored men thought joining in the beginnings of this bar-fight would be fun, found no other way out.
He grumbled, then ducked slightly as the man brought the chair down over his head.
He grabbed one of the chair legs, just barely stopping it, then pushed his whole body forward, slamming the back of the chair into the man's nose.