// EXPERIMENTAL THREAD // - The Tavern

Currently reading:
// EXPERIMENTAL THREAD // - The Tavern

The on-looker starting to lose his patience. Sighs deeply then turns toward the stairs and started to slowly descend to the lower tavern floor. A purple shimmering portal opened behind him and the woman from before stepped through. She looked slightly terrified. For she knew she had took too long. With her head looking to the floor floor with a weak voice spoke.

"Sire, it was difficult but I do have a few leads." He halted and looked over his shoulder his golden eyes staring like daggers into her. Then with a slight smile forming to his lips. "Good. If the woman ask for him to another person. Feel free to share the information with her. Till then take a seat. You look tired." He then continued down into the lower tavern.

He stepped slowly up to the counter pulling out a gold coin and slowly dragged it across the surface. Finishing his walk at the bartender. "Quite lively tonight is it friend." He spoke slowly using the term friend as a random use of the noun. Not having any real connected friendship with the man. "Wha' can I getcha?" The on-looker smiled and said. "One of your finest ales and a round for the foreign ladies at the table across the way. Say it's a gift from Lord Percival Mordred." The bartender then nodded and filled a tankard for the man who claimed himself as Percival Mordred then to work on filling others for the women across the way and then delivering the tankards.

Percival, holding the tankard by the rim of it walked over to the table in which Anon was sitting at and gently placed the tankard in front of the scared individual and took a seat in a chair. "Im bored. And the tankard there perhaps could be payment for a good conversation. If I find it to my liking then I will continue it. If not I just simply leave."
 
"Yes," West agreed, "It was very fun, and that of course was my point."

The cleric poured a touch more of the Clarion that still remained into his cup, mindful now to sip and nurse the warm feeling that had rooted in his gut rather than hurling himself willy nilly into the abyss of a drunken stupor.

"But tell me more about things that don't exist... in an appreciable sense. Because I have no direct experience of non-existence, I find the concept particularly difficult to relate to. Which is to say, I can comprehend on some metaphorical level the notion that Gan is the void of creation... a sort of vast nothingness from which all things come... but I cannot properly speculate as to the nature of the things within that will not exist until they emerge into... well... appreciable existence. You speak of non-existent things as if you comprehend them intimately. Does your lack of memory grant you some advantage in understanding these things? Is it possible that you have until recently 'not existed' and this experience is still lingering with you now? If so you might be the only man on earth capable of addressing the great and vast mystery of non-existence! Please, illuminate me if you will."

A new comer joined the table and offered a tankard of ale to Anon. West didn't take it personally that fellow did not offer him a drink, or even acknowledge his existence. A lot had been going on that evening and the priest was precisely the sort of fellow who could go from being the center of everything to an obscure shadow on the edge of awareness in the blink of an eye. This wasn't a skill that he possessed, but probably an odd side effect of his proximity to chaos, which could also command a great deal of attention in one moment... say when a powerful storm was approaching... but could be banished from the mind quite easily... such as when a gambler blew on a pair of dice. West occupied the minds of others in a similar manner, and never took these things personally. He only hoped that the new comer might also share an interest in discussing non-existence, appreciable or unappreciable as the case may be. He would be most disappointed if the conversation ended up turning toward swords or boots, or where one might best stable their horses.

West glanced over at Love to see if she was following the conversation. She'd grown particularly quiet, and hadn't even reacted to his horrible limerick. He wondered if she had drifted to sleep, or if she was simply more focused on the musicians than the current conversation.
 
'I see,' Anon responded calmly, 'It is the smiles that keep us going,' the scared figure was not smiling, and that was deliberate, although he did not seem unhappy.

When West went on the primary take-away was that the young priest was wrong about literally everything. That was expected, but breaking down the various ways, and extreme degree to which he was in fact wrong, most of which seemed to stem from poor-quality thinking and proceeding from incorrect assumptions, seemed less than politic, and also very likely to prove a wasted effort. Better to focus on the subject at hand, and what appeared to be a misinterpretation of his own position.

