(no subject)

[a1enzo]

There's a rather happy Enzo at the bar with his guitar this evening. He's just fingering chords right now, but perhaps he'll take requests. Or suggestions.

(no subject)

[scots_wolf]

The Goth would be hanging up big notices with complex verbiage and maybe lurid drawings. Urquhart finds that annoying, and isn't very publicly minded, anyway.

So in consequence of the run-in with the mermaid the other day, when Franz did the Heroic Dog thing and kept young William Evans from being drowned and possibly eaten, Urquhart isn't busily warning everybody and talking to Security (gahh!!), he's making new crossbow bolts. He's sitting at a table by the fireplace, and slowly feeds some almost perfect pieces of straight wood through a little gadget (a bit like an old-fashioned pencil sharpener) that evens them out and shaves off minutely crooked bits. The wooden shavings off this, he throws into the fire, where they crackle for mere seconds.

Crossbow bolts have to be all exactly alike, and require precision in their manufacture, so Urquhart is only drinking tea just now. He needs neither the jitters of too much coffee, nor the relaxation of alcohol.

Franz the dog is lying by his feet, gnawing a bone. He definitely earned it.-

(no subject)

[whoiwasmeant2be.livejournal.com]

A hawk and a girl sit at one of those tables in the bar that's conveniently out of the way. In the corner where there's not too much foot traffic. It makes it easier for the hawk to stay calm.

They've been sitting there for a while now. Just sitting.

It's not the comfortable silence that the two are used to, but it's closer to it than they've had in over a week. Even if the tension at the moment is mounting a bit.

Because even though neither of them are all that good at it, it's time to talk.

[Either or both of them are approachable after the conversation.]

(no subject)

[lifeisacatch]

The door swings open and an old woman walks in. Well, the white hair suggests great age, as do the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. The armor and the muscular shape beneath it, as well as the upsweep of red-tipped horns (or a very fixed hairstyle) from her temples may, however, suggest otherwise.

Still.

She pauses, white brows lifted up in what might pass for surprise.

That expression quickly turns to pleasure -- and amusement -- as she surveys her new surroundings with bright golden eyes.

"Well, well, well. What have we here? It's dirtier than I would have thought, but I suppose one can't have everything."

Though perhaps, when one is in a bar, one might be best served by ordering a drink. Flemeth will get to that.

Soon.