(( Live rp from the inn. Cleaned up the log some just to make it easier to read. Special thanks to Ben for the play.))
It been a while, but tha was how life could be. About a thousand things tah do and only time tah dah twenty. Mark did enough that tha compliants wasn't levied against him, mehbe jist a dirty look from someone who were tah impatient for waiting. But life needed air, needed tah break from tha circle and he were sure Grace was givin' him the look of wantin' a little more outside their little world. Naht that he were complaining, he got the itch tah get out and see some faces which weren't of tha family. Climbing outta tha **** little Honda, he shut his door and waited, one hand atop tha car while checkin' on Grace's progress.
Grace wasn't all that far behind him, but she was definitely moving more slowly in general these days. She was restless at home with little to do but sit around and hear grievances, and when Mark had that wandering twinkle in the corners of his eyes, well, she knew when to take advantage of a good opportunity. So she'd put on a few extra layers and headed out to the car. Lifting herself out of it now, she leaned back a little, arching her spine to stretch it, before she shut the door. Her seafoam hair was getting longer and longer, the loosely woven braid trailed all the way down past the bra-strap line that seemed to be the universal delineation for "sorta long" vs. "very long". Moving around the side of the car, she bundled little fists into the pockets of an oversized sweater jacket that draped her like a shawl, glancing over her shoulder at him to see if he was coming.
Ben came riding up on an '88 Sportster with a medium sized trailer towed along. The song, "Oogum Boogum," was playing at max volume from the speaker system he'd installed. Upon arrival, he pulled off his helmet and took off his jacket, exposing lean muscles and gang tattoos up and down his arms. He lit up a cigarette and let it hang from his mouth as he lifted a cooler from the trailer and carried it into the inn, whereupon his set it on the floor next to the entrance and made a beeline for the bar.
It were impossible tah naht see tha other car and tha real flash entrance of it. Mark smiled tightly at tha fella, though it weren't enough of a hi that he expected a nod, if there was any kinda exchange. When Grace went and gave him tha look he stepped right up tah her. Green Led Zepplin jacket on and underneath some kinda band t-shirt from tha Artic Monkeys. Tha print were all cracked and faded. He put one hand at Grace's lower back as they climbed tha stairs. He were quick enough tha he got tha door fer her, grinning, "Aftah yah, miss."
The music had caught her attention more than the bike had, her head tilting towards it as though to identify the song. And you wear that cute miniskirt with your brother's sloppy shirt...A faint smile traced her lips as she looked down at her own outfit, wondering idly if miniskirts were ever in her future again. Certainly didn't feel like it right now. Smoothing the veiled and veiling layers down over her abdomen, she walked with him towards the door in the stranger's wake. Reaching the door, Grace inclined her head in an overly courteous nod, an exaggerated smile flashing into place on her lips. "Much obliged, Mister..."
"Yah thirsty fer something in particular?" His hand catchin' tha door tah hold it agape fer her. His eyes, kinda a dark mash o' blue, followed her as she went on in. He was wearing combat boots, but they were undone, the zipper at tha inner ankle down to the sole. Dark red with tha laces tucked in. Proper enough.
Ben poured himself a pitcher of Lakefront IPA and downed half of it in a single chug before turning around and seeing the two enter the room. He thought he was alone. With an exhale of two smoke rings, he tilted his head and offered a grin that would send any sane person running for dear life, "Evenin', folks! Got a bunch of free samples in the cooler there. Ribeyes, chuck-eyes, briskets, the whole 9... no, 10... friggin' yards!"
Free... samples? Grace eyed the stranger cautiously. She took note of the gang tattoos but didn't immediately assign them any value -- several people she knew were covered in them. Glancing from him to Mark and back, the point of her chin dipped in a nod. "Thanks," she said in polite response. "Perhaps we'll take some on the way out." Resuming the approach to the bar, the diminutive former-stylist shrugged out of her outermost layers, a long sweater shawl thing and a scarf. Maybe two scarves. Thoughtfully mulling her husband's question, she eventually decided on, "something sweet, I think. I'm sick to death of water an' tea."