'I think you may be misunderstanding me,' he spoke after a moment's silence when the priest had finished, 'I don't claim possession of any exclusive knowledge or means of knowing. My relationship with nonexistence is, I suspect, no more profound or enlightening than yours, and although I suspect I've had more of it it is all equally meaningless in making this determination: when I say something does not exist in any appreciable sense I mean one cannot positively affirm its existence. We can all abstract conditions or contexts in which all manner of unlikely things could, or do exist that cannot be falsified, but propositions like this furnish us with nothing of value-' Anon glanced at his empty bottle, '-for example I could argue that this bottle still contains liquor. That it is simply invisible, odourless, and intangible. It could be true. In the end though if I want to drink more I still need to buy another bottle, and I suspect I am still too drunk to walk to the bar.'

Even as he finished a strange turn of luck came to him when Anon was confronted with another stranger. This one bearing a tankard of ale. Not the sort of drink he would have chosen, but superior to nothing all the same.

'I accept, and thank you. Why not take a seat?' The scarred figure smiled briefly as he wrapped a hand around the vessel, 'As to the conversation, I'm still waiting on her-' he nodded in Love's direction, '-to begin waxing poetic about the sea. Meanwhile we seem to have stumbled into an aside about the nature of existence, although I maintain that I am only concerned with appreciable realities. Things which can be confirmed or falsified, as opposed to abstractions and hypotheticals.'
 
Percival listened to what the scarred man had said. "Existence has many forms of function within its rather flawed and freeform definition. For something to exist one must believe it is being seen, touch, or heard. Or merely believing that somewhere it must exist. I however fear to say I do not exist. For I have trouble believing that my own person would exist when One like me can just be someone else or sound like someone else." He turns to West taking in the mans form and closed his eyes as his forms begin to match that of West. He looks to the scarred and speaks in his own voice. "One tends to get confused of their own existence when they can take the existence of others. Now I could also do such things as this."

Body shifts again into the foreign woman then with the same striking tone as her says. "Even such forms as this. But all in a abstract way I have lost my own sense of existence." The form smiles and then shifts back to the on-looker once again. "But it is good to have this conversation. I will say you have gained my attention." Then crosses his legs and gets comfortable. "This here is just another skin that I've seen. If I see and hear you. I can mimic you. So you see that I have lost my known existence quite long ago."
 
Liesl really should have been paying more attention. She'd been trying to settle down, trying to allow herself some semblance of relaxation when she swore she forgot how to emote at times, gaze growing unfocused and bored as she let her head rest against the wall at her back. Any progress towards that ever impossible goal of loosening up had just been set back about ten paces upon feeling clumsy, grasping hands at her upper arms, on her shoulders - urgency in his voice, and her chest tightened. Perhaps it was her mind telling her this man was dangerous, some den brother come to drag her back to a past she sought to abandon - maybe it was the fact she was so accustomed to sitting in the exact spot she was in alone, so no one would think twice about who she was, where she might have come from. It might have been all of the above.

She didn't register the downward movement of her hand, fingers curling around a blade's hilt, though she couldn't bring herself to unsheathe it. She only wanted his hands off, wanted to cut at his fingers and let them fall away from her arms - but it was too risky. She had had too many close calls before, but this kind of conflict - this night - was so much, too much, a push and pull growing stronger.

Let go.

Her voice would have been nothing more than that awful, rasping whisper. This time she could not hide her glare, the way her fingers flexed around the dagger, gaze trained on his face. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to maintain her composure, tried to keep herself from crying like a child, but the revulsion continued to scream in her head.

Liesl turned her head after that stretch of silence, unwilling to allow herself to become wrapped up in another scene. With agitation seeping in once more, she all but shoved him back a step, nodding in the direction of the bathroom, though her hand still had not fallen away from the sheathed blade beneath her cloak. Paranoia would not let her rest.
 
West was just about to give a pithy and largely meaningless response to Anon's example, but the newest addition at their table related his thoughts on the subject and then began changing his shape so that he looked exactly like West. The priest smiled, delighted to be mimicked in this way. He felt an instant narcissistic attraction to the stranger. Disappointingly, the man next changed his shape to match the woman across the room, who was without a doubt more attractive, but somewhat less tempting to the priest who lived in pursuit of novel experiences. He'd made love to plenty of beautiful women, but he'd never made love to himself. The stranger settled back into his initial form, but the shape suddenly held a great deal more appeal than it had originally.

