[Closed] In The Rabbit Warren
Posted: Sat Jul 11, 2020 6:36 am
32nd Ophus, 2719
Warrens Watch | Evening
Warrens Watch | Evening
If there was something that Khy could say was her favorite past time when she had to come to Brunnhold, then it would definitely have to be paying a visit to the Warrens Watch. A delightful little place that was tucked into Dentis Street (honestly these gollies, who named a street after a season?) which was a particularly popular hang out for the lower classes that inhabited the Stacks. Humans, and the few wicks that tucked themselves into the University town, used the place as a safe haven. Warrens was in fact, originally the home of Warren Black, a human who had moved into the Stacks to work as a driver for the students and teachers on Campus. He’d set up a small meeting place in his home, for his fellow drivers to come and try his cellar brewed ale. Word of mouth had gotten around with the common folk, and soon Warren found himself earning more coin with his ale, then with with his driving services. He got himself a permit, and worked to gut out the home and turn it into a fairly decent bar, turning the attic into a small living area. The Watch didn’t serve food, and it wasn’t fancy, but it had cool ale and a selection of spirits and a place for companionship. Plain wooden stools lined the bar, which a short set of stairs led down from into a sunken seating area. Four long tables with bench seats took up the space, whilst at the front windows on either side of the door two bay windows had seats built in. At the end of the room was a space for a little live music, often occupied by wicks with fanciful instruments. When the drinks settled in enough, the tables were pushed together towards the other end to make room for dancing, should the lads and lasses be keen.
It wasn't all that the red head enjoyed. It was the ridiculousness that came when the older students or junior professors off the Campus decided they would ‘slum it’ with the locals, the jents easily pliable after a couple of drinks under their belts.
“On three y’say, we take this glass o’ rum, an’ knock it back? An’ then, wha’ about these?” The witch held the small glass between two fingers and her thumb, gesturing along the table at the other three that were lined up in front of her. Around the round wooden top, two young men from the University sat in their seats, cheeks warm with larger and teeth showing in wide tipsy grins.
“I’s whisky, not rum! And then you haveta drink aller…aller…allervthis.” The ginger one on her left said proudly, splashing half of his own glass of the alcohol on his silken mauve shirt, hazel eyes bleary already and tie off-kilter. Khy’Marah raised a brow, looking with concern at the drinks, before sweeping her dual-colored gaze to the blonde one on her right.
“All o’this?Now tha’ seems a lil’ excessive don’t y’think?” The blonde giggled, glancing at his companion with green eyes and a shrug. They honestly couldn’t have been more than twenty, full of themselves and finding great delight in the wonders of the lower races bar. A jovial jig played from the quartet of wicks in the music corner, one with a fiddle, one with a guitar and one with a hand held drum.
“Not at all! It’s quite the thing to do here in our fine city. Besides, a witch like you’s been around yeah? I’m sure you can handle a little drink.” He was less drunk than his companion, and a little more experienced in the Stacks, knowing that drinking games often led to a good chance of wetting ones whistle—so to speak—and wicks were known to be fair up for it. Not that anyone would ever know. Everyone was doing it, he kept telling his companion. Better than trying for the stuck up girls from the school, all too prissy for their own good.
And Khy could see right through him.
“Alright kov’s, if y’sayin’ so. We doin’ it together oes? On three? On three.” She smirked, flicking the blonde a quick wink and lifting her glass to indicate they should both get ready. The ginger whooped, holding his glass high with another splash, whilst the blonde lifted his and nodded to the witch.
“One. Two. Three!” Khy’Marah announced, before shooting back the whisky, already reaching with her other hand for the second and dumping down the empty glass. Skulling that, she reached for the third and downed it, smacking both empty glasses down with a shudder and a laugh. The ginger drank his first, his second and lifted the third, hesitating with an unsteady breath. Blondie shot them all, though he was a little more restrained, gagging on the last one and wiping his mouth with an awkward laugh. His companion finally took the third drink, threw his hands in the air to cheer, before dry wretching.
“Ne! Get y’erse out, ent wearin’ y’dinner kov!” The red head said with a shout, as the blonde grabbed his friend to drag him towards the simple lavatory, his face beet red and smile gone.
"Ne dustin' ye chen?!" Laughing, the witch leaned back in her chair, arm over the back and booted feet on one of the free chairs. They’d be back, no doubt, and she’d enjoy a good night of free drinks. If she could hold her drink till they passed out at least. Her long legs were covered in a ruddy red pair of leather breeches, stitched together by hand and accompanied by a brown woven leather belt. Her bodice was a tanned leather corset style top, stitched with boning and laced together comfortably at the front. It was intricately beaded with earthy colors, uncovered in the warmth of the tavern as her warm summer fox fur jacket hung on the back of her chair, baring the tanned skin of her archers arms. Around her shoulders, fiery red locks fell in various braids or loose strands, wild and free, and matching beaded earrings hung from her lobes. A silvery piercing sat delicately through the septum of her nose, its circular design not too large to be distracting and almost feminine in design. Her full lips were stained a rusty maroon, and her unusual eyes swept with a smokey shade of khol, the color suitable for both the blue of her left and the green of her right.
Tapping her fingernails against the empty glass, the witch looked around for her hapless companions, quite ready for another round should they be able to stomach it.
It wasn't all that the red head enjoyed. It was the ridiculousness that came when the older students or junior professors off the Campus decided they would ‘slum it’ with the locals, the jents easily pliable after a couple of drinks under their belts.
“On three y’say, we take this glass o’ rum, an’ knock it back? An’ then, wha’ about these?” The witch held the small glass between two fingers and her thumb, gesturing along the table at the other three that were lined up in front of her. Around the round wooden top, two young men from the University sat in their seats, cheeks warm with larger and teeth showing in wide tipsy grins.
“I’s whisky, not rum! And then you haveta drink aller…aller…allervthis.” The ginger one on her left said proudly, splashing half of his own glass of the alcohol on his silken mauve shirt, hazel eyes bleary already and tie off-kilter. Khy’Marah raised a brow, looking with concern at the drinks, before sweeping her dual-colored gaze to the blonde one on her right.
“All o’this?Now tha’ seems a lil’ excessive don’t y’think?” The blonde giggled, glancing at his companion with green eyes and a shrug. They honestly couldn’t have been more than twenty, full of themselves and finding great delight in the wonders of the lower races bar. A jovial jig played from the quartet of wicks in the music corner, one with a fiddle, one with a guitar and one with a hand held drum.
“Not at all! It’s quite the thing to do here in our fine city. Besides, a witch like you’s been around yeah? I’m sure you can handle a little drink.” He was less drunk than his companion, and a little more experienced in the Stacks, knowing that drinking games often led to a good chance of wetting ones whistle—so to speak—and wicks were known to be fair up for it. Not that anyone would ever know. Everyone was doing it, he kept telling his companion. Better than trying for the stuck up girls from the school, all too prissy for their own good.
And Khy could see right through him.
“Alright kov’s, if y’sayin’ so. We doin’ it together oes? On three? On three.” She smirked, flicking the blonde a quick wink and lifting her glass to indicate they should both get ready. The ginger whooped, holding his glass high with another splash, whilst the blonde lifted his and nodded to the witch.
“One. Two. Three!” Khy’Marah announced, before shooting back the whisky, already reaching with her other hand for the second and dumping down the empty glass. Skulling that, she reached for the third and downed it, smacking both empty glasses down with a shudder and a laugh. The ginger drank his first, his second and lifted the third, hesitating with an unsteady breath. Blondie shot them all, though he was a little more restrained, gagging on the last one and wiping his mouth with an awkward laugh. His companion finally took the third drink, threw his hands in the air to cheer, before dry wretching.
“Ne! Get y’erse out, ent wearin’ y’dinner kov!” The red head said with a shout, as the blonde grabbed his friend to drag him towards the simple lavatory, his face beet red and smile gone.
"Ne dustin' ye chen?!" Laughing, the witch leaned back in her chair, arm over the back and booted feet on one of the free chairs. They’d be back, no doubt, and she’d enjoy a good night of free drinks. If she could hold her drink till they passed out at least. Her long legs were covered in a ruddy red pair of leather breeches, stitched together by hand and accompanied by a brown woven leather belt. Her bodice was a tanned leather corset style top, stitched with boning and laced together comfortably at the front. It was intricately beaded with earthy colors, uncovered in the warmth of the tavern as her warm summer fox fur jacket hung on the back of her chair, baring the tanned skin of her archers arms. Around her shoulders, fiery red locks fell in various braids or loose strands, wild and free, and matching beaded earrings hung from her lobes. A silvery piercing sat delicately through the septum of her nose, its circular design not too large to be distracting and almost feminine in design. Her full lips were stained a rusty maroon, and her unusual eyes swept with a smokey shade of khol, the color suitable for both the blue of her left and the green of her right.
Tapping her fingernails against the empty glass, the witch looked around for her hapless companions, quite ready for another round should they be able to stomach it.