"Best meat in Rhydin! No lie. In fact..." Ben eyed them up and down as he took a puff from his cigarette, ".. you're newly weds, ain't ya?" He downed the remaining half of his pitcher before filling up another
There was a tilt of his head to Ben and Mark shrugged. He were tha sort naht tah take tah a stranger immediately, but Ben got a sorta overwhelming voice. He stepped around tha bar to fix somethin' up fer Grace as he spoke, "We was wed at last year's Beltane, iffin you call tha as newly wed." He were wonderin' tah, about there bein' something fer free. Streets said nothin' was evah free, but folks like tah give out promotional stuff. That would make sense, "I suppose yer tha one sellin' meat?"
The carefully draped layers of her outfit -- the long shirt, the multi tiered skirt, the scarves, all did a fairly decent job of concealing her current condition -- or they did until she stopped to climb up onto a bar stool, at any rate. Grace claimed to be five feet tall, but chances were high that was an artful stretching of the truth, and there was just no graceful way to lift herself up onto the platform of the elevated chair right now. The loose and flattering fabrics pulled temporarily tight against the soft rounded shape of a swollen belly, the outline there and gone again as she settled, her feet dangling several inches off the floor, and pulled herself back together. "Not quite a year now, yeah," she said with a smile as wide green eyes strayed to Mark with an affectionate smile. "Well, two if y'count as we were handfasted the year before."
Ben turned his head to Mark, "Always sellin;, but always looking fir new clients! Free samples there, brother. Help yourselves. Who doesn't like a Honeymoon with quality ribeye steaks? Hell, red meat is a greater necessity for a prospective mother, just for the iron content alone. Not to mention, it TASTES... FRIGGIN'... GREAT!" A maniacal laugh followed as he downed his pitcher before filling up another.
Mark cracked a smile at him, a glint of amusement at tha man's enthusiasm. Whut he got tahgether fer Grace was sorta a fruit cocktail. Pineapple juice cause she were sayin' she wanted somethin' sweet. Then some cranberry tah keep it from being grossly so. Then jist a dash o' apple juice, cause apple juice got a way of mellowing out a drink. Jist tah tickle her, he put an umbrella in it and then set tha glass befer her. Him? Well, he jist cracked open a Good Enuf beer fer himself. His attention went tah tha pitcher, "You hittin' it pretty hard, yeah? Or are yah one of those that get it in and outta tha system quick?" RhyDin got all sorts.
Her giggle was high and clear, like the chiming of silver bells. It came because of the umbrella, but also because of the other man. Impressed with how quickly he'd altered his pitch, when her fruit cocktail appeared before her, she lifted it in the stranger's direction as though to salute him. "What makes it the best meat in Rhy'Din?" she asked, her curiosity piqued despite the maniacal laugh. "Thanks, Love," she murmured to Mark for the drink, bringing it to her lips to try it.
"Boy," he tilted his head down as he addressed Mark, looking up with his eyes, "I'm from the brew-city. Beer is water in my land. But ya'll are clearly newly weds," his use of 'ya'll' seemed to indicate a certain amount of time in the South; an odd combination of midwest and southern accents, "The best meat in Rhydin comes from your sources. Mine are indeed all organic yet offered with prices that don't denote 'organic arrogance.' Real affordable meat, And none cuts them better than your's truly.?
"Lemme ask you guys somethin'... when did you get married?"
She glanced from the stranger down the way to Mark on the other side of the bar and then back. Puzzled, she thought perhaps he didn't know what 'Beltane' meant. "First of May, last year."
Mark's eyebrows went up and he laughed, shortly, at the label of 'boy' being applied to him. His amusement sparked deeper, wrinkling the corner of his eyes. He looked at Grace as if to check that she had also heard him. There was the question from Ben, which were but answered moments ago. Mark weren't annoyed, tho, he went ahead and spoke, "Was last Beltane we married." He lifted his beer, giving it a swallow and then he looked back tah Grace, "I asked her first for a hand fastin' and then aftah a year we made it permanent." Grace was nice enough tah say it was in May, and mehbe give that bit more o' detail. Beer fer water in some places. Huh. Tha water musta been no good. That's how tha story usually went.
Brew-city might have been a place on a planet. Maybe all they had was beer. The thought made her smile as she sipped her fruit juice with its bright pink umbrella, nodding to concur with Mark's explanation. "Have you been in Rhy'Din long?"