The priest's usual strategy in pursuit of amorous encounters was to come on strong, make his interest plainly obvious and then hang back and wait. He wasn't one to push the pursuit, and would quickly relax into his usual detached and congenial demeanor. Quite frequently, he found that people would seek him out, sometimes months after his initial flirtation, when a moment of boredom or loneliness got the best of them. West was a low risk, high reward type of lover, not inclined to cause any drama, practically a prostitute without the fees. In this case however he decided a different tactic might be in order. He would avoid coming on too strong, and attempt a more subtle approach.

"I agree with you sir," he said to the fascinating stranger, "Existence, belief, and perception are deeply interconnected and little understood." West was still thoroughly intoxicated, but he did his best to shift out of the careless goofy persona he'd been embodying most of the evening, and made an effort to come across as charming. "My name is West. I'm sorry to hear about your fluxed-up relationship with existence. Do you have a name, or is that also in a nebulous state?"

West turned his attention back to Anon, looking a little sharper and less whimsical than he had a moment ago. "I did indeed misunderstand, and may be continuing to do so. Are you attempting to assert that there is some commonality between the hypothetical liquid in this empty bottle, and the gods? I assure you sir, the gods are quite appreciable." West performed a simple divine spell create water, followed by a second equally simple spell water to wine. The bottle was no longer empty, and while the wine manifest in this way was not particularly potent, and of an inferior quality even to the cheap port he had purchased, it could with a number of refills eventually produce drunkenness. "Granted one might acquire these spells through diligent study and practice, but I did not. My magic is only possible through the patronage of my god/dess. The difference between a belief and a lie is not arbitrary. A lie cannot get you drunk, but a belief can. You don't even have to involve a god for belief to work. I once saw a mentalist convince a man in a trance that pure water was potent alcohol, and the man became staggeringly drunk under that particular deception... the mentalist called his method hypnosis. A fascinating art to be sure, but apparently you have to actually study the method to perform it correctly, needless to say I cannot repeat the demonstration for you."
 
Watching the newcomer alter his form left Anon with the same uncomfortable impression he picked up from any display of what he thought of as immaterial nonsense. Principally that he disliked it, and wanted nothing to do with it. The problem with this was he felt certain he had been deeply involved in it himself and it was an unpleasant reflection that left the scarred figure feeling at odds with himself, and - more particularly - resentful of whatever he had once been. Not that it could be helped of course, and he showed none of his discomfort outwardly.

'An interesting talent-' dark brows lifted slightly as he regarded the newcomer, '-would I be wrong to assume that you merely imitate the style, and not the substance?' He inquired, 'Regardless I hope you don't think me flippant for suggesting that you appear to be conflating identity and existence. I have some experience with crises of identity myself, but I can say this: whatever we think we are, may be, were, or are not the fact that we are able to think it in the first place should demonstrate our existence, to us at least.'

Anon blinked several times at the priest's response.

'I understand them as well as I need to, and see no such connection.' He spoke bluntly.

More immaterial nonsense followed, and it was equally troubling although in this case Anon felt more good-will towards the display as it had filled his bottle. Grasping it he nosed the neck with a slightly suspicious expression, and tasted it warily. It appeared to upset him slightly.

'I'm not going to task my sense of balance just yet so I have no choice but to drink this, and to thank you. I do feel obliged to point out however that while suffering is good this is not the right sort of suffering.,'

Compensating for the drink's lack of potency by the simple expedient of drinking more, and doing so very quickly Anon did not put the glass bottle down until it was half-drained.

'Now, what were we talking about-' the scarred figure's brow creased as he stared at West, '-yes, well, I'm not asserting your so-called god, or any of them for that matter don't exist. We could argue semantics on this point, but I will concede that there are things generally called gods and they appear to represent extant, if depressingly mediocre, phenomena, but-' he raised a finger, '-if you recall I said I'm convinced that nothing can be worshipful which does anything as crass as existing in the first place. As to the subject of lies and belief: one misconception at a time, please,'
 
Percival watched the faces of all around him. He was good at that sort of intake of information, with his abilities and all to do so. He grin as he turned to West and his agreement to Percival's words on the subject of existence. His face half shifting with a smile back to the Image of West, in which returning to his current form. "So that is the voice behind such great features." He voice then swapped to West's own voice. "Mimicry is one other specialty of mine. And sadly I do miss what I might have been once. However I do appreciate the sympathy of what you are expressing to me, West."

