The Open Bar and Smoking Section

[Andrea Marsilia]

While the pracenda had been filling, and the after-feasting dancing more than sufficient entertainment, Andrea found the need to retire to more suitable surroundings to chew on his pipe, and savor a bit of brandy. One could do that in the gardens, of course, but Andrea was respectful enough of other’s liberties so as not to offend them by doing so blatantly there. Besides, it made more sense to enjoy puffing smoke and sipping spirits while in a more relaxed and seated environment. That meant he had to find a nearby enclave.

Exploring the edges of the dining hall enabled him to discover what appeared to be a library, or a drawing room of sorts. Nearly all palaces of renown had one, so Andrea wasn’t exactly surprised to see one here.

It was well-furnished, with polished hardwood paneling and walls, cushioned mahogany furniture, and soft chandlier lighting provided sufficient illumination, adding a coziness that only gentlemen could truly appreciate. Book-cases lined opposite walls, with dusty tomes of the vague and familiar visible upon the shelves. Andrea had tapped the services of idle servants to ensure a steady stream of liquor and clean glasses came in.

Carpeting muffled one’s steps, and the momentarily closed, but easily opened, forbidding double-doors, were more than sufficient to bar uninvited ladies from trespassing into this—for the moment—male sanctuary from the incessant chattering of women. Here, gentlemen could calmly discuss wine, women, song, and ever-present politics, in any particular order, without need to hold their tongues from pronouncements of a profane nature, while drinks and tobacco could be consumed in peace.

OOC: That’s right, this here’s the male version of the powder room. Why should the girls have all the fun?

[Milo L'Evienne]

Dinner and it’s inevitable conversation had been fairly uneventful, save a bit of soup dribbled on his doublet. And under the circumstances, the best he could hope for. For the time, Milo presumed, his bride had elected to let matters smooth over in regards to his past with the lady Cassidy. And his, in retrospect, unwise decision to neglect mentioning it. Either that, or a storm was brewing for later. He’d a fonder thinking for the former. The dancing had gone well, despite the amount of wine he’d consumed and while Nellie occupied herself with meeting those she’d yet to, reacquainted herself with those she had, he wandered off to find a quiet spot to enjoy a cigar and a more appealing spirit than wine.

The last he’d seen Cassidy, it wasn’t here she’d resided, so it took some wandering. Only one wrong turn, an unfortunate one into the powder room resulting in hasty apologies and a hastier retreat. But there was something about the smell of a drawing room, even without the smoke, that spoke of sanctuary, so it was soon enough he found it. At least assumed he had when he pushed the door open. Green eyes scanned the room and fell on the fellow they’d shared dinner with. Ah, the man with the feathered hat. Milo grinned slightly, stepped inside and wasted no time in petitioning an attendant for a snifter of brandy. To another, he handed the cape after removing the clasps from his shoulders. A silver case was fished from an inside pocket of his doublet and he lit it, puffed the embers into a scarlet glow and nodded his head in greeting to the other.

”Evening. Mr. Marsilia?” he recalled.

[Andrea Marsilia]

Andrea stood up and offered his hand. “Ah, you must be the famed Lord Milo L’Evienne, late of Taralon and the Sherian. Met you at dinner, I believe. How do you do?” He ushered the fellow towards a vacant plush seat, and headed towards a sideboard where spirits and other aperitifs stood at silent attention.

“Drink? Personally, a whisky’s just the poison for me.” He poured himself three fingers of the amber stuff, and after serving the Public Defender, sat back down at a chair across him and lit his pipe. Ah, all we need now is Palacrisis and it’ll seem like we’re back home in Tirisfal.

“Enjoying the party? Dammed shame that it seems I was just in time for the food. Wasn’t able to circulate much, though I did see some personage engage in near-fisticuffs of some sort.” Andrea puffed on his pipe, and helped himself to a gulp of the sacred nectar. Two of them within a span of five minutes, as it turned out, as a semi-silence descended upon them.

“You’re a lucky man, L’Evienne, what with snagging yourself a wife such as the Lady Du’Galle. Of course,” and he gave himself an impish grin at this, “and meaning no disrespect, rumor has it, however, that she snagged you.” Another sip. “Ah, but that’s none of my business. Pardon me, I think it’s the drink talking.”

The smoke from the pipe floated lazily towards the ceiling.

