Tavern Meme

[dragonny]

An Adventurer Walks Into a Tavern...

Stop me if you've heard this one.


Rules

1.  Your character is in a tavern for whatever reason.
2.  Something interesting happens.

Comments

you will regret that OTA I am sure

[deviatus]

As the Inquisitor had seen fit to leave Dorian behind whilst she went traipsing about the Hissing Wastes--a field trip he had no problem sitting out quite frankly, considering how poorly his complexion suffered when blasted with sand and wind--he was left to his own devices.

Devices that mostly happened to be sitting in the tavern trying to out-drink Bull's Chargers, but still. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And then a strangely tattooed elf sends a tavern wench tipping arse over teakettle and comes up sputtering like a wet cat. And are those the dulcet tones of his homeland he hears swearing so viciously? This, he cannot resist.

Rising from his seat, he comes over to offer the poor girl his arm and set her on her feet again before the elf trips over her a second time.

"There," Dorian says, scooping a half-tankard of ale from where it spins on the floor and setting it on the table with a flourish. "You've managed to clean the floor and we're all thankful for that I'm sure. Now if you could please fetch the poor man a towel before he catches a chill, he'd be ever so thankful, wouldn't you friend?"

He glances at the elf, arching an expectant eyebrow.

omg no regrets bless this

[fugitivi]

Fenris bristles, but that's nothing terribly strange: he is always in some bristled or semi-bristled state, except perhaps when utterly soused. Which is what he'd been trying to be here (no Fenris, you were trying to overhear demon-type gossip), only now he's wearing his alcohol instead of drinking it.

Perhaps it is for the best. While living in the mansion in Kirkwall he'd developed a taste for Tevinter wines of exquisite and wildly expensive vintage well beyond his usual means, and regular tavern swill had never been quite so easy to stomach after that. It usually serves only to make him even grumpier.

"The floor certainly needed it," he grouses, because for a guy that used to let slaver corpses lay about like so many useless knick-knacks and decorations in his hallways he gets awfully judgmental about bar cleanliness, "though I did not." Yeah. He is so going to have all of his drinks spat into if he tries to come here again. When the poor lass skitters off with some mumbled promise of a towel, he turns a closer eye on the man who'd like as not stopped him from making even more of an ass of himself. He has a rather Distinctive Look, as it happens. In Fenris' experience, in all the south only the men of Orlais tend to have such stylish facial hair, and Dorian certainly doesn't sound like an Orlesian. "Who are you?"