He sat back in his chair and straighten himself. "Nebulous state, yes. You may call me what you wish to call me. I just take the Name Percival Mordred for legal or..." He waves his hand as if mystic conjuring up the word he wanted to use. "Special occasions to have the simplest of minds to be less confused if you will." Then moving to answer the question of the scared man.

"Not imitation of style at. The state I choose is the state I am. For example." Points to a serving girl across the tavern that was paying no attention at all to what was around her. His body shifted and thus became the very woman.

She looked to each in succession with a wink. She then imitated the voice of a random woman she had heard around. "Now, I am her. Everything useful and intact." She then shift back to the man before.

"Existence and identity go hand in hand with me. For the identity that I had at one point, to me, has ceased to exist within my own belief. And like you say, I imitate others. Stealing their existence or identity and taking it as my own." With a wave of his hand he touched the empty bottle that Anon had nurse when he entered the tavern. flipping the bottle over allowing a small drop of the liquid to touch his outstretched finger and tasted the contents. "Rather odd taste but enjoyable." Flipping the bottle upright and just moving it in a circle the container filling till it started to drip from the rim. He then took a swig. "Exact perfection." And placed the bottle in front of Anon.

He found listening to their conversation rather entertaining. The existence of conflicting views is what he liked to be of witness of.
 
Conflicting interests split West's attention in opposing directions. On the one hand he loved a good debate, and had no desire to let Anon's modest challenge to faith go unanswered, but on the other hand he was deeply intrigued by Percy's abilities and was excited about the possibilities such talents suggested. He sighed, and listened to both men, struggling to prioritize his own responses.

He looked to Anon first and said with a charming smile. "I don't know that I've ever heard anyone describe chaos as a 'depressingly mediocre phenomena,' nor love, nor the sun, nor the sea. To describe any of these things as being crass for existing, strikes me as even more puzzling. I'm beginning to wonder if you have not simply misplaced your sense of delight and wonder at life and the world around you. The gods did not come into existence in order to be worshiped. They were worshiped and therefore came into existence. Or to be more precise in my language... phenomena exists, people greet that phenomena with wonder or dread, and in that relationship between a people and a phenomena dwells the deity. Admittedly this is an advanced theological concept, not something easily grasped by the average parishioner, and it may simply be beyond your ability to comprehend. I'm happy to give further examples however, if you think it might help."

Having thus discharged his attempt at making sense of Anon's bizarre contribution to religious philosophy he turned his attention to Percy and the question that burned to be asked. "So... um... when you say you take another's existence as your own, do you mean to say that you know all that they know, and perceive in their exact manner of perceiving?" This was a delightful possibility, or a potentially terrifying one, if one considered any implications outside of sexual experimentation, but West was determined not to let paranoia that his entire life could be potentially stolen or destroyed by a person with such powers, come between himself and an exciting erotic tryst. At any rate, Percy seemed polite enough so far, and the last thing he wanted to do was to offend someone who could with very little effort wreak absolute havoc in the life of anyone at any time... better by far to stay focused on the positives. If Percy did take on inner traits as well as outer ones, West felt absolute confidence that the shape shifter would be just as open to amorous experimentation as West was... at least he would be while manifesting West's form.
 
saloma2-jpg.62459

Almost unnoticed in the increasingly crowded place, a tall, vaguely-feminine looking hooded and cloaked figure slipped inside the Crucible, a slight glint of a sheathed rapier, flashing through the folds of the cloak. She was careful to keep the hood close around her face and short mop of crimson/auburn hair, while her black cloak did a good job making her unassuming and blending into the crowds outside, hiding her leather-clad figure.

"Far as meeting spots go... why couldn't we just meet at his place in the Heights? Or I coulda just made my way directly to the country club where he hangs out. What's he so paranoid about anyway, that he'd send a messenger down here to this pit, to get my contract? I mean gods, I coulda just mailed it to him... !" - Saloma thought, aggrieved, as she completely ignored the barkeep and the staff, as well as the collection of patrons sitting around, making a beeline directly for the stairwell down, to the basement, and the fence, trying to remain as unassuming as possible. The contract she signed back in the guildhall, specifically stated that the messenger was instructed to report only to the fence, since unlike the count himself, the messenger had never seen Salome face to face, and introductions would need to be made.

