Post by Eliandor Ayzalth on Jan 16, 2018 19:21:50 GMT
Arms propped against the bar, Eliandor mourned his loss of a quiet drink as a particularly noisy individual saddled up to the seat next to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Can't a man drink in peace?" he groaned, turning the stool toward the face. He vaguely remembered the boy that was trying to get his attention, but he had aggravated so many people over his life span that Eliandor couldn't quite place the recognition with a name or deed.
"You-you don't remember me?" the voice questioned, a mix of astonishment and rage.
The man shook his head, sighing. "Look, I've hurt a lot of people. A lot of people have hurt me. I don't have the time to keep track of them all." He took another sip of the brandy he was nursing, instinctively ducking as the drunk threw a sloppy punch. Eliandor leaned toward him after, elbowing him in the stomach before hopping off the chair. "Bar fights are no fun," Eliandor stated, leaving the aggressor to glare at him. He would be a fool, to start something when the barkeep already had a hand on a weapon the hybrid could only assume had stun magic imbued in it.
He glanced around the tavern, searching for a familiar face among the sea of strangers. There was a reason why he didn't visit Imfala Kingdom often anymore, and it wasn't just because of bad business. Eliandor had made a lot of enemies during his time inhabiting the nation, but he had a few acquaintances that he wasn't on horrible terms with. Upon further investigation of the patrons of the bar, his annoyed facade morphed into a grin, walking toward a particular red head.
"Ey Karlyn, it's been a while!" Eliandor exclaimed. His expression was casual, a hand on his glass and the other in a pocket of the dark slacks he wore. A black leather jacket was thrown over the gray dress shirt he donned, a complementary onyx tie attached. His attire was, needless to say, a bit out of place compared to the mercenaries and soldiers that frequented the establishment, but Eliandor's actual character wasn't too far off. He just didn't tend to dress the part.
"You-you don't remember me?" the voice questioned, a mix of astonishment and rage.
The man shook his head, sighing. "Look, I've hurt a lot of people. A lot of people have hurt me. I don't have the time to keep track of them all." He took another sip of the brandy he was nursing, instinctively ducking as the drunk threw a sloppy punch. Eliandor leaned toward him after, elbowing him in the stomach before hopping off the chair. "Bar fights are no fun," Eliandor stated, leaving the aggressor to glare at him. He would be a fool, to start something when the barkeep already had a hand on a weapon the hybrid could only assume had stun magic imbued in it.
He glanced around the tavern, searching for a familiar face among the sea of strangers. There was a reason why he didn't visit Imfala Kingdom often anymore, and it wasn't just because of bad business. Eliandor had made a lot of enemies during his time inhabiting the nation, but he had a few acquaintances that he wasn't on horrible terms with. Upon further investigation of the patrons of the bar, his annoyed facade morphed into a grin, walking toward a particular red head.
"Ey Karlyn, it's been a while!" Eliandor exclaimed. His expression was casual, a hand on his glass and the other in a pocket of the dark slacks he wore. A black leather jacket was thrown over the gray dress shirt he donned, a complementary onyx tie attached. His attire was, needless to say, a bit out of place compared to the mercenaries and soldiers that frequented the establishment, but Eliandor's actual character wasn't too far off. He just didn't tend to dress the part.