"Egh, a little while," He nodded to Grace, "A hand fastin'?" he asked Mark with a quirky half-smile, "Do I even want to know what you mean by that? Sounds oddly sexual." He finished his cigarette before lighting up another and topping off his pitcher, "Whatever the case, sounds recent, so help yourselves to as much meat out of that cooler as you want. I hope to gain the business of you and your new family. Nonetheless, can I buy you folks a shot in honor of your marriage?" That grin flared again. Was he trustworthy, or was he a complete psychopath? It may have been hard to tell.
One corner of his lips yanked back, a smirk at tha fella's joke about hand fastin' bein' something sexual. Iffin he had known the man, he woulda slipped back some otha kind o' comment, but instead he were disposed tah laughin' at the little jest. With tha offer o' a shot he nodded, "Fer jist you and me on account o' her carrying my eldest." It were easy tah consort with someone sah social and seemingly near three sheets tah the wind, or jist a bit odd. A gypsy knew a thin' or two about odd.
Mark stepped out from behind the bar, takin a seat by Grace sah he would be between her and tha met guy as much as he could be. All organic. That was whut folks were selling. Somethin' about it bein' healthy or good for the planet was the excuse made fer tha price. Guy said it weren't, though.
?Unless you want to buy me a shot of cranberry juice or something," she said amiably. The glance she cast to Mark from the corners of her lashes was a knowing one, it bordered on coy. Was handfasting a sexual thing? Not strictly, but then, pretty much anything could be made to be sexual if you were doing it right. Amusement sparkling in vivid green eyes like fractured emeralds, she nodded. "An' thank you for it, as well." Both the gift of the meat and the celebratory beverages.
"Ahh. Sorry though, boyo," he winked as he threw on a fake Irish brogue, "But you havin' to be earnin' it, aye? So I'll tell ya what," he poured a shot if Jameson and then placed his grey fedora over it, "I'm gonna bet you that I can drink this shot without even TOUCHING the hat. If I fail, then I buy you the shot. If I succeed, then you buy it. No magic here. Agreed?"
It been a while, but tha was how life could be. About a thousand things tah do and only time tah dah twenty. Mark did enough that tha compliants wasn't levied against him, mehbe jist a dirty look from someone who were tah impatient for waiting. But life needed air, needed tah break from tha circle and he were sure Grace was givin' him the look of wantin' a little more outside their little world. Naht that he were complaining, he got the itch tah get out and see some faces which weren't of tha family. Climbing outta tha **** little Honda, he shut his door and waited, one hand atop tha car while checkin' on Grace's progress.
Grace wasn't all that far behind him, but she was definitely moving more slowly in general these days. She was restless at home with little to do but sit around and hear grievances, and when Mark had that wandering twinkle in the corners of his eyes, well, she knew when to take advantage of a good opportunity. So she'd put on a few extra layers and headed out to the car. Lifting herself out of it now, she leaned back a little, arching her spine to stretch it, before she shut the door. Her seafoam hair was getting longer and longer, the loosely woven braid trailed all the way down past the bra-strap line that seemed to be the universal delineation for "sorta long" vs. "very long". Moving around the side of the car, she bundled little fists into the pockets of an oversized sweater jacket that draped her like a shawl, glancing over her shoulder at him to see if he was coming.
Ben came riding up on an '88 Sportster with a medium sized trailer towed along. The song, "Oogum Boogum," was playing at max volume from the speaker system he'd installed. Upon arrival, he pulled off his helmet and took off his jacket, exposing lean muscles and gang tattoos up and down his arms. He lit up a cigarette and let it hang from his mouth as he lifted a cooler from the trailer and carried it into the inn, whereupon his set it on the floor next to the entrance and made a beeline for the bar.
It were impossible tah naht see tha other car and tha real flash entrance of it. Mark smiled tightly at tha fella, though it weren't enough of a hi that he expected a nod, if there was any kinda exchange. When Grace went and gave him tha look he stepped right up tah her. Green Led Zepplin jacket on and underneath some kinda band t-shirt from tha Artic Monkeys. Tha print were all cracked and faded. He put one hand at Grace's lower back as they climbed tha stairs. He were quick enough tha he got tha door fer her, grinning, "Aftah yah, miss."
