Slow dancing in a burning room

P. Krios | Biff's Bar

POSTED: Fri Jan 04, 2019 9:49 pm

It had been a while since he had last set food within Biff's Bar, but the warm and energetic tavern had been calling to him for quite a while and, with the days so long and desolate now, it seemed like a good time to brighten his spirits. Packing a few scavenged items in the tattered rabbitskin satchel he borrowed from Thyri, Reblin set out from Cour des Miracles and loped at a steady pace up through the Dampwoods and across Aelcrest Shore until the rubble of Amherst tickled his calloused toes.

It was easy to find the tavern from there. Stepping inside, a wash of hot breath and stale alcohol hit him square in the face while a chorus of ruckus laughter and rowdy banter filled his ears. Reblin took it all in with a deep breath and a broad smile. Then, after trading some shells for a cup of alcohol, the piebald Courtier cast his eyes about the patrons and gave the liquor some time to settle in before ordering another and passing through the bar in search of fun.

He spied a couple of burlier figures engaged in an arm wrestle and found himself joining a pair of other patrons cheering them on until the victor was decided. Twisting his head about, Reblin caught sight of a blue-eyed man with half his man pulled back in a ponytail – truly the very first individual he picked out from the crowd of women and men within the rowdy establishment – and pointed sharply at him with a devious grin. "I challenge you," he began, pausing less out of a show of dramatics and more from forgetfulness for what he meant to challenge the man to. Then, clenching a fist and drawing his arm inward almost triumphantly, he finished: "To an arm wrestle!"

[WC — 304]

Cour des Miracles
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Mandi
Luperci

POSTED: Fri Jan 11, 2019 7:24 pm

393

The bar never ceased to be entertaining. If it was calm, that was fine, but a good night was a busy one where the energetic and overly zealous ones emerged from the woodwork like a bad stench. It was a great place to go when there were plenty of people roaring at one another over drinks, the fire blazing, the skin hot, and the world on fire with energy. It was also the best place to go to unwind after a day in Salsola and watching himself or scouting.

He often hit the place up on the way back after a longer scouting trip around the territory, and it was a comfortable familiar place to be. The barkeep knew his face by then, waving to him, and slapping a cup of ale for him in anticipation. Krios obliged by handing over a rabbit still covered in red from where he had snapped its neck and broken skin. The fur was still there, a slightly more valuable commodity but sullied by the fact it was not processed at all. But he was lazy and in a good mood, so when the man held up two fingers he shrugged it off and accepted he would be drinking light that day.

He joined the small crowd watching a duo arm wrestling, downing half his drink in one eager gulp. A cold drink in a warm place after feeling like his toes were going to freeze was definitely what the medicine man ordered for the end of what seemed like an annoying trip. His eyes peered up and met the gaze of another across from him. Who challenged him to an arm wrestling match.

Krios flashed a smile to the man, teeth shining as he laughed. Oh you're so on, he said loudly, boldly, proudly. He pushed toward the table and sat himself firmly on the chair before downing the rest of the mug of ale. Hope you got more muscle than you look like you have, he goaded brightly, planting his elbow on the table, ready to go at it. The man was similar in height to him, but seemed heavier than he in the strength department. And he smelled of pack, a familiar one to the Salsolan Striker. But he himself only smelled of wilderness, pine, and smoke. A stranger in a familiar place.

Krios Revlis
Come touch me like I’m an ordinary man. Have a look in my eyes. Underneath my skin there is a violence

Player WikiCommissionsCharacter Wiki
Salsola
The Striker
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Gen
Vedetto, Milite Mate to Kamari
Bloode Moste Potente
buy back the secrets

POSTED: Sun Jan 13, 2019 12:23 pm

Tipping his cup back, the remaining contents sloshing to the back of his throat and down into his stomach, Reblin pounded the bottom of his vessel against the table with a crack! and drew back his lips until his fangs glinted in the dim firelight of candles. Stiff atop his head, his ears revealed his confidence and his high, wagging tail supported this. The man he had randomly chosen had broad shoulders and was of a similar height to his own. With the garb that the man wore, however, it was difficult to accurately size him up.

But that was fine, Reblin thought as the alcohol took hold and encouraged the assurance he felt about himself. He knew what he was capable of and this well-dressed pretty boy didn't stand a chance as far as he was concerned. As the Courtier plopped his solid body down into his own chair, he roared with sardonic laughter and, straightening his back, lifted an arm up to show off his flexed biceps. "Oh, you just wait," he replied, pounding his elbow down with such force that he had to bite back the urge to wince from the pain that shot up his arm.