Unlike Milos, strangely, given her much less stuck-up attitude, she didn't fancy the Crucible much. And not for any obvious reason. But Saloma considered herself something of a classy rogue, having come herself, from a rather wealthy family, until they disowned her and left her on the streets, partly on account of her promiscuity, as it led to a scandal, when she was found out 'frolicking' with the mayor's son. Her skill at fencing and swordplay, her rather flamboyant styling, mixing revealing with just a touch of high-class accessories, all screamed 'former rich daughter-heiress'. She didn't like 'slumming' with the labourers and sailors at an establishment of this 'class', she preferred to pretend she's still someone of note, in the higher society. Hence why she jumped at this contract, for a Count. It gave her an opportunity to try and find her way back into the society she was born in. She was used to the perks of it, and even after three years of making it on her own... she still held herself to that standard, deep down.

But first, to meet the messenger...

"Let's hope he's already down there waiting for me..." - she thought, vanishing down the stairwell, then through a small side-door, and into the chamber where the fence was set up. Not much more then a kiosk stall, in front of a storage room, with the shopkeeper manning it. But no such luck. The fence, a small, hunched-back, shifty-looking middle aged man of vaguely half-Orcish heritage, gave her a cross-eyed look from behind the stall, then just shook his head.

"Yer too early. He ain't here yet. Assumin' 'e can even find th' place. Ye know how these uptown types are..."

"Yea? I'm uptown, duh. Not uptown from this town, but you know what I mean. Was, anyway. And I can find my way 'round just fine!" - sarcastically, glaring at him for a moment, then shook her head to herself. She was letting her annoyance show, and she rather liked this guy.

"Sorry, Marc. Just... antsy. You know how I feel about this place." - she smiled disarmingly.

"Ay, well a' least they got that band up there tonight! Irian Screamin' Troupe or somesuch! They're a riot, ye can hear 'em all th' way down 'ere!" - the half-orcish man grinned, tapping his foot in the rhythm of the song that was being played above.

"Ilyrien Sprawlers? Yea, they're not bad." - Salome admitted, "Didn't think this place could afford 'em, though. Not too bad at all! The usual excuse for a band they got most nights, makes me wanna drill my ears out though. Anyway, catch you later, when I see a messenger-lookin' guy come through the entrance and head down here." - she turned and headed back upstairs to the main lounge.

Finding a seat at a currently-unoccupied corner table, the hooded and cloaked figure discreetly lifted a finger, towards one of the serving girls.

"Gimme a Whitewash Gin. Neat. And some jerky... haven't had a bite to eat since early afternoon." - under her breath, dropping two brass and one silver coin on the table.

The girl nodded, scooping the money and moving off, leaving Saloma to take in the atmosphere, tapping a finger to the beat of the song. She had to admit to herself... when the band was decent, and the Sprawlers definitely were... this dive definitely scored higher, in her book.
 
Last edited:
'Alright,' Anon dead-panned in response to the newcomer when he responded with clear evidence that he either wasn't listening, or did not understand what had just been said.

It was enough. He was too drunk now to care, and really at this point paying any more attention to him felt like a waste of time so he simply drank more instead. It was West's turn next, and by now Anon was feeling ready to pass out, which was starting to look like the best possible way to resolve the current conversation.

'You haven't heard me say it either-' he paused, swaying back slightly after draining what remained in his bottle, '-and for the rest you're obviously welcome to respond with non sequiturs about love, or the sea, or any other subject you wish to arbitrarily shift the goal-posts toward on the basis of some irrelevant non-argument you've conjured out of thin-air and granted a-priori, and to pretend it has something to do with my position, while throwing in as many disparaging personal remarks as you like on that basis to boot, but-' he paused again, '-Well, at this point? Since I am fairly sure if I put my head down I will stop being conscious in short order, I'm just going to do that.'

Making good on his promise the scarred figure crossed his arms on the table in front of him and listeed forward until his head was resting atop one of his forearms. Obviously Anon did not lose consciousness immediately of course, and could still hear although he was making a conscious effort not to. Luckily it would only be a matter of time until he was unconscious and that would no longer be necessary.
 