The music had caught her attention more than the bike had, her head tilting towards it as though to identify the song. And you wear that cute miniskirt with your brother's sloppy shirt...A faint smile traced her lips as she looked down at her own outfit, wondering idly if miniskirts were ever in her future again. Certainly didn't feel like it right now. Smoothing the veiled and veiling layers down over her abdomen, she walked with him towards the door in the stranger's wake. Reaching the door, Grace inclined her head in an overly courteous nod, an exaggerated smile flashing into place on her lips. "Much obliged, Mister..."
"Yah thirsty fer something in particular?" His hand catchin' tha door tah hold it agape fer her. His eyes, kinda a dark mash o' blue, followed her as she went on in. He was wearing combat boots, but they were undone, the zipper at tha inner ankle down to the sole. Dark red with tha laces tucked in. Proper enough.
Ben poured himself a pitcher of Lakefront IPA and downed half of it in a single chug before turning around and seeing the two enter the room. He thought he was alone. With an exhale of two smoke rings, he tilted his head and offered a grin that would send any sane person running for dear life, "Evenin', folks! Got a bunch of free samples in the cooler there. Ribeyes, chuck-eyes, briskets, the whole 9... no, 10... friggin' yards!"
Free... samples? Grace eyed the stranger cautiously. She took note of the gang tattoos but didn't immediately assign them any value -- several people she knew were covered in them. Glancing from him to Mark and back, the point of her chin dipped in a nod. "Thanks," she said in polite response. "Perhaps we'll take some on the way out." Resuming the approach to the bar, the diminutive former-stylist shrugged out of her outermost layers, a long sweater shawl thing and a scarf. Maybe two scarves. Thoughtfully mulling her husband's question, she eventually decided on, "something sweet, I think. I'm sick to death of water an' tea."
"Best meat in Rhydin! No lie. In fact..." Ben eyed them up and down as he took a puff from his cigarette, ".. you're newly weds, ain't ya?" He downed the remaining half of his pitcher before filling up another
There was a tilt of his head to Ben and Mark shrugged. He were tha sort naht tah take tah a stranger immediately, but Ben got a sorta overwhelming voice. He stepped around tha bar to fix somethin' up fer Grace as he spoke, "We was wed at last year's Beltane, iffin you call tha as newly wed." He were wonderin' tah, about there bein' something fer free. Streets said nothin' was evah free, but folks like tah give out promotional stuff. That would make sense, "I suppose yer tha one sellin' meat?"
The carefully draped layers of her outfit -- the long shirt, the multi tiered skirt, the scarves, all did a fairly decent job of concealing her current condition -- or they did until she stopped to climb up onto a bar stool, at any rate. Grace claimed to be five feet tall, but chances were high that was an artful stretching of the truth, and there was just no graceful way to lift herself up onto the platform of the elevated chair right now. The loose and flattering fabrics pulled temporarily tight against the soft rounded shape of a swollen belly, the outline there and gone again as she settled, her feet dangling several inches off the floor, and pulled herself back together. "Not quite a year now, yeah," she said with a smile as wide green eyes strayed to Mark with an affectionate smile. "Well, two if y'count as we were handfasted the year before."
Ben turned his head to Mark, "Always sellin;, but always looking fir new clients! Free samples there, brother. Help yourselves. Who doesn't like a Honeymoon with quality ribeye steaks? Hell, red meat is a greater necessity for a prospective mother, just for the iron content alone. Not to mention, it TASTES... FRIGGIN'... GREAT!" A maniacal laugh followed as he downed his pitcher before filling up another.
Mark cracked a smile at him, a glint of amusement at tha man's enthusiasm. Whut he got tahgether fer Grace was sorta a fruit cocktail. Pineapple juice cause she were sayin' she wanted somethin' sweet. Then some cranberry tah keep it from being grossly so. Then jist a dash o' apple juice, cause apple juice got a way of mellowing out a drink. Jist tah tickle her, he put an umbrella in it and then set tha glass befer her. Him? Well, he jist cracked open a Good Enuf beer fer himself. His attention went tah tha pitcher, "You hittin' it pretty hard, yeah? Or are yah one of those that get it in and outta tha system quick?" RhyDin got all sorts.
