Dwarfed by Insecurities

Log Info

• Title: Dwarfed by Insecurities
• Emitter: Irshya
• Characters: Barclaiigh, Irshya
• Place: the TarRaCe
• Time: Monday, February 7, 2022, 2:00 PM
• Summary: Irshya arrives from the baths to find an unfamiliar Khazad-aul tucked away in one of the tables. They meet properly, introducing themselves, and Barclaiigh reveals he's been a few times before and knows both Cryosanthia and Sabina. They talk about absent friends before Bar asks after another Khazadi druid and attempts to scurry away embarrassed when the gobber manages to suss his interest.

The TarRaCe, afternoon

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  At a glance around The TarRaCe  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Barclaiigh   0s      4'5"     202 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      
    A thick tree-trunk of a dwarf. Wavy auburn hair, loose traveling clothes   
Irshya       3m      3'0"     35 Lb      Goblin            Female    
    A small, blue-skinned Goblin in sea-green robes.                          
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The Khazadi wildman could use the baths but he hasn't made it quite that far yet. He's found a table somewhere between the bar and kitchens about as far away from the little stage near the main door as you can get. The Lucht poet is done with her recitations but the ribald content still has Barclaiigh flush red enough in the face to look a native of the plane of primal flames.

The chaotic puff of Bar's auburn hair is corralled into a single, sloppy braid decorated with all manner of leaves and twigs and caked with dried mud. His fingers are grimy and his boots leave crumbling dirt in a loose pile beneath his chair. A few patches of grime could well be bruises or disguising scrapes but he eats and drinks with a vigor that reveals any wounds to be superficial. His hides are piled in a second chair at the table and his spear leans against the pile.

The sunny day brings a few more guests than usual, despite the cold wind that blows, though it is not what one would call busy. A server, an older Oruch woman, pauses at the wildman's table to enquire if he would like another of what he was having, gesturing at the glasses. Any empty ones are claimed by her.

A small, blue-skinned, woman wanders out from the baths area, bundled up in white towels. Wet footprints follow along in her wake. Her nose wrinkles slightly as she wanders near Barclaiigh's airspace, and she blinks a few times before sneezing loudly. "'Scuse me.", Irshya says softly. A few moments later, she's disappearing behind the bar.

There's an eager bobbing of the head as Bar licks his lips clean and offers a guileless grin and a polite "yes, please" after clearing his throat. His patched coinpurse sits in plain view on the table, slack and open. Fingers are wiped on his long tunic and he slides over a few more coins to pay for the next indulgence. "(... haven't had that many,)" he mutters down to the boar's tusks necklace half-hidden by his great bushy beard.

"Easy roads," he answers Irshya, turning as he talks and watching her with his tiny eyes curiously as she disappears before the bar. "... huh," he remarks idly before having another pull of his drink.

The coins don't linger long, but the wait for the refills is just as quick. The Oruch is heard to chuckle on her way back. "Overslept again?", she's heard to say, which is answered with a huff. The tall woman laughs then, "Careful, the wind will come along and freeze your face like that." There's a pregnant pause before a little voice replies, "Really? Irshya has not heard of this before. Is this some sort of land people custom?" The Oruch just laughs loudly, before turning to tend to another customer.

Presently, a large glass of.. some mixture of liquids.. is placed opposite of where the wildman Khazad is seated, and then the Gobbo pulls herself up into a stool at Barclaiigh's table.

"Hello. Irshya has not seen you here before."

"Easy t'miss cuz I'm so small," Bar responds, small eyes squinting with his grin. He pours the most recent glass into his decorated and dented tankard and then sucks at the dregs before setting the empty thing aside. "'m not in th'city much but miss Sabina and miss Cryosanthia were so nice th'time I met Tanith Ari-Ari Sicksel I try t'come in and see'm when I'm here.

"Barclaiigh Stoutbrew," he offers, putting a loose fist to his chest. "Of th'Redridge Stoutebews. Fields, brewers, 'n waystop." He looks around the inside of the Tarrace and then back to the gobber. "I like it here 'cuz it reminds me a little of home."

The Gobbo's expression is thoughtful, and she appears to be listening intently. "You know BinaBina?", she asks loudly. "How is she doing? You tell her Irshya misses her greatly and she should meet her some time soon." She settles back on the stool, having stood up to unleash greater lung power.

"Irshya know and love AriAri and Cryo, but not know Sicksell."

Her head cants slightly to one side as the Khazad introduces himself. "ClayClay, nice to meet you. Irshya is the proprietor of the Tarrace. Irshya is pleased that it pleases you and reminds you of home. Have you tried our baths? A good way to loosen up muscles and soak away cares, after a long day of killing things that needed killing."

"Oh," Bar sits back, taken aback by the outburst. "Uh, no, sorry. Haven't seen miss Sabina in awhile." He looks down and taps his fingers out in the table as he mutters to himself. "Enda Daeshen, maybe?" He sighs and scratches his beard. "Wow... four months," he grunts.

"Go between here'n th'Redridge with m'auntie on business. So'm 'round fer abit'n then gone fer longer." He reinforces his grin and nods, "but it's nice t'meetcha, too, miss Irshya. 'n I have. After the sewers 'specially."