Time passed. Over an hour. And Saloma's contact continued to be a no-show. Now on her 3rd mug o'Whitewash, the redhead was beginning to show one of her other... qualities. Her inability to hold her liqueur, even something as... relatively... mild as Whitewash. Which was detrimental, for someone who liked to party, as much as her.


Meanwhile, the Sprawlers' rowdy singing and dancing wasn't helping her self-control, either, as she shucked-off her cloak, stumbling to her feet in her full revealing leather regalia, to join the increasingly-rowdy singalong, from the increasingly liqueured-up performers. She kept her half-full mug, though.

"Oy there lassie, methinks ye had enough!" - the barkeep tried to snatch the mug away from her, simultaneously lowering his voice, "...and if yer here to meet someone, ye want ta' be leavin' a good first impression, am I right?" - in her ear.

He might as well have tried talking to a wall, as the tall, wiry woman gripped him by the collar of his apron, with a toothy ear-to-ear grin, rubbing her knee upward, dangerously close to his crotch.

"Aw shush, stop being a spoilsport, and gimme a kiss, big boy!" - she hissed, pressing her lips to the barkeep's bushy moustache, then shoving him away, leaving him standing there with a dumbfounded 'huh' expression on his face. Not that he didn't appreciate it... from what little he had come to know of Saloma, by reputation, she was... not difficult to drag to bed. But... well. He'd been a barkeep enough years to recognise someone running on alcohol fumes.

"Which one 'is it for her?" - he whispered to one of the serving girls.

"Only 'er third... and it's just Whitewash. Sumbody canna' hold her spirits!" - the girl shook her head in amusement.

"That I can tell..." - the barkeep growled, dithering on what to do. He had plenty of experience cold-turkeying drunks, but... they usually weren't armed. And from the rowdy woman's demeanour, pacifying her might be... a challenge.

"C'MON, LEMME SH'Shuu...uw you how itshh... done!" - the redhead drawled, hopping up on one of the tables, occupied by a mix of band members and patrons, nearly losing her balance, then beginning to dance to the rhythm of the song. In doing so, she spilled a few mugs, and what Whitewash was left in her own. Somehow, miraculously, she managed to keep balance on the table... for the time being, treating the patrons clapping, to a very... illuminating display of her cleavage and midriff, spattered with droplets of ale.

"YEEHAW!" - the drunk redhead crowed, suddenly pulling her rapier out, and swishing it through the air in a big circle, as she danced, above several hastily-ducking head.

Several startled exclamations and warnings echoed, mixed with laughter and cat-calls. The band members only began singing and playing more loudly, clearly more then happy to play along. The barkeep bit his lip... how to get her down from there, without losing his head to that blade she was now carelessly swinging around.
 
Percival watch as his original quarry had decided to carelessly pass out on them. He turned to see the other person who has been rather unresponsive as of late. He then directed his attention to West. A rather odd question he did ask but it wasn't a wrong question. No. Percival could understand the concern it could bring up for someone to change into whomever they wished to. Be anyone they wished to be. For good. For evil. For fun.

Turning himself in his chair to face his new quarry. He crossed his legs and draped an arm over the back of the chair. Intertwining his own fingers with one another. He answered. "Simply put I usually tend to stay in one form most of the time. And yes. I do know certain memories of the form. But its rather easy to not dive into that silly sort of trickery. For it a choice to intake such private matters. So I tend to ignore it. For i look into the beauty of the form rather than the mindset." He smirked. "But if it is needed disguise myself to do so. Then I will do so. Either it means to be for information or…. For pleasure." He chuckled, having of course, amused himself.


Outside the bar coming around the corner to see Liesl deal with some man. Was Joyrot. He looked upon the situation and asked. "Is this one bothering you, my silent interesting one?"
 