Thank the gods that alcohol had a way of dulling pain, too.

"I'll show you what I got!" he barked, holding is hand out for his opponent to take. "Hopefully you don't like using that arm." From around them, the crowd was already hooting and hollering and maybe even placing bets on who would win. Though the wolfdog had never had much interest in gambling, he had seen this a time or two in the tavern before. With the voices roaring in his ears, Reblin felt charged as he sat, elbow perched atop the table and palm open, ready for the burning of his muscles to ignite his senses. "Let's go, kid."

[WC — 317]

Cour des Miracles
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Mandi
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POSTED: Sun Jan 13, 2019 1:49 pm

329

The man sat himself down and roughly slammed his elbow onto the table. Krios laughed mockingly, wiggling his fingers as he waited to lock grips with him. The alcohol was slowly kicking in at that moment but he could not say he was drunk when he agreed to take the duel. But he certainly would feel it by the time one of their hands slammed into the wooden table.

Youth and beauty before age, old man, countered the Striker, half-smirking. The stranger, a Courtier, did not seem to be that much older than himself, but that did not mean that he would not try to insult him. It was how the game was played and it seemed to amuse the people around them, who chortled, and someone shouted out something along the lines of the fact that they were both two wee babes.

Contrary, I use it pretty often, what's your excuse? he goaded back, grinning and playful in that masculine way. He grappled the man's hand and squeezed the hand somewhat, but not hard enough to truly display any sort of strength. That would be a dead give away, after all. Show me what you got, grandpa, he added, snickering.

One of the crowd pushed forward, a busty woman that was obviously looking to potentially profit off of a good display of her goodies. Krios was not swayed, despite noticing her and them out of the corner of his eye. His wife would have likely murdered him if he was found to have been unfaithful, for all that their marriage felt loveless since the day they were forcibly betrothed. Not that he wanted to anyway. He was the only one had any emotional stake, anyway.

Okay, boys, get reaaady, she trilled, pulling a kerchief from between her chest and raised her hand. Go! she yelled as she dramatically slapped the cloth down on the table. Krios pushed at the other man's hand, straining instantly, feeling the familiar sensation he felt whenever he held a bow taut for a long time.

Krios Revlis
Come touch me like I’m an ordinary man. Have a look in my eyes. Underneath my skin there is a violence

Player WikiCommissionsCharacter Wiki
Salsola
The Striker
User avatar
Gen
Vedetto, Milite Mate to Kamari
Bloode Moste Potente
buy back the secrets

POSTED: Sun Jan 13, 2019 7:45 pm

The prettyboy, his elbow propping up his own arm up, gave his fingers an inviting waggle and Reblin locked his hand into place with an soft, but audible, smack. His eyes poured over his opponent's face – all blue eyes and chin hair and half smirk – while he gently squeezed the man's hand and adjusted his grip subtly.

"Pfft," the Courtier articulated between his own lopsided smirk, giving his pale eyes a quick roll. "Wisdom an' age before beauty, whelp," he shot back, encouraged to do so by the chortling audience around them. Reblin lived for a crowd like this and the reactions – the laughter and the shouting and the howling – only energized him.

His opponents grip against his own was felt throughout his hand, from his palms to the back of his hand to the tips of his fingers. And he responded in like, opening and closing his fingers from around Prettyboy's wide hand as he waited. Yeah? I guess I use mine for harder things, then," he challenged through a sneer. He heard some members in the audience snicker at that and took it to mean he was winning this battle of words. "You got it, Prettyboy!"

He was not anticipating the woman and he was definitely not anticipating her bosom, but all of a sudden she was there and calling for them to get ready. The smirk vanished from Reblin's face when she slid forth a square of cloth from between the space of her sizable chest and lifted her hand high, only to trill theatrically for them to go! before pounding her hand against the table.

And then there was pressure against his arm and his muscles screamed and Reblin was not anticipating the woman. He clenched his fingers around his opponent's hand, and tried to recover from his surprise, but the woman and her cleavage were still there and he could not get his mind to focus. Quickly – much too quickly – his arm buckled he felt the back of his hand slap against the flat of the table with a crack that sounded like defeat.

"That wasn't fair!" the wolfdog snarled, snatching his hand away from Prettyboy's grip and rising with such speed that his chair tipped over and crashed to the floor. "You did that to distract me!" he accused, pointing at the busty woman without looking at her. The liquor had taken hold now and was egging him on. Wrinkling the bridge of his nose, Reblin was prepared to take his little arm wrestling match to the next level.

[WC — 432]

Cour des Miracles
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Sticks and Stones