(no subject)

[fluffiest_archadian]

[OOM: Important Political Figures Keep Dying, or Hearing Secondhand About Plot, a memoir by the entire populace of Ivalice. In which there is a lot of dying, bullying and violence within the Rabanastre Garrison, and religious oppression. Warnings for death, bully and violence, and religious oppression.]

Sherral's shoulders are tense when he comes in today, and perhaps a little more alarmingly, there's a rather livid bruise surrounding one bloodshot eye, and a rather wide (but scabbed over) gash just above it. He's not in the best of moods.

This is why he takes his tea today with whiskey in it when he reaches the bar, even though that is sacrilege, and why moments after ordering said tea with whiskey in it, he also just orders a small bottle of whiskey to swig neat while his tea is cooling down.

(And some rich tea biscuits. They're a luxury not often found in Dalmasca - something the few traders who do bring them in realised mere moments after they realised that Archadian soldiers would want them. He feels like a bit of luxury.)

Comments

[heatherandsteel]

Not long after Sherral enters, Quentin comes in behind him, this time his disguise is already up as he was sent out to get breakfast. He smiles as he yawns, its nice to see Milliways again, unexpected to find it in one of the local coffee shops.

At the counter, he orders some donuts and coffee then looks over at Sherral who seems to have been through a battle, "What happened to you, sir?"

He's in a t-shirt and jeans but has a poise that comes from being trained as a courtier.

[fluffiest_archadian]

Pah, courtiers.

Sherral glances at him - and, admittedly, at his donuts, but only for a fraction of a second - and strongly conisders saying that he fell down some stairs, just because he knows people at Milliways, and he knows how eager its patrons are to help, even when that help isn't entirely wanted.

"I was overly short with a superior officer," he says, and leaves the explanation at that. "I don't believe I've seen you around here before."

[heatherandsteel]

"Oh, no, this is only the second time I've been here,"

He eats one of the donuts in about two bites, they're really good. Being struck by a superior officer is bad but its not his place to comment on a leader he doesn't know.

[fluffiest_archadian]

"How are you finding it?"

[heatherandsteel]

"The donuts are good but its an odd place."

[herr_bookman]

"Sherral," Autor says carefully, inclining his head. He approaches and takes a seat at the bar, ordering straight tea himself. "You look awful. Do you need ice?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

"No, it's a few days old yet, I doubt ice would do much at this point," Sherral says, and takes a long gulp of his whiskey. He grimaces a little, tilting his head, because whiskey isn't meant to be drank that first. "You look in fine form today, however, Autor."

[herr_bookman]

"Oh, thanks," Autor says, blushing a little and cursing his cheeks for being so changeable. He clears his throat. "So, should I ask what happened or is it best to leave it be?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral cocks his head, reading the back label of the whiskey intently. "I'm not sure where I'd begin."

Beat.

"Well, the Emperor was murdered, for a start."

[student_of_impossibility]

Tavi is sitting at the Bar today too, digging into a hearty stew with ale next to him.

(He's no longer running a fever; the sensation of actually wanting to eat is remarkably pleasant.)

"That good a day?" he notes dryly. Downing whiskey like that... well, he's had those days.

[fluffiest_archadian]

"Aye, that good a day," Sherral says, and knocks back a little more whiskey. "All told, it's been that good a week."

It feels a little weird to talk so casually about this. Problems closer to home aside, it's been a fairly earth-shattering week.

[student_of_impossibility]

A whole week like that... Well, no, actually, Tavi can believe it. He's living it right now himself, of course. But that is not for this discussion.

He nods at the bruise. "How bad's the fighting?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

"I didn't receive this in a fight."

That would imply some manner of reciprocation.

"I made the error of questioning another officer who was in a - less than generous mood."

[runningred]

"I bet the other guy looks worse." Jay sits down next to him. "Otherwise I'm happy to help make that happen."

[fluffiest_archadian]

"The other man is in hale and hearty health," Sherral says. "It was a punishment, not a fight."

[runningred]

"Shit!" Jay mutters, pouring Sherral a shot of whiskey. "You want to talk about it?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

"There's little to - thank you - say about it. I was assigned beneath Captain Beor of the City Guard for a mission, and he disliked my questioning his control of his men. The punishment is light compared to what he could have done."

[hot_water]

Tahno is shirtless and soaking wet when he sashays through the back door--much like he was when he first entered the bar. The water drops glitter on his muscles like so much dew, and he saunters over to lean his elbows on the counter very much near Sherral.

"Hey," he drawls, the traditional bro greeting.

[fluffiest_archadian]

- Okay, well. Sherral lives at a barracks where a lot of people train and where there's just one big bath for all the men. He's used to states of undress. Just - not in the bar. Not with the sashaying.

"I, er," he blinks, and gulps down some whiskey. "I think you're gettin' water on the counter."

[hot_water]

Oh, Agni, Tahno thinks Sherral is adorable. So he stretches, arms over his head, puffing his chest out and showing off in the best ways possible. The water runs in rivulets down his ribs.

"I can take care of it," he drawls, twisting his wrist to make all the water on his person and the counter pop off and hover in the air. "So, hey. My name's Tahno. Who do I have the absolute pleasure of talkin' to?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral requires more alcohol. He takes a gulp from the bottle.

"I, er. Captain Sherral Maduin, Western Division of the Rabanastre Garrison, 8th Fleet," he rattles off quickly, because formality is reassuring when you have no idea what's going on or why the stretching and gyrating is taking place. "It is, um. Nice. To meet you, Tahno."

[patterns_bloom]

'Alarmingly' is right. Alana winces when she catches Sherral's bruise. She approaches the bar to order tea--sans whiskey--and raises her cup to him. "Rough week?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

"Aye, that's certainly one word for it," Sherral says. "And how've you been, Doctor Bloom?"

[patterns_bloom]

"I've been"--she can't bring herself to say 'well', not yet--"all right. Thanks for asking. I'm stranded in the bar for a while, so I've been trying to figure out what I should do with my time," Alana says, and sips her tea. "Did you manage to get that gash cleaned out?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

"Aye, the barrack's white mages insisted they do at least that." There were five of them, it was really quite alarming. "It's more superficial than aught."