For the past several weeks, folks going into the basement might have noticed a few odd-looking buckets in one cool, dark, dry corner, and a tall guy checking on them every day, with the attention of a surgeon with a critical patient
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Presumably we are in the very last miles of Michelle's long run, and while Shadow is more and more loath to leave her side, food doesn't grow on trees. He tries to leave supply runs to the elf, but sometimes, he's persuaded to go, if only because he needs out himself.
It's on one of those runs that he'll encounter Jacquel in the kitchen: he wanders in with his bag over his shoulder, feet swift and demeanor full of purpose.
"Oh. Hey."
He doesn't really seem surprised to see his old friend there.
He's also a bit embarrassed that he poofed out of existence.
It'll probably have to be a short one, for realism purposes, alas. :-)
He might be in the act of moving a few things on a shelf to set aside a corner for his brew when he spots Shadow. "Hey yourself," Jacquel replies with a dry friendliness, unfazed by Shadow's absence. "Ain't seen you much lately: got a project you're working on?" he asks, curious, but leaving the door open for Shadow to answer or not, however he chooses.
Shadow will shift, backpack still slung on his shoulder, to help Jacquel - he has a bit of time before he gets worried and needs to hurry back up that bedamned tree.
"I thought you could see behind the curtain," he replies on the same tone. "Surprising you should ask, Mr. Jacquel."
"Can't always see things here: like there's something messing with my head," Jacquel replies, pausing to glance around at the room. "Like something here put a clothes peg on my nose just to spite me."
It's the loud noise that attracts Brienne's attention: otherwise, she wouldn't necessarily venture into the cellar, unless she was sure to find someone she needs there. As it is, the noise and her recent worries over Michelle's disappearance have sent her on a sleuthing bender.
She'll come down the stairs, sword drawn, in case.
"One drenched homebrewer," a deep, irritated voice will call out. And a tall, dark guy in his shirtsleeves will come around the corner, wet and smelling of beer. "Had a barrel decide to explode when I was decanting it. I must've put too much yeast in that batch," he says, grumpily, though given his appearance, it's clearly not her that has him grumping.
A pause and the sword is lowered, if not returned to its scabbard, but that is only because the narrow space of the stair case allows for little room to move.
"Oh," is the lady knight's response, and she pauses, pads down, then puts the sword away.
"Got a few scratches from the splinters when the end of the barrel busted out, but I'll manage," he says, feeling the side of his neck, where a few red marks might be seen. Then dryly, he adds, "Good way to clean the wounds, with something potent.
"Name's Jacquel. And who've I the honor of addressing?"
If Carol is on her way down to the basement, it's only because she was exploring, curious. It's also, maybe, because she's realized recently that she doesn't know everything about the Mansion - and an uncleared base is a dangerous base.
Hence her presence as Jacquel transfers his beer.
He might hear the creak on the stairs, careful, slow, almost silent but certainly not inaudible to his ears.
He's kneeling on the floor, wiping down the full bottles before setting them into the crates he's scared up, when he hears the creak of the steps. Unconsciously, he might try and cock an ear toward the sound -- literally -- before mentally reminding himself that he can't turn his ears so well in this form. He'll lift his head, then calls out, "Coming down here looking for a drink?" The voice is deep, but friendly enough in a gruff old-timer way.
A pause, and while Carol is still hanging on to her trusty crowbar, it's not raised. "... just exploring," she replies calmly. "I heard a noise, I was curious."
"No worries: got a wine cellar, too, if you go for that sort of tipple," he replies, glancing at the crowbar, then back to his barrels. "Good place to homebrew some beer as well.
Celebrimbor is wandering through the kitchen after coming in from his forge when he spots Jacquel. He's in a good mood and gives the man a friendly nod on his way to find himself a piece of fruit, though if there's bottles visible he'll eye them curiously. "Hello."
There may be a few amber-colored bottles lined up on the table. "Hello yerself," the dark gent replies. "Don't let me get in your way if you were looking for something. Just been bringing up a few bottles from the basement: fresh brew I just been bottling up."
"You brewed this yourself? Impressive." He eyes the bottles a little more closely as he helps himself to an apple, he hasn't been overly impressed with the beer the mansion has provided, not after drinking with dwarves. "My uncle's done a bit of brewing, never tried it myself."
"It's an acquired skill: learned it from my sisters. Bit tricky, but I've mastered it," the dark gent replies. "I'd be glad to give you a bottle for your consideration."
Since he needs to get out more, and he could use more interaction with the other Shadow Angels... Will's heading into the kitchen. He quirks an eyebrow at Jacquel. "Have you been drinking?"
"Beer's been trying to drink me," Jacquel replies, dryly, with the faintest hint of a smirk. "I'd been bottling some and I'd just broached a barrel, which decided to go bang right over my head."
"Make it a bit more portable than decanting it from a barrel," he says. "Nothing wrong with pouring a cold one from an oak barrel, but these days, most folk are more at ease with a pint bottle."
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It's on one of those runs that he'll encounter Jacquel in the kitchen: he wanders in with his bag over his shoulder, feet swift and demeanor full of purpose.
"Oh. Hey."
He doesn't really seem surprised to see his old friend there.
He's also a bit embarrassed that he poofed out of existence.
It'll probably have to be a short one, for realism purposes, alas. :-)
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Short is good!
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"I thought you could see behind the curtain," he replies on the same tone. "Surprising you should ask, Mr. Jacquel."
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She'll come down the stairs, sword drawn, in case.
"Who goes there?" she calls, half-defensively.
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"Oh," is the lady knight's response, and she pauses, pads down, then puts the sword away.
"Are you hurt, then?"
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"Name's Jacquel. And who've I the honor of addressing?"
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Hence her presence as Jacquel transfers his beer.
He might hear the creak on the stairs, careful, slow, almost silent but certainly not inaudible to his ears.
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She shrugs, looks at the cellar.
"I had no idea we had a cellar."
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"Name's Jacquel."
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He probably does smell rather like beer.
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