[Milo L'Evienne]

Milo took the extended hand in a firm grip, a wry grin in riposte to Andrea’s assessment. ”Milo L’Evienne, yes. Well met sir, again. As for famed, I’d hope no one’s been speaking out of turn and spoiling my carefully crafted, and villainous reputation,” he quipped with widening grin, though ever hard to tell if he jested, or not. ”Brandy,” he added, taking the leather chair and making himself comfortable with a tug on an uncomfortable doublet, a nod of thanks on receiving his drink. ”The party? Eventful in almost every corner,” he agreed. He hesitated commenting further, lest the near and rumored fisticuffs the man had witnessed involved the ladies du’Galle and Cassidy. The less traveled that particular path of conversation, the better. Just as likely Stephen and the young woman he and Nellie had spoken to briefly, or perhaps even another near brawl that Milo missed along the way. An eventful evening, no doubt.

”I’m a lucky man, no argument there. In fact, we’ve only been married a spare few cycles,” he said, sipping the brandy and puffing idly on his cigarillo. ”And if rumor has it she snagged me, then my carefully constructed plot was well executed in my favor. A lucky man indeed,” he said of his bride, and feeling lucky indeed that she wasn’t considering tossing him back into the pool after the evening’s dramatics. ”So are you a long time acquaintance of the lady Cassidy, Mr. Marsilia? It seems she’s quite a few, considering the size of the guest list.”

[Arkahn Th'alashar]

Arkahn had been quietly wandering around in the large estate. Everyone had ignored him so far, and frankly he didn't care much. He had never liked the nobles, their arrogance and weakness astounded him everytime he met one and he was happy none of them paid any attention to him as his appearance would most likely have made him the target of many mocking comments.

It wouldn't be his garments he had chosen for the evening as they consisted of a neatly pressed dress uniform of which the wide, dark blue trousers had been tucked into knee high, polished, black leather boots. The dark blue jacket, lined with a double row of brazen buttons hung tightly from his upper body and broad shoulders. He had been one of the few men attending the party armed, a finely decorated sabre dangled from his hips. No, his garments would not have been mocked, but his heritage and his warwounds more so. The Nobility always had a knack for making fun of someone's physical shortcomings, and it had been the case that Arkahn had a quite... visible one. Around his head he had tied a long piece of dark blue cloth which covered his left eye, indicating that he had to go through life without it. It wasn't a story Arkahn liked telling to strangers as it was also a story about his own shortcomings. No, he was glad he had avoided attention for so long, but now he was just aching for a drink.

The clacking of his boots on the floor was silenced as soon as Arkahn stepped into the room and onto the carpet. His eyes fell on the walls, lined with bookcases and needed a moment to adjust to the dimmed light before he saw two men already sitting there in large leather chairs. For a moment Arkahn froze, he had hoped to lay low in the crowd instead of being singled out in a room with two men, yet the alcohol lured. Taking a deep breath Arkahn walked further into the room. Never had he felt so uncomfortable before. He had faced Orcs, Vysstichi and Undead in every size and number, yet now he felt the urge to run away more than ever. Still he managed to find a chair not far from the two talking men and sank back into it, waiting for a servant to bring him something to drink.

[Milo L'Evienne]

Mid swallow, Milo’s eyes lit on the katta whose stance reminded him somehow of a cat faced with the notion of a bath. Albeit a large, imposing cat with an eye patch that seemed to make him appear even larger and more imposing. Suspicious, mindful of all likely means of retreat. A wry grin twitched at his features, made somewhat lazy by too many spirits that night. When was the last time he’d met a katta? Medonia, that was it. A young and green guardsman…woman, who’d likely saved his hide in those days that he was foolish enough to think he could single-handedly break up a Medonian riot, armed with little more than his wits. Medonian riots were the worst kind, and him, a wet behind the ears lawyer who had no business taking on the task of Prefect. She’d yelled at him, as much as cuffed him on the ear…and had been one of those few brave enough to tell him when he was making an arse of himself. She’d become a trusted and valuable friend and anchor in a sea of stinking nobility.

He set the snifter on the table between chairs and offered the tigron an easy grin and a nod, puffing at the cigarillo as he loosened the collar of the cream shirt under dark blue, silver stitched doublet. More trussed up than usual, like a holiday bird served on a platter, head and all, and it never had fit him particularly well. A life of noble ease was a paradox after all, and one he’d just as soon shed as often as possible.

