The smell of spices, fire and broiling meat assails one's nose upon entering into the bar and grill. The soft murmurs of patrons seem a non-ending drone as the door shuts, blocking the sounds of the city off. Wood paneled walls are adorned with hanging plants and pictures of forests bringing the feel of wild places indoors. Full spectrum lighting keeps the outdoor daylight feel of the restaurant by shining on the plants and pictures.
In the center of the room is a large curved grill, a specialty built item that allows guests to watch their meats cooking and the Chef at work. Thick oaken tables are laid around the grill for those that would enjoy the dance of the flames as it sears the meat. The tables have large leather seats and are set for the barbecue feast to come, with a bucket that holds bottles of spicy sauces and piles of napkins.
To the right of the front door, taking up half the room, is the bar.The bar is a deep mahogany, a gorgeous piece with slightly dulled brass poles running along to provide foot rests, and an armrest, with comfortable stools lining it to allow others to sit. A mirrored shelf rests behind the bar, with light shining up through the drinks to allow them to be seen clearly. A chalkboard on a wall lists out the micro brews of the month. Beyond the bar a section is marked off and three cork dartboards hang on the wall.
A small hallway leads the way to a set of stairs, a private area, bathrooms and kitchen. The door to the private room is marked "members only" and locked.
Contents:
Zevran
Obvious Exits:
Out
Ever since he's woken up from his prolonged sleep, Zevran has been only able to hold down one particular source of food: Meat. His bony frame sits at one of the back tables, blue rogue's belted jacket hanging off the back of a chair. He wears an Armor-All T-Shirt, with a cloth mask attachement that currently pools around his neck as he eats the slab of ribs he's ordered. Black hair tied back in a high ponytail, the burn-scar tissue on the left side of his face shows, potentially making other patrons whisper curiousities to one another.
Miasma has been told that 'networking' is vital for his career advancement. So he'll do what he has to and moves to the cigar bar, but the tip he got of a police council being here isn't panning out. Miasma is less than thrilled but he moves to the bar and relaxes, ordering a glass of vodka and a cigar and sits a while and listens.
Storm grey eyes glance towards the new addition, as Zevran continues to chew. Conflicting perceptions of different lives lived suggest usefulness in strength, but that true value lies in loyalty. He frowns, as if an unpleasant thought crosses his mind.
Miasma lights the cigar with his own lighter. He doesn't really smoke, but a wise man is always prepared. As he puffs a bit, blowing a small ring, he sees Zevran's inquisition. "What's the score?"
Zevran's eyes narrow at the cigar being lit, his host's intolerance to breathing obstructing substances always on his mind. "Well, good Sir. I am a curious fellow, only wishing to know what you are comfortable to offer about yourself. What do you do for a living?"
Miasma is not Machiavelli, but he spots the eye motion and puts out the Cigar. Guy hasn't dissed him so there is no reason to antagonize. "Well...I'm like an onion. I'm an ogre." He smiles referencing the movie.
There's a long pause, as Zevran's eyes unfocus as he tries so desperately to -remember- something. A moment of realization, and he smiles. The burned skin crinkles along the side of his face. "Ah, yes! A Shrek reference. I am a Blacksmith by personal hobby and passion. Haven't been at it for quite a while, myself. I'm Zevran, by the way."
Miasma says "A blacksmith? Really?" He leans in curious, "Nice to meet you. Is that like an artisianal thing? Not many horses around these days need shoing. Pleased to meet you, name's Miasma."
Zevran chuckles, knowing that most folks assume the limitations for his craft. "Nice to meet you, Miasma. While I -can- make shoes for horses, I specialize more upon bladesmithing and armor smithing. Jewelry making from time to time as well. And yes, while I can make things that are functional, it's more for flair when the SCA has events."
Miasma says "SCA huh? I've heard of those guys. Heard they're a bit like bikers in some ways. I'm a cop myself. Special projects so I have to deal with all the political bullshit this city has to offer in more ways than one. But its cool. Do you enjoy it? The smithing that is?"
Zevran's eyes glaze for the briefest of moments as a grin splits his face. "Of course! Creating with my hands is such an enjoyable activity. I will never grow tired of it." The mention of law enforcement draws his curiousity. "What kinds of special projects do you partake in, when dealing with law enforcement and politics?"
Miasma says "Well, sometimes its a VIP duty, like if the President or governor visits. Sometimes its crowd control for something that might emberrass the mayor; or a high profile killing or theft. We're basically extra manpower for whatever the mayor needs to keep from being emberrased."
"Ahhhhhh, yes. Protection, or clean-up crew. If my own efforts weren't so useful in the craft of my choosing, I would have served protection for a Duke myself." He sets the plate of finished bones aside, before cleaning up with a wet-nap. "I'm sure that when there are no projects available, you are still paid Salary, correct?"
Miasma considers this for a few moment before turning his head, "You mean as protection for a Duke...in the SCA?" He nods, "I am. I have my own...side investigation. Aside from it being a fast track, its a great way to get to do what you want; almost as good as a homicide detective, but I can take the cases I like as long as I don't get in others way....
Zevran nods enthusiatically, tossing the used wet-nap onto the plate. Upon further observation, the palms of his hands and the inside of his forearms are also burned. "Well done! Always good to see someone who has found a way to make their profession work for them."
