milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The Lowtown part of Kirkwall is a maze of shantytowns and labyrinthine corridors, all clustered around the busy man-made harbor. Despite the name, it's not particularly awful; it's just more likely to be destroyed by tidal waves than Hightown. Varric likes it there, and spends most of his time there.

Most, not all. Today his brother was too tied down with a visitor from Orzammar and Varric had to come up the hill and deal with the Merchants' Guild himself.

There is a clean-shaven dwarf with a scowl like thunderclouds storming into the Bar, slamming down his coin in exchange for something alcoholic that smells of anise, and knocking it back without even blinking. He'll be out back shortly, as he caught sight of the target range the last time he was here, and it's nice sometimes to imagine certain self-satisfied faces on the bale instead of a bullseye marking.

Given that his crossbow is nearly as long as he is tall and modded clear to the Void and back, we don't suggest you attempt to cross his line of fire until you're absolutely certain he's reloading. And even then it might not be a good idea.

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"Hey," says the sandy-haired man who's just emerged from the Staff Hallway. "Could you, like...not pay for your drinks so hard? Some of us were like, trying to sleep."

"Sorry," mutters Varric. "Won't happen again. Didn't think I was that loud in the first place."

"It wasn't the loud," he says with a gesture to his ears. "It was the banging. Or the bang. It...don't worry. It's all good. Danke."

Dressed in boxers, an oversized robe, bunny slippers, and with a rather STUNNINGLY AWESOME amount of bedhead, the man shuffles behind Bar and begins to rummage for something in one of her many coolers.

"... I'll take your word for it," says Varric. "I take it you own the place?"

Because taverns may let their employees sleep in the back room, but they don't get to get away with dressing like that.

He's half in the cooler when the question reaches him. There's only one response a Barman of Milliways can have when asked that: he snorts back a laugh.

"Own is a very strong word." His voice echos back. "Unless you mean it owning me. In which case, you've got me dead to rights."

Up goes one eyebrow. "Didn't think this was the kind of place that operated with slave labor," the dwarf says.

What? In Tevinter, it'd be a real possibility.

By this point he's almost entirely in the cooler. Only his bunny-footed feet remain outside the cooler. Which...should not be that deep.

"Do I count as a slave if I get paid?"

"Probably not," admits Varric. "I'm almost certain most of the ones in Tevinter don't, anyway."

"Ah ha! Gotcha! Come'ere you little beauty you." Mike emerges from the cooler triumphant with a red aluminum soda can grasped in one hand. The label says Coke but the little silver banner that proclaims it to be New means that it isn't.

"Guess the fact that I sort of volunteered doesn't help either, huh?" There's a hiss of carbonation as he opens the can. "Tevinter. Don't know that I'm familiar with that place."

Varric shakes his head. "Not really. I can't say I've ever heard of anybody volunteering for a slave's position. So I guess that rules that out."

The alcohol's helping by now.

"The Tevinter Imperium. Nearest place in Thedas to Kirkwall where slavery's legal and openly practiced. Most of the place is run by mages, or so I hear."

He's sipping at his beverage through most of that. When he's through he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Wow. So much of that went straight over my head. Except for the mages part. That I got. This place was run by wizards at one point."

Pause.

"You think it's magic that drives them to booze? Or is it the booze that makes them magic?"

"Still is. Maybe not as many as in the past, but the magisters're thick as thieves there," says Varric. "Personally? If I had to live with that many magic-slingers around every corner, and all of them were in charge, I'd drink a lot more than I do."

"HA! Amen to that, man." Mike raises his soda in salute. "I'm Mike, by the way."

"Varric Tethras, at your service. Call me Varric," says the dwarf, raising his own glass in reply. "Good to meet you, Mike. Nice place, this."

"Nice to meet you Varric."

He runs a hand through his already messy hair, mussing it up further.
"Yeah, we don't do half bad around here. Clean up real nice."

"My usual's a little place in Lowtown called the Hanged Man," says Varric. "Good rooms, and cheap, but the beer's on the questionable side, and they're not always on the ball about changing the straw on the floor. Although the rats are a nice touch."

"I find most beer to be on the questionable side, but that's just me."
A wait rat happens to catch Mike's eye as it scurries along the floor with a plate of nachos on its back.

"Aren't they just? They were here before me, and they just sort of give the whole place a nice homey feel."

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little surprised people are that used to them," Varric says. "People have an amazing tendency to put up a fuss over things like that."

"I know right? There's not a day that goes by that I'm not surprised people don't kvetch about the rats as a diversion from having to face the fact that we've got the Big Bang going on outside. People," he says with a shrug.

Varric glances at the Window. "I'd been wondering about that," he says. "You don't generally expect to see that kind of thing where I come from. Not unless you've really upset a mage with nothing to lose- or you've been in a closed room with some of the more interesting plants they burn in Antiva."

Congrats Varric, you now have Mike's undivided attention.

"Interesting plants, you say."

"They're very, very good at assassinations in Antiva," says Varric. "And they've figured out that sometimes, it's just easier to bring a target down when they're too busy looking at all the pretty feet they have to notice they've got company. Considering that it's a good deal warmer in Antiva than Kirkwall, it's a good idea to keep an eye on your braziers and fireplaces if you've gotten any foreigners upset."

It takes him a second to separate braziers from its more-known-to-him homophone. Once he does his eyebrows raise up almost to the point of his hairline.

"That is so unethical!"

"That's Antiva for you," says Varric with a philosophical shrug. "They take a lot of pride in getting the job done, by whatever means. I take it you favor a different approach?"

This could get interesting.

"I'll say. Recreational herbs shouldn't be abused like that. Getting people high without their consent is dirty pool. That's just...well it's substance abuse!"

"From what I understand, they don't consider it all that different from simply poisoning the target," says Varric. "Except that their victim enjoys it more. I can't say I approve either, you understand. Give me a nice, clear line of sight and enough room to stand and Bianca and I-" He indicates the crossbow on his back. "Are perfectly happy to get into a respectable fight instead."

Mike's lopsided grin returns. Wow does THAT sound familiar.
"Heh, you sound just like my brothers."
His brow furrows a bit.
"Though, they're more for hand to hand, than ranged attacks."

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