”I think our attendant has managed to duck out. Likely off having a smoke on his own,” he said as he stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet to pour himself another drink. Regarding the katta with a brow raised in question, he held up an empty glass. ”What’s your poison?” Whatever it was, it was clear enough he was intimately familiar with the layout of a liquor cabinet and would deliver the request to the seated Arkhan, then extend his hand. ”Name’s Milo L’Evienne and unless he’s drinking under an assumed name, this fellow is Andrea Marsilia,” he added with a glance at the other.

"I don't believe we've met, sir." Not surprising he'd missed the fellow throughout the evening. After his run-in with the lady Cassidy, he'd been too busy plotting his own escape route to give much of a nod to newer arrivals.

[8ball]

Ack! Never post in a hurry, makes you double post!

[Arkahn Th'alashar]

Arkahn barely managed to stop himself from jumping at Milo's sudden conversation. Slowly his head turned to face him. The attendant had snuck out, or at least that's what Milo thought. A smill grin appeared around Arkahn's lips. Had this been one of his own men he would have been in for a severe tongue lashing and latrine-duty for the next era. However, the attendant wasn't one of his men and he would have to do with whatever was offered to him by the talkative smoothskin. "Whatever you're having." Arkahn replied to the man's question. He didn't care much for what it was he was drinking, as long as it did the trick. Watching Milo pour the drinks Arkahn slowly took off his leather gloves and put them down next to him, neatly placed on eachother.

Taking the drink with one hand the Tigron shook the hand extended to him firmly with his other. "Thanks" He said before listening to the man introducing himself and his drinking partner. It was time for the well-known formalities. "Commander Arkahn Th'alashar, at your service." Arkahn said, grinning his teeth bare. It was a strange sight to see a Tigron, or any Katta for that matter, grin. Somehow the sharpness of their teeth made the whole smiling business look strange.

"We haven't met." Arkahn said in an agreeing fashion. Some people thought he was blunt, the way he talked and the way he thought always straight forward without beating around the bush. The Katta just hoped he wouldn't insult anyone tonight. "So tell me, sir L'Evienne, why is it that you are drinking here instead of drinking with a beautiful woman?" Women was always a good topic to start with as most men loved them. Arkahn just hoped he hadn't run into one of those 'other' men as it would have been quite a painful remark had it been so. ( )

[Andrea Marsilia]

Andrea snickered at Milo’s reply.

“Ha! You’re too modest, sir. You’ve got the negotiating skills of a hardened merchant-guilder to be able to grab yourself the Lady Du’Galle. By Aslan, I ought to be hiring you on the spot. Trade Negotiator. Six hundred crowns a month plus travelling expenses.” Andrea said in riposte, before replying to Milo’s question.

“Oh, not really, no, no. Don’t even know Lady Al’lende…but she does look like quite the dish, dressed in red and all that, hmm? I’m the Tirisfal rep. Since Palacrisis laid back his duties starting…oh…must’ve been Aperitus or thereabouts, most of the mail addressed to the Thane of Tirisfal has passed my desk. Well, technically, it’s Pala’s desk, but I do all the reading, replying, and so forth. I’m President of the Tirisfal Council and Trade Minister, but Thane in all but name. Did a bit of legal juggling, and managed to get myself the chummy title of Thane Pro Tem.” Andrea said with a satisfied chuckle as he swirled the drink around his glass.

“In truth, since Pala’s always been sneaking out of town without so much as a by-your-leave, I decided to pull a bit of sweet revenge on the old bugger. Told him I was off on official business. Trade business. Didn’t tell ‘im where. Took his coach and grooms as well. What the Jorel, I need a break too, you know.” A sip of the whiskey. “Last I heard, he’d been off in your neck of the woods, with the…what is it now…third?” He nodded on recollection as he took a sip.

“Yes, I believe it’s the third prospective Missus Thane Palacrisis Jones. Her name’s Silver, who happens to be our current Aedile as well.” Andrea lightly thumped his pipe in an playful manner. “Oh, I tell you—Milo, wasn’t it?—his last one was a real smasher. Ministra was her name, and she was the seductress incarnate. She was smart, she was pretty, and she exuded this raw…sexuality…that somehow calmed even the most belligerent citizen—she even got my curmudgeonly boss, the dracon Aedile Darian, to hush up and smile in her presence!” He nodded emphatically. “And that scaly fellow always had quite a temper!”