The pool-shark's eyebrows rise up slightly, and she shakes her head. "Irshya has not heard of them either, this Edna. Who is Sicksell?" She lets out another huff. "Yes, Sabina has been gone for some time now." Irshya glowers.

She sticks her little hand out for shaking. "Well met, then?"

While she waits, she takes the opportunity to drink her heavily mixed drink. It swirls and moves, with a variety of colours vying for attention.

Barclaiigh takes the offered hand after wiping it on his shirt one more time (just to be sure), his big sausage fingers are calloused and warm and he makes a point to be firm-but-gentle. "'End of' Daeshen," he clarifies by slowing down his speech after taking a moment to think back and realize who (or rather what) she means.

Sitting back in his chair he raises both hands to bracket, "Tanith Ari-Ari Sicksel" into one name. "Th'wee dragon, I mean. She talks so fast but I think that's what she said..." He takes a moment to turn and look around, as if wondering if Irshya just missed Sabina because she was on the opposite side of the room. Then he wonders, "What happened t'miss Sabina? Someone said miss Cryosanthia was being a mom somewhere else..." but he apparently hadn't heard anything about Irshya's co-owner.

The Gobbo glowers again. "Oh. The dragon." She chuckles. "Irshya calls Aryia AriAri. The dragon is Fish Thief."

She does shake energetically, settling back once again. "Cryo is pregnant, and has probably six or seven eggs in her. Irshya can smell and hear them. Cryo is close to laying, Irshya thinks. She's up in Mictlan, likely.

Irshya looks sad momentarily. "Sabina ... pacted with a demon. An attempt to save its soul, but enough for her to be banned from Alexandria. Irshya is sad. Demons are not redeemable."

Barclaiigh isn't quite sure what to say to all of that so he has a drink and takes a moment to think. A few ideas presented and points made fall well outside of his particular expertise and even further from personal experience... but he doesn't know brews and taverns. "Anyroads, y'keep this place up nice, miss Irshya, 'n yer friends will be happy to see it again when they can." He offers a friendly, reassuring grin, "Which'm sure'll be soon." He lifts his tankard in toast.

His smile turns faint and he leans back after setting down the drink once more, sucking the brew from his fat caterpillar mustache. "Oh, well, maybe you'd know..." he sniffs and scratches at his nose. "D'you ever see a miss Shilde in here, miss Irshya? I, uh, was hopin' t'talk t'her about, mm, 'Word matters." Play it casual, Bar.

Her expression is hopeful, and she nods in agreement with the Khazad's reassuring words and grin. "Irshya hopes so." She, too, lifts her glass. "To missing friends.", she intones before guzzling down the rest of her drink.

She makes a face and looks to the glass. "When did vinegar get into th..." Another, more sour, face is made.

At Barclaiigh's questions, her expression takes on a cheerful bent, but a look of mischief settles into her eyes. "Oh, you know miss Shilde?", Irshya wonders. "Irshya could relay a message, if ClayClay wishes?"

The mention of vinegar makes the dwarf's brows knit and he wrinkles his crooked nose at Irshya's glass, happy he's stuck with something from the tap.

When the gobber ripostes on the topic of Shilde, Barclaiigh blushes in spite of himself and tries to keep from breaking into an idiot grin. He clears his throat and hides behind the tankard for a moment. "... just took a job'n met her," his voice echoes out of the mug before he takes the drink. "(... 'n her blue eyes...)" he mumbles, blinking and shaking his head.

"Porter's bein'... uh, a bramble patcha trouble. Could use some help s'all." He plasters on a smile that he hopes bolsters his clever deception.

The Gobbo's grin is broad and toothy. The missing tooth in the bottom left of her mouth doesn't help much. Or the fact that a tooth appears to be rising up behind the gap.

"Irshya could mention this to her, should she come by when Clay is not. Should Irshya add a flourish, like an offered rose, or a peck on the cheek?"

Barclaiigh chokes and sputters, blowing some of the moisture lingering in his mustache into the air in a fine spray. The Khazad-aul goes full crimson and nearly knocks over his chair he stands so quickly. "I, uh... hrm. Heh... uh, n-no, no."

The spear clatters to the ground when he reaches for his furs, drawing an oath from the flustered shaman. He bends quickly to pick up the spear and jars the table with his hip, making the legs squeak on the floor. "Just... th-that's fine. Maybe just, uh, say 'h-hello?' Oh..." He clears his throat and draws his forearm across his sweaty forehead, smearing dirt. "(... why is it so hot?)"

He stands there, clutching his furs to his chest and his spear with his other hand. "Miss Yaya, er'mm, Irshya. Nice t'meetcha. Gonna baths now. I mean, go to th'er, mm." He makes an awkward bow and heads into the bathhouse with all haste his pumping dwarven legs can muster.

Irshya does quite well at masking her amusement at the 'typically unflappable' Khazad, and nods slowly. "So Barclaiigh wishes to speak to you about Porter, and requires your assistance in reining in his troublesome attitude?" The slapstick that follows his flustering is prime comedy, such that the Goblin struggles to contain herself.

"Oh? Let me help you bathe." A beat or two go by before she continues. "By showing you which oils and soaps work best with your skin type."

Irshya slips from her seat, and follows along a few steps behind the Khazad.