(Untitled)

[morethanmyria]

Who: Garr and OPEN
When: A general weekend entry and one for a Friday afternoon (the latter at least within the last week or two, as Garr hasn't been employed that long)
Where: Winthers Lake, Name Of Generic Cheap Bar Here
Summary: A great big Buddhist space chicken gargoyle going about his days. Are you a bad enough dude to bother him?
Warnings:

Comments

[fantasycliche]

[ Alcohol helps. She'd found that out the last time she was stuck in a city-- specifically in the City-- where at least she could leave the City limits and enjoy a little time in an isolated and peaceful forest in her proper form. Now that all she has is a nearby and barely sequestered patch of trees, and now that her dragon form has been noticed by entirely all the wrong people, well, alcohol is more useful than ever.

She's already downed a good amount when she makes it to the bar Garr's taken up residence in. The world is a pleasant blur and her stomach is nicely warmed. Now is about the time she finds some man to donate his house and food for a night or so, and she's about to start looking for a suitably attractive one-- when her eyes find Garr instead.

He looks even more like a draconian in person.

The initial reaction is distaste, with that comparison in mind, but she swallows it in favor of a pleased little smirk as she heads over to invite herself to a seat at his table.You know, bars were the best place to find draconians

[morethanmyria]

[Most people steer clear of him when he's drinking, sometimes even more so than when he isn't. It's not unreasonable; no one wants to be the one to suddenly discover that a living mountain with a long reach is a mean drunk, and even if Garr isn't he sees no reason he should reassure them of that. If he couldn't face being alone with his thoughts he'd...well, drink harder, or else stop drinking entirely and go find something more productive to do with his time.

So the sound of approaching footsteps is mildly novel. Rather than look up he listens, and it would have taken a few seconds longer to place where he'd heard the voice before except for draconian. It's no less troubling now.

I am an Urkan.

And I take it, then, that's not a species of draconian.

It isn't. I am not a "draco" anything.

Except, perhaps, the kind with a -cide at the end. It always comes back to that. Maybe he should drink harder after all.]

If drinking is enough to make me a draconian, we're all in trouble. [She's had a few herself, he can tell that much.]

[fantasycliche]

[ Onyx laughs, low and quiet, as she slides into her seat. She doesn't laugh often. Not as a human, and not as a dragon. Something to do with dignity, with there being more pride in watching and silently judging than in reacting so outright -- she can't remember exactly why now. It probably doesn't matter.

Both elbows land on the table, fingers thread together, and she rests her chin on the stage provided with lazy smile. ]

You look just as strange and out of place as I'd imagined you would. [ She says it almost like a compliment. ] Doesn't anyone give you trouble for that- Garr, wasn't it?

[morethanmyria]

It was, and anyone who wants to give me trouble is welcome to try. [There's no aggression in the set of his shoulders or the rumble of his voice. He has nothing to prove, nor any would-be attackers to fill with the fear of God so he won't have to break their legs instead.

The mug is a respectable size, just large enough that he can get his hand around it without worrying about breaking the thing, though he ignores the fragile-looking handle entirely when he lifts it. Nearly a full third of the contents vanishes down his throat in one go. It's not good, but it's good enough.]

[fantasycliche]

Oh, that's kind of you to allow.

[ She watches the, well, rather impressive amount of alcohol disappear, and considers how nice it would be to have a drink of her own. And she does have money for it, due mostly to the fact that she'd actually gone and found herself a job (imagine that!), but it would be a little degrading to actually buy herself a drink. The smile picks up a few notches further into charming. ]

What would it take to get you to buy me a drink, Garr?

[morethanmyria]

[There is a faint clunk as he sets the mug down again, before his hands can start to turn cheap cold alcohol into cheap warm alcohol. Stonefaced as he is, he raises an eyebrow slightly at her question. In five hundred years she's not the first to ask, but the casual fearlessness remains novel enough. All right, he'll listen.]

Tell me why I would. [If she can come up with a good answer...sure, why not.]

[fantasycliche]

Is that all it takes? Oh, you're easy.

