A Lesson in Incivility [Open]

[Russ Anders]

Evening during the First Cycle of the Month of Kalendryas in the First Era of the Celestine Mandate

Russ liked the air in Prime; it was energetic and alive with the undergirding of the smell of the sea and lacking the dankness of his hometown, but he was not making olfactory observations just for the sake of them. No, Russ had smelled alcohol on the wind the moment he had passed through the city gates and made straight for its source with the haste and precision only an unwillingly sober lifelong drunkard can muster.

It took him only a few minutes of walking to find the Crown Inn and it was not exactly what he had been expecting. It looked clean and there were no immediately apparent burly guards around to deny him entry. At first he was taken aback, surely the proprietors of this fine establishment would not allow an uncouth barbarian such as himself in without the usual trouble (often resulting in Russ breaking someone's teeth); if so they were doing their higher class patrons a grave disservice. This notion did not cross his mind in so many words, but it was tempered all the same by the realization that he would be able to drink in a place packed to the gills with people of class, namely women of class, without having to fight his way in. He found himself somewhat disappointed by the ease of it all, but that could be eased with enough drink and fine company.

Russ entered the Crown and was surprised to find his observations from the exterior proved correct. The Crown was clean and well maintained. He relinquished his grip on his dagger and coinpurse as was customary and necessary in all of the bars and taverns he was used to. There were no rats to be found or mold growing anywhere and the overpowering stench of alcohol and people was usurped by the pleasant smell of gentle refinement and contentment (but that was probably about to change). Bah maids lookin' damn fine. Forgoing that train of thought for the moment, Russ made his way to the bar and shouted at the bartender, "Oy! Yah got propa' whiskey in this joint, right? Ah don't mean tha sissy Fey stuff! Midpoint! Yah got ahny Midpoint whiskey?"

The bartender looked disgruntled but nodded affirmatively and quickly poured the shot before sliding it to Russ. He downed it in a single gulp and slammed the glass back down to the table before sucking air through his teeth and sighing contentedly. "Betta' keep linin' 'em up, barkeep." As the bartender prepared more shots, Russ looked back over the crowd of patrons, mostly looking for potential mates, but also with genuine curiosity. Gonna be ah fun night.

OOC: Please feel free to join in. Russ probably won't try to hurt you. Probably. I'm new so please point out any of my, I am sure myriad, mistakes.