“Yes, sir, she had the whole town tied in her silken sash. She was a devil in angel’s clothing. Oh, but it was only look and no touch among us townsfolk—even me, and I’m Pala’s right hand and father confessor—and so nothing but gossip and surmise.” He gave a devilish grin. “You could easily tell which part of town she was in. All the dames would have a rotten frown, while the males would have this wide grin like they’d just won the lottery!” He gave a relaxed chuckle as he drained his glass and then chewed on his pipe.

“A pity it didn’t work out. She later left, and Tirisfal’s cheery mood left with her. That would have been a perfect match. Besides,” he observed with a rascal’s grin, “as chief town rep and Pala’s right hand, no doubt I would’ve given away the bride. There goes my fifteen seconds of walking arm-in-hand with the prettiest femme this side of the Empire, as well as receiving the obligatory kiss from her.” This he said somewhat mournfully, but with a wink.

That was when he saw the…cat…enter, no doubt in need of a drink. This fellow looks like he’s seen some scrapping. He stood up as well with Milo to grab hand of the whiskey bottle on the shelf, nodding politely to the soldier.

“How do you do, Commander? By the Gods, we’ve got a fine gathering around here. A devious merchant-cum-statesman, a bard acting the role of a bogus bachelor, and you sir, the warrior with the wonderful uniform.” Having poured, he raised the amber-filled glass in silent salute and drank. “Cheers.”

He paused in mid-sip, awaiting Milo’s reply to the tigron’s loaded question.

[Milo L'Evienne]

”Brandy then,” Milo said and met the tigron’s request with a grin. Relieved of the extra glass, he retrieved his cigarillo from the silver tray, digesting the katta’s introduction while he puffed idly at it. ”Well met, Commander.” The toothy grin was indeed strange. It brought to mind either a comical sort of danger lurking beneath the surface, or notions of a cat sniffing something interesting in the air. Either way, he could only grin wider as the tigron’s question brought Andreas’ comments to mind.

By the gods, the Thane Pro Tem of Tirisfal was a regular fount of information, made more free flowing apparently when matched with liquor. In this case at least, information forthcoming on the exploits of one Palacrisis Jones. Who needed the Herald? Added to the fact that the conservator of the Sherian was intimately aware of the Lady Cassidy’s charm and appeal both in and out of a red gown, he wisely thought it best to plead ignorance on the subject, lest he find himself in similar company. ”The lady does wear it well,” he agreed by way of not incriminating himself. He might’ve had a bit too much to drink by now, but not so much as to wantonly hang himself out to dry. It would take a good deal more brandy to send him hurtling down that particular path.

And on that note, he addressed the tigron’s question with a wry grin. ”A good question that one,” he chuckled and drained his glass in one swallow before refilling it. A hand slipped into a pocket his doublet produced a small silver case and he flipped it open and extended it to the tigron with the offer of a cherry scented cigarillo. ”These days, I indulge myself in the company of a solitary, and inarguably beautiful woman…That being my bride, the lady Nell du’Galle. But while she’s likely off to the business of powder-room politic(k)ing, it’s left to me…the sanctity of the smoking room. And what of you sir? What brings you to this most hallowed of halls?”

[Moranor Andares]

"Ah, the estimable Lady Nell du'Galle. Truelly Master L'Evienne, you are a lucky man indeed." The voice was a musical baritone with a cultured accent, and belonged to the gentleman who was now closing the door to the smoking room quietly behind him.

Moving with the grace native to the Elvish peoples, Lord Moranor Andares stepped into the room and bowed with a flourish to those assembled. "Good evening Milo, Andrea, and I fear I have yet to make your aquaintence, good sir. I am Moranor Andares." He added in the direction of the Katta member of the company.

"I trust you'll forgive me for walking into the middle of a conversation." He added with a rakish smile. It was a welcome chance to relax here amonst the all-male company, away from the every-present politics of high-society social interactions.

He selected for himself a plush seat near the fire, leaned back into the soft leather and turned it to face his companions. Undoing the top button of his doublet, loosening his silk cravat and kicking his feet up onto a foot-stool where his silver toed boots gleamed in the firelight, he looked and felt right at home. He drew from a deep pocket a long, slim ebony pipe with silver banding and a pouch of pipe-leaf. He carefully filled and lit the pipe, and a sweet, spicy-smelling smoke wafted into the already laden air. Some elvan variety presumably.

[Arkahn Th'alashar]

Arkahn extended his hand and took the glass offered to him, gulping down it's contents in one go before putting it down on a polished, wooden table next to him. For a while he pondered on what to say in return to Milo's question, as he could hardly say he was here to hide from the nobles he despised so much. He was unsure wether he could speak freely among these men, especially Andrea, who seemed to be very well spoken. Instead Arkahn pretended to dwell upon Milo's answer concerning his bride and her absence, just long enough for someone else to enter.

It was a noble obviously and for a moment Arkahn felt the urge to jump up and walk out until he heard the man's last name. An Andares. Arkahn had never been fond of nobles, but he had always respected the Andares family, even though he only knew two of them. In his early days with the Alyssan Guard he had met a young woman named Tiyribi, someone he still had a soft spot for, well, as large a soft spot he could have. He remembered talking her in during the Primehiems Party when some officer tried to bar her from entering. To Malkaer he had much different memories. He was a warrior, and his mentor for a while, but all had changed during the war against Malice.

Nodding at Moranor Arkahn spoke up softly, his voice a bit hoarse, but good enough to be understood. "I am Arkahn Th'alashar, and if I might be so blunt to ask, are you a relative of Tiyribi or Malkaer Andares, or is it just a resemblance in the name?" Arkahn knew Malkaer was a noble, and that he probably was a relative to Moranor, but the Elf didn't need to know he knew them both, not yet, not until he knew what kind of person Moranor was.

[Milo L'Evienne]

Ahh, Moranor. Indeed I am. Join us.” Milo met the elf’s entrance with a tilted grin. A friendly face, and one that didn’t look like it wanted to have him drawn and quartered. Then again, that expression seemed to be reserved for the ladies this particular brightening. Lucky indeed, neither Cass or Nellie had carried through. Least not yet. He extended his hand to the other in a firm grip, before refilling his snifter and taking a seat himself. ”It’s been a long time. We haven’t met since Nellie and I left Medonia I suppose. I hope you’ve kept yourself well?” he asked as he gave the pipe a glance. A far different affair than the one he’d been given as a wedding gift in High Peak, by one very inebriated dwarf. It was hand carved, well made no doubt, but the bowl was carved into the figure of a dwarf’s head, looking remarkably like the fellow who’d given it to him.

He fell into a contented silence and the enjoyment of his cigarillo as Arkahn leveled his question, marking the names the katta mentioned with mild interest. He’d heard of nor met either himself, but was curious just how many Andares’ were wandering the empire.

[Moranor Andares]

Indeed, Moranor hadn't seen Milo since he'd left Medonia, and it felt good to shake the man's hand again and renew the friendship that had sprung up amidst the busy political scene in that city. He'd seen Lady du'Galle more recently - she'd come to discuss the orphanage - but not her husband.

Andrea of course he saw when he went to Tirisfal, and recently the budding politician had returned the favour. He mused as he drew on the elegant, elvish-crafted pipe, that here was fine company of two good friends, and perhaps a third.

He withdrew the pipe from his mouth, exhaled a wisp of smoke, and smiled indulgently at Arkhan. "Then well met, Master Th'alashar, a pleasure to make your aquaintence." He said smoothly in his cultured tones. "And yes, Malkaer and Tiyribi are my cousins, though I know there is little enough of a family resemblance; Malkaer particularly takes after his mother's side." He admitted.

"Malkaer is here tonight, did you know? Just look for the atrocious tricorn hat with the feathers in it, you can't miss him." He said, smile turning slightly wry. "Though they do say that the ladies appreciate a man in uniform, so you can hardly blame him."

He drew on the pipe in a musing fashion. "My sister Sinfaetha was to have been in attendance as well - now there you would have seen the family resemblance - but I must assume that something has come up. A pity." He added, violet gaze drifting off into the distance, before it snapped back to Arkahn. "Might I inquire as to how you came to know my cousins, Master Th'alashar?" He asked.

[Arkahn Th'alashar]

Arkahn leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. Yes, this gathering of gentelmen wasn't so bad afterall. He had expected to speak to nobles who had no concerns other than hunting and idle gossip, yet these men seemed to be quite different.

Smiling a bit at Moranor's remark about about Malkaer's hat. Arkahn had one too, but the great thing about hats was that he could never wear them because of his ears. "Rest assured Lord Andares, the uniform does not require the hideous hat." Arkahn said with a slight smile curling around his lips.

"I know Tiyribi from my early days with the Alyssan Guard. I took several courses with her and during the Primehiems celebration I managed to get her into the Fortress while another officer was giving her a har