Her giggle was high and clear, like the chiming of silver bells. It came because of the umbrella, but also because of the other man. Impressed with how quickly he'd altered his pitch, when her fruit cocktail appeared before her, she lifted it in the stranger's direction as though to salute him. "What makes it the best meat in Rhy'Din?" she asked, her curiosity piqued despite the maniacal laugh. "Thanks, Love," she murmured to Mark for the drink, bringing it to her lips to try it.
"Boy," he tilted his head down as he addressed Mark, looking up with his eyes, "I'm from the brew-city. Beer is water in my land. But ya'll are clearly newly weds," his use of 'ya'll' seemed to indicate a certain amount of time in the South; an odd combination of midwest and southern accents, "The best meat in Rhydin comes from your sources. Mine are indeed all organic yet offered with prices that don't denote 'organic arrogance.' Real affordable meat, And none cuts them better than your's truly.?
"Lemme ask you guys somethin'... when did you get married?"
She glanced from the stranger down the way to Mark on the other side of the bar and then back. Puzzled, she thought perhaps he didn't know what 'Beltane' meant. "First of May, last year."
Mark's eyebrows went up and he laughed, shortly, at the label of 'boy' being applied to him. His amusement sparked deeper, wrinkling the corner of his eyes. He looked at Grace as if to check that she had also heard him. There was the question from Ben, which were but answered moments ago. Mark weren't annoyed, tho, he went ahead and spoke, "Was last Beltane we married." He lifted his beer, giving it a swallow and then he looked back tah Grace, "I asked her first for a hand fastin' and then aftah a year we made it permanent." Grace was nice enough tah say it was in May, and mehbe give that bit more o' detail. Beer fer water in some places. Huh. Tha water musta been no good. That's how tha story usually went.
Brew-city might have been a place on a planet. Maybe all they had was beer. The thought made her smile as she sipped her fruit juice with its bright pink umbrella, nodding to concur with Mark's explanation. "Have you been in Rhy'Din long?"
"Egh, a little while," He nodded to Grace, "A hand fastin'?" he asked Mark with a quirky half-smile, "Do I even want to know what you mean by that? Sounds oddly sexual." He finished his cigarette before lighting up another and topping off his pitcher, "Whatever the case, sounds recent, so help yourselves to as much meat out of that cooler as you want. I hope to gain the business of you and your new family. Nonetheless, can I buy you folks a shot in honor of your marriage?" That grin flared again. Was he trustworthy, or was he a complete psychopath? It may have been hard to tell.
One corner of his lips yanked back, a smirk at tha fella's joke about hand fastin' bein' something sexual. Iffin he had known the man, he woulda slipped back some otha kind o' comment, but instead he were disposed tah laughin' at the little jest. With tha offer o' a shot he nodded, "Fer jist you and me on account o' her carrying my eldest." It were easy tah consort with someone sah social and seemingly near three sheets tah the wind, or jist a bit odd. A gypsy knew a thin' or two about odd.
Mark stepped out from behind the bar, takin a seat by Grace sah he would be between her and tha met guy as much as he could be. All organic. That was whut folks were selling. Somethin' about it bein' healthy or good for the planet was the excuse made fer tha price. Guy said it weren't, though.
?Unless you want to buy me a shot of cranberry juice or something," she said amiably. The glance she cast to Mark from the corners of her lashes was a knowing one, it bordered on coy. Was handfasting a sexual thing? Not strictly, but then, pretty much anything could be made to be sexual if you were doing it right. Amusement sparkling in vivid green eyes like fractured emeralds, she nodded. "An' thank you for it, as well." Both the gift of the meat and the celebratory beverages.
"Ahh. Sorry though, boyo," he winked as he threw on a fake Irish brogue, "But you havin' to be earnin' it, aye? So I'll tell ya what," he poured a shot if Jameson and then placed his grey fedora over it, "I'm gonna bet you that I can drink this shot without even TOUCHING the hat. If I fail, then I buy you the shot. If I succeed, then you buy it. No magic here. Agreed?"