[ But she leans back in her seat anyway, willing to devote a little thought to the question. It's not one she's asked often. Most men are happy to buy her a drink-- which sits perfectly well with her. ]

Well, for one thing... [ She casts a glance around the bar, a little pointedly. ] I seem to be the only person here interested in drinking with you. It makes me think it's not exactly a common occurrence. For the novelty alone, maybe?

[morethanmyria]

[He waits while she considers her answer, patient and unruffled as a figure carved from stone. It's not a bad answer, when she gives it - perceptive at least. Mostly perceptive.]

If I didn't care to drink alone, I would have found a louder bar. [The words aren't dismissive.] You think this one could use the novelty, then?

[Probably right. It wasn't like he had much planned, himself, besides the same tired spiral of thought that would still be waiting patiently for him later, and that was anything but novel. Talking about something else until she tired of pestering him for free drinks or he tired of being pestered...not the worst trade in the world, really.]

[fantasycliche]

That's exactly what I think.

[ She's leaning forward again, chin cradled in both hands and elbows on the table, to offer a pointed and expectant quirk of a brow. ]

So? Is my case for a Long Island Iced Tea made yet, would you say?

[morethanmyria]

[Straight back to the point. He snorts faintly. It is a little like the sound a bear might make, or a very large horse; not quite amusement, but possibly its shadow, because bluntness is not a quality Garr disapproves of.

...tea, though? Really?] I would say I'll never understand how these people name their drinks.

[But nonetheless he half-turns to catch the nearest server's attention. Considering that Garr is very difficult to miss, it does not take long.]

[fantasycliche]

[ It's a sound sort of like one she would make, really. Of course, from much shallower lungs, but that's only to be expected. As inhuman as he is, he's no dragon. But still, that snort gets a smile from her. ]

No one has ever accused these people of making any sense.

[ She'll just go ahead and trust him to assume she means people of this world, or maybe just of this era. Not how she'd intended it, but how she's sure it'll be taken. And then, almost immediately, that necklace of his has caught her attention, and she's scooting her chair over for a closer look. ]

What is that, exactly?

[morethanmyria]

Hmnh? [With the server on the way, he lowers his arm and turns back to follow her line of sight. What is she--ah.]

Prayer beads. They're stone. [Heavy stone at that, a little worn from endless years of rough weather and violence and his own devout hands but still as blue as the day they were strung together.] Your people don't use them?

[fantasycliche]

If they did --

[ Space bubble? What space bubble? Onyx is just inviting herself to lean in and try to pick a side of the necklace up, to gauge the weight and texture. ]

-- Don't you think I wouldn't bother to ask about them? [ And without a beat, because she's really more interested in satisfying her curiosity than being snooty: ] What do you pray for with them?

[morethanmyria]

[Snooty or no, he doesn't bat an eye. Bluntness is, indeed, not a quality he disapproves of. Invading his personal space generally is, but that's a petty thing to get too easily annoyed over (and she is somehow not unlike some sort of mannerless housecat, from whom such things are simply to be expected as part of her nature).

Besides, these prayer beads have survived far worse than a little mortal curiosity. Onyx can likely tell, up close, and that the beads are heavy enough that a normal human could not wear the full string of them comfortably.]

Perseverance. Understanding. A few more steps towards enlightenment.

[fantasycliche]

[ Oh, god, he sounds like a nymphid. Those eternally calm and unendingly frustrating little men that had had so much to teach her, and so little time teach it in before they'd died. She really can't help but roll her eyes and lean back again-- though the chair remains pulled close. ]

Uh huh. And does that work?

[morethanmyria]

[I'm spending half the day doing my best to empty a bar. What do you think? No, that's not necessary. He only shrugs, and says something he considers equally true.]

I believe those are things that must be worked for, and are not handed out like presents to children. Prayer is an exercise in focus and humility, and for that it works well enough.

[Annnd here's that server; go on, then, and order your...alcoholic tea or whatever strangeness you're into. He's still not quite over learning about that one.]