Last edited:
West blinked stunned by Anon's drunken accusations. His comments had not been irrelevant non sequiturs, nor had he made any disparaging personal remarks. West spoke of the gods as he understood them, with as much sincerity as he would have spoken in a chapel full of true believers. The best sense West could make out of the tirade was that the conversion was not going in the direction Anon had anticipated, that being so drunk he was no longer able to clarify his own position on the question of faith and religion, and that he somehow took offense at the suggestion that a priest might have a deeper understanding of theological matters than an average parishioner. The priest might have asked further questions, but Anon appeared to be signaling a desire to end the conversation. So instead, he opted to offer a single brief clarification to his previous point. Something he thought went without saying. "The god that I worship is chaos. Love's god is the essence of weather and sea, the sun is the popular god of the people, and the goddess of love is worshiped by many of the ladies of evening who work in establishments such as this one. I selected those as examples of gods, but my statement was not meant to reflect the nature of any god in particular."

West felt there was little point in saying more, but a sudden inspiration struck him, possibly bestowed by Shen, the wise fool, gentlest of the embodiments of chaos, and West felt pressed to speak on. "Your analogy of the invisible liquor, doesn't synthesize with any god I have ever heard of. I feel as if you are trying to make some point about a god whose very essence is abstraction, but I cannot imagine anyone offering faith to a god who is not manifest, and offers no practical blessings to the faithful. I cannot argue for or against such a hollow and powerless diety because I have no experience of such." West patted the sleeping man on the head gently, unsure if the tender gesture would provoke or comfort or be missed entirely.

He turned his attention back to Percival, his initial infatuation slowly giving over to a more cautious impulse. West kept few secrets, and felt no special proprietary relationship with his own likeness, but something in the shape changers response unsettled the priest. Perhaps it was nothing more than a growing awareness of the ethical implications of using such a potentially invasive power. West didn't think he could trust himself with such carte blanch capabilities, and he was far from evil. It seemed at least plausible that the temptations presented to a man/woman/being such as this could easily lead them down a very corrupt path indeed. That the figure spoke of polite restraint and using aspects of the power only in need should have set West at ease, but it did not.

West smiled as warmly as ever, setting his suspicions behind a veil of genuine curiosity. "Have you always been thus?" West asked, "or was this gift sought out, bestowed upon you, or something that befell by chance?"
 
Anon did not look up, nor did he seem to react when West spoke, but he was obliged to listen because he was still conscious. He did respond, his voice slightly muffled as he hadn't moved.

'And they're welcome to worship them. I don't, what I resent is the implication that my feelings about a god associated with a thing defines my position with respect to the thing itself. Aside from the fact that it is a faulty proposition, and a cheap, bad-faith assumption it has the added impertinence of simply being wrong. Now I could speculate about what sort of character-defects make you unable to appreciate the beauty and transcendence of love, the ocean, or a thousand other things - none of which I have any basis to speculate on although that did not stop you - on their own terms, without recourse to an anthropomorphic representation that permits you to lean on pathetic fallacies instead, and why you're so attached to this conflation that you can't seem to understand people exist who are not like you in this respect, but I don't know if any of that is even true. Also I fear I've already said too much, too quickly, and this will all be for naught. After all I've already had to explain the simple bottle metaphor for you once, and somehow in the space of less than a minute you've forgotten everything I said and gotten the whole damn thing backwards again, and are lecturing me about the irrationality of a position you'd know I don't hold if you had actually been listening or understood me when I explained it, so at this point I choose to give up. You're welcome to believe what you want. However if you want to discuss my beliefs, even if you find them contemptible, you should at least demonstrate that you can understand them or be bothered to listen when I explain them.'
 
BEFORE DAWN... JUST AFTER CLOSING TIME


"I bloody hate these all-nighters... fer as much coin as the Sprawlers bring in, they be makin' a mess, havin' everyone let loose! An' we be the ones to clean it up afters." - the barkeep grunted tiredly, hard at work with a mop and a bucket, scrubbing the spittle, urine, ale, and food covered floor, after the wild partying tonight.

One of the waitresses nodded, equally hard at work washing dishes in a large bucket in the kitchen. She already had to dump the water and get another bucket, three times.

"I'll be at this till midday, probably, afore I can get off! I need a raise..." - half-jokingly half-balefully glancing in the barkeep's direction.

The chubby man grinned.

"Well, ye can always put in extra work upstairs, with the harlots... ye got the looks for it!" - hastily ducking a dishrag thrown in his direction, from the woman, glaring daggers at him. He picked it up and tossed it back, with a laugh.

"Just suggestin', luv... but in all seriousness, we all be at this till midday most likely, afore this place is spic an' clean again."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom