Log: The Spice of Life
THE SPICE OF LIFE
Act I
Evening and Halsten is playing cards, and evidently losing his shirt from the way a couple other guys at the table keep crowing at the end of each hand. Of course, it's a pretty small ante table, but never mind that. The gaming room has finally taken on the dingy pallor of smoke as it should have long since, between the cigarette in Hal's hand and a few others who evidently have picked it up in the meantime. "Sure, it's a little expensive, but I would call it, if nothing else, entirely worth it. Alert relaxation. None of that fuzzy-headed shit," he is explaining as he goes over the cards in his other hand.
The bronzerider hasn't been to the Seven quite so regularly for the last seven or so. Maybe a bit longer, even. But that doesn't mean he's abandoned the place entirely. It does give him a moment's pause when he does enter, however, squinting through the smoky atmosphere before treading further and toward a familiar spot at the bar for a drink. Once Ch'son has his drink, though, he doesn't stay at the bar. He moves back through the Seven and ends up standing nearby to watch the game that Halsten is currently playing.
It might gradually become clear to an outside observer that Hal is playing very, very badly. Extremely badly. In fact, if someone were to be able to stand in such a position as to actually get a glimpse of Halsten's cards, *deliberately* badly. He's talking up the merchandise the whole time. It's theoretically possible that's just really distracting. "Well, gentlemen, I believe you've had enough of my hard-earned currency for one night, but you'll think about that, won't you?" Smiles all around as he pushes out, stands, spots a familiar face nearby. A grin. "Hey, there," for the bronzerider.
If Ch'son notices how badly Halsten is playing, and lets face it, he does, he doesn't say so to the people the trader has been playing with. It's not as though he cares about the other man losing some money, after all. He probably enjoys that fact even if it's possibly done on purpose. "Hey," he returns, no grin on his own part and punctuated by a small drink from his glass before his attention wanders to other parts of the bar.
"I'm gonna grab a drink." Halsten left an empty glass sitting on the table, there. A fresh one is obviously necessary. He gestures in the direction of the bar. "You want something? I'm feeling pretty flush." He says that in a slightly lower voice, smirking. "Business is lovely well today, thank you for asking. Figure I could buy a drink for a friend. Lacking a girl at the moment, at any rate."
His glass is lifted slightly to indicate that Ch'son has his own and clearly doesn't need anything more than that. For the moment. "Didn't ask," he points out absently. "Y' have friends?" he adds, obviously with a negative edge, and he makes a show of glancing around for the one the trader is willing to buy a drink for. "Y' go through a lot of girls? Hear you're sniffin' around a pair of legs y' really shouldn't be." He's great with imagery, right?
"Of course I have friends." If there's a negative edge, Hal doesn't seem to have picked up on it just yet. He lingers, though, evidently he can survive a few moments without that drink. "Variety is the spice of life, all that. You know. Just enough to keep anything from getting boring, in other words." He takes a pull on the cigarette he's still holding. Thinks nothing of tipping ashes on the floor. Not like there isn't plenty of dirt there as it is, folks having to tramp all this way out here. "Got no idea what you're talking about," as far as legs go, even if he probably does.
"Loe ain't gonna be part a your variety," Ch'son gets straight to the point. He's never been very good at beating around the bush when it comes to these sorts of things but maybe Hal can just be thankful he didn't come in here and punch him straight off. He even waits for the trader to catch up and he takes another easy drink from his glass.
A faint but growing smile. "Ah, those are the legs in question, are they? Relax. I wasn't aware you and she were... together." Hal gestures the cigarette-holding hand at 'together', encompassing some nebulous definition of that word. "You're sure you don't want another drink? I need a drink. Hold on." And he turns to head over to the bar to put in a fresh order.
Relaxing and Chaes have never been the best of friends unless there's some other thing involved. Like alcohol. And even then, well, things happen. And right now he's only got the little drink. Ch'son lingers where Halsten leaves him for a few moments, then he's moving toward the bar as well, coming up alongside the trader wordlessly.
Oh, alcohol. Outside of a dog, man's best friend. (Inside of a dog, there's not enough space for a proper liquor stock.) Halsten gets his drink, notices that Ch'son is still there, goes on seamlessly, "You decide you want something, you just let me know." Then, after a sip, "I mean, far be it from me to horn in on somebody's committed relationship. Whatever happened to things with that chick? Deedra? Dendri? Whatever it was."
There's not even acknowledgment for the continued offer of a drink and he sets the one he has down carefully on the counter before offering any sort of response for the rest. Of course, this response from Ch'son comes in a, if not entirely surprising, then perhaps at least unexpected manner. He shoves at Halsten's shoulder in a manner meant to get him facing him just a little better and in the next moment there a heavy fist hooked toward the trader's face.
People don't, as a rule, hit Halsten. He's not accustomed to it. He's accustomed to a lot of things. Being hit on, yes. Being punched in the face, no. Especially not with as little warning as that. He turns, eyes widen, and he manages to flinch out of the way so well as to protect his nose, but that means he gets it in the jaw instead, which is not a marked improvement. There's a shocked moment of just staring, a hand going up to cover the spot, before he can manage to do anything but just gasp. And then, well, maybe he's had just enough to drink previously to think it's a good idea to try to hit Ch'son back.
It might be telling of what sort of guy Ch'son thinks Halsten is but the bronzerider clearly doesn't expect anything aimed back at himself. He's had plenty of experience taking a punch, though, so despite the fact that it lands solidly below an eye, he just gives his head a quick shake and rushes the trader to put him on the floor. There are rising protests from the sisters on the floor to take their issues outside but Chaes probably isn't hearing them the way he's wanting Hal down so he can take another swing.
If Hal were really making an effort, he could probably get away, at least enough to do the aforementioned taking it outside. He doesn't. The concentration he's not putting on staying out of the way of Ch'son's fist--which gets in a glancing blow against his forearm but nothing more, that time--is, unwisely, elsewhere: "She know you're out punching guys for wanting to give her what you don't?" *Then* he's finally attempting to twist out of the way and get on his feet.
Ch'son might not be very good at a lot of things but anything that makes him feel better is something he has a vested interest in. This would be one of those things. Unfortunately for him, he also has mixed emotions driving him to do what he's doing and that makes him less efficient. "Stay the fuck away from her," is the bronzerider's response, which doesn't answer so much in words as it does in implication.
Since Halsten can't quite manage to get his footing, he'll settle for trying to kick Ch'son instead, open up enough space to do so. "Why should I?" A scramble backwards, but there's not much room backwards, there's a barstool there. Thankfully nobody sitting on it, since he knocks it over in the process. There's more of a commotion going on over all this, now, but any attempt to break it up is hindered by the number of people who'd rather just watch. "She was so good, and it's not like she's getting it anywhere else."
That kicking connects but it only makes Ch'son hesitate with a pained grunt before he's scrambling up to his own feet to return the kick in kind, though maybe with considerably more feeling behind it. Standing puts him in a lot better position for people to get between him and his target but he hardly seems to notice the men that are trying to hold him back. "Fuckin' bastard!" it comes out as though that isn't all he has to say but the bronzerider is shoved toward the door and there's a sister yelling at him to get out before she bans him entirely. It works, at least, and Ch'son finally turns to stalk out, kicking a chair on the way.
There's a muffled groan in response, but then Ch'son's being pulled off and there are hands down towards Halsten and he's batting them all away. "I'm fine. Get off me. I'm fine." And on his feet again. "I'll see you any time you care to try it again, you mouth-breathing goon," he calls after, before someone starts telling him firmly to shut-up-this-instant-or-you-can-get-the-hell-out-too. "And I'll give her your regards." He's not winning a lot of sympathy as the wronged party this way.
If his path weren't already pretty firm, Ch'son might be a lot more tempted to come back and start it all over again. As it is, he's out, shoving someone out of his way as they come in and they turn around to look at him confused only to find a good portion of the rest of the bar looking at them when they continue their way into the bar before things start to break back up into what they were doing.
Act I
Evening and Halsten is playing cards, and evidently losing his shirt from the way a couple other guys at the table keep crowing at the end of each hand. Of course, it's a pretty small ante table, but never mind that. The gaming room has finally taken on the dingy pallor of smoke as it should have long since, between the cigarette in Hal's hand and a few others who evidently have picked it up in the meantime. "Sure, it's a little expensive, but I would call it, if nothing else, entirely worth it. Alert relaxation. None of that fuzzy-headed shit," he is explaining as he goes over the cards in his other hand.
The bronzerider hasn't been to the Seven quite so regularly for the last seven or so. Maybe a bit longer, even. But that doesn't mean he's abandoned the place entirely. It does give him a moment's pause when he does enter, however, squinting through the smoky atmosphere before treading further and toward a familiar spot at the bar for a drink. Once Ch'son has his drink, though, he doesn't stay at the bar. He moves back through the Seven and ends up standing nearby to watch the game that Halsten is currently playing.
It might gradually become clear to an outside observer that Hal is playing very, very badly. Extremely badly. In fact, if someone were to be able to stand in such a position as to actually get a glimpse of Halsten's cards, *deliberately* badly. He's talking up the merchandise the whole time. It's theoretically possible that's just really distracting. "Well, gentlemen, I believe you've had enough of my hard-earned currency for one night, but you'll think about that, won't you?" Smiles all around as he pushes out, stands, spots a familiar face nearby. A grin. "Hey, there," for the bronzerider.
If Ch'son notices how badly Halsten is playing, and lets face it, he does, he doesn't say so to the people the trader has been playing with. It's not as though he cares about the other man losing some money, after all. He probably enjoys that fact even if it's possibly done on purpose. "Hey," he returns, no grin on his own part and punctuated by a small drink from his glass before his attention wanders to other parts of the bar.
"I'm gonna grab a drink." Halsten left an empty glass sitting on the table, there. A fresh one is obviously necessary. He gestures in the direction of the bar. "You want something? I'm feeling pretty flush." He says that in a slightly lower voice, smirking. "Business is lovely well today, thank you for asking. Figure I could buy a drink for a friend. Lacking a girl at the moment, at any rate."
His glass is lifted slightly to indicate that Ch'son has his own and clearly doesn't need anything more than that. For the moment. "Didn't ask," he points out absently. "Y' have friends?" he adds, obviously with a negative edge, and he makes a show of glancing around for the one the trader is willing to buy a drink for. "Y' go through a lot of girls? Hear you're sniffin' around a pair of legs y' really shouldn't be." He's great with imagery, right?
"Of course I have friends." If there's a negative edge, Hal doesn't seem to have picked up on it just yet. He lingers, though, evidently he can survive a few moments without that drink. "Variety is the spice of life, all that. You know. Just enough to keep anything from getting boring, in other words." He takes a pull on the cigarette he's still holding. Thinks nothing of tipping ashes on the floor. Not like there isn't plenty of dirt there as it is, folks having to tramp all this way out here. "Got no idea what you're talking about," as far as legs go, even if he probably does.
"Loe ain't gonna be part a your variety," Ch'son gets straight to the point. He's never been very good at beating around the bush when it comes to these sorts of things but maybe Hal can just be thankful he didn't come in here and punch him straight off. He even waits for the trader to catch up and he takes another easy drink from his glass.
A faint but growing smile. "Ah, those are the legs in question, are they? Relax. I wasn't aware you and she were... together." Hal gestures the cigarette-holding hand at 'together', encompassing some nebulous definition of that word. "You're sure you don't want another drink? I need a drink. Hold on." And he turns to head over to the bar to put in a fresh order.
Relaxing and Chaes have never been the best of friends unless there's some other thing involved. Like alcohol. And even then, well, things happen. And right now he's only got the little drink. Ch'son lingers where Halsten leaves him for a few moments, then he's moving toward the bar as well, coming up alongside the trader wordlessly.
Oh, alcohol. Outside of a dog, man's best friend. (Inside of a dog, there's not enough space for a proper liquor stock.) Halsten gets his drink, notices that Ch'son is still there, goes on seamlessly, "You decide you want something, you just let me know." Then, after a sip, "I mean, far be it from me to horn in on somebody's committed relationship. Whatever happened to things with that chick? Deedra? Dendri? Whatever it was."
There's not even acknowledgment for the continued offer of a drink and he sets the one he has down carefully on the counter before offering any sort of response for the rest. Of course, this response from Ch'son comes in a, if not entirely surprising, then perhaps at least unexpected manner. He shoves at Halsten's shoulder in a manner meant to get him facing him just a little better and in the next moment there a heavy fist hooked toward the trader's face.
People don't, as a rule, hit Halsten. He's not accustomed to it. He's accustomed to a lot of things. Being hit on, yes. Being punched in the face, no. Especially not with as little warning as that. He turns, eyes widen, and he manages to flinch out of the way so well as to protect his nose, but that means he gets it in the jaw instead, which is not a marked improvement. There's a shocked moment of just staring, a hand going up to cover the spot, before he can manage to do anything but just gasp. And then, well, maybe he's had just enough to drink previously to think it's a good idea to try to hit Ch'son back.
It might be telling of what sort of guy Ch'son thinks Halsten is but the bronzerider clearly doesn't expect anything aimed back at himself. He's had plenty of experience taking a punch, though, so despite the fact that it lands solidly below an eye, he just gives his head a quick shake and rushes the trader to put him on the floor. There are rising protests from the sisters on the floor to take their issues outside but Chaes probably isn't hearing them the way he's wanting Hal down so he can take another swing.
If Hal were really making an effort, he could probably get away, at least enough to do the aforementioned taking it outside. He doesn't. The concentration he's not putting on staying out of the way of Ch'son's fist--which gets in a glancing blow against his forearm but nothing more, that time--is, unwisely, elsewhere: "She know you're out punching guys for wanting to give her what you don't?" *Then* he's finally attempting to twist out of the way and get on his feet.
Ch'son might not be very good at a lot of things but anything that makes him feel better is something he has a vested interest in. This would be one of those things. Unfortunately for him, he also has mixed emotions driving him to do what he's doing and that makes him less efficient. "Stay the fuck away from her," is the bronzerider's response, which doesn't answer so much in words as it does in implication.
Since Halsten can't quite manage to get his footing, he'll settle for trying to kick Ch'son instead, open up enough space to do so. "Why should I?" A scramble backwards, but there's not much room backwards, there's a barstool there. Thankfully nobody sitting on it, since he knocks it over in the process. There's more of a commotion going on over all this, now, but any attempt to break it up is hindered by the number of people who'd rather just watch. "She was so good, and it's not like she's getting it anywhere else."
That kicking connects but it only makes Ch'son hesitate with a pained grunt before he's scrambling up to his own feet to return the kick in kind, though maybe with considerably more feeling behind it. Standing puts him in a lot better position for people to get between him and his target but he hardly seems to notice the men that are trying to hold him back. "Fuckin' bastard!" it comes out as though that isn't all he has to say but the bronzerider is shoved toward the door and there's a sister yelling at him to get out before she bans him entirely. It works, at least, and Ch'son finally turns to stalk out, kicking a chair on the way.
There's a muffled groan in response, but then Ch'son's being pulled off and there are hands down towards Halsten and he's batting them all away. "I'm fine. Get off me. I'm fine." And on his feet again. "I'll see you any time you care to try it again, you mouth-breathing goon," he calls after, before someone starts telling him firmly to shut-up-this-instant-or-you-can-get-the-hell-out-too. "And I'll give her your regards." He's not winning a lot of sympathy as the wronged party this way.
If his path weren't already pretty firm, Ch'son might be a lot more tempted to come back and start it all over again. As it is, he's out, shoving someone out of his way as they come in and they turn around to look at him confused only to find a good portion of the rest of the bar looking at them when they continue their way into the bar before things start to break back up into what they were doing.