Miasma says "Thanks. It helps that my dad is a Captain as well. Friends in the right places." He thinks a moment, "SCA might be fun some time to learn a new martial arts. I hear those guys are hard core. Not for a while though, I have my own...side projects. So what kinda person do you normally do work for? Does it pay?"
Zevran shakes his head at the inquiry. "While there are formal positions for running the organization who schedules events, I am independantly wealthy, and do whatever it is that gives me pure inspiration."
Miasma says "Really? That must be nice. Did you get that from Blacksmithing or get it the old fashioned way?" Miasma puts the cigar away now that it has cooled down and won't singe his pack. He sips his vodka and listens."
The adventurous stick figure of a man adjusts his seat, so that he is slightly reclining. "I am the fourth son of a family who owns a global telecommunications business. I've invested my share wisely, but am not cut out for such ventures. Especially since my accident, I'm not one for public appearances. Let the older siblings have at it."
Zevran Trudeaux is a very slight young man, gangly in his height of 6'0" and 120 lbs soaking wet. Despite the lack of physical substance, there's a grace to him that is uncanny in his movements. His eyes are a stormy blu-ish grey, usually covered by wrap-around sunglasses above a cloth face mask. His long, black hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. Despite the weather or outside temperature on any given day, he's chosen to wear a very well made rogue's costume in dark blue and leather boots. The only exposed skin as he walks out and about are ears above the neckguard and fingers from fingerless gloves. A die-hard cosplayer, for sure. (Disfigured)
Miasma says "Accident?" He looks at the other man, trying to spot what might the result of the accident. He would continue the conversation but polite people don't mix subjects when dealing with such potential matters though he said it so casually it might be. He's cautious though. Miasma takes another sip from his Vodka."
"Yes. Well....it -wasn't- an accident." There's that bitter tone as Zevran's eyes avert themselves. "My rival, who was my best friend, my comrade-in-arms, had become smitten with a Lady who had taken a shining to me. He had grown so heated in his possessive jealously, that he had shoved my upper body onto the forge bank of coals at the Event we were participating in 6 months ago. Despite being rescued by other participants, the damage had been done. It was such a traumatic shock, that I did not awaken until recently."
Miasma says "Jesus Christ man, you have my empathy." He scowls, "Was this local? And has that asshole been prosecuted? I know people. I also know that sometimes people have...ways of getting around the system. A good lawyer and the like."
Zevran's eyes focus on Miasma once more, admiring the zeal in which he has for justice. "Oh, prosecution was the -least- of his worries. Yes, my family was quite...thorough, in dealing with him. I appreciate your sympathies, none-the-less."
Miasma says "....I'm gonna pretend they thoroughly saw him lawfully prosecuted in a legal and above board fashion." He grins widely, "But the least I can do is buy you a drink."
Zevran places spread fingers over his chest as he tilts his chin. "I would be delighted!" He stands, thin frame looking as if he'd be blown over by a stiff breeze at any second. There's a grace to his movements, however, that belies that. He fishes out his wallet, leaving payment and a hefty tip upon the table for the waitress before approaching a bar stool next to his new friend.
Miasma says "What's yer pleasure?"
Settling on the cushioned seat, Zevran takes a look at the selection available. "I'll have a Rum & Coke, if you please Madam?" He's always courteous with his dramatic flare and fake accent, causing the bartender to grin as she goes to fill the order. "So, what is it that you do to entertain yourself when not on duty?" Zevran turns to regard Miasma with the question.
He is about to order for Zevran but he does that for himself. Miasma orders a second vodka and relaxes. "I have a lot of hobbies. Lately I've been researching the occult. Interesting stuff. My maternal grandfather had some very interesting books, though my father would hardly approve." Miasma is curious about this Telco but lets the conversation flow naturally.
Zevran tilts his head at the admission. "The occult, you say? What kinds of books did he happen to have?" He wouldn't have guessed that Miasma was the type to peruse in such topics.
Miasma says "All kinds of things really. Some of it looks like sheer crap really, but there was 'legends of ancient times' and 'Mockery of Midnight' and 'Comes the Rhombus'...the most useful was actually just 'advanced meditative techniques'...I'm amazed it isn't more popular than it is; scares the crap out of me that it isn't. Makes you wonder if you know what I mean."
Zevran chuckles, fingers rapping gently upon the bar's wooden surface. "The most useful of books are carefully guarded treasures, not to be shared lightly with common folk. I'm sure your grandfather took that to heart."
Miasma says "Why? I mean the stuff this book teaches could revolutionize medicine. And I'm not one of these wackaloons that believes that the pharma companies are suppressing xyz to earn a buck. Maybe I'm better at it than most but...I dunno. If even a little bit of this stuff is true....I've got ideas. Probably shouldn't even be talking to you about it really."
Zevran's lips quirk, as he gives Miasma a shrewd look. "It's alright if you don't want to share. Perhaps it would be wise not to spread around such beautiful pearls of wisdom to swine, and all that. I hope that it's everything you are hoping for."
Miasma says "Well its not that I consider you swine Zevran....its just that if there is one thing I've learned, the only way to keep a secret between three people is if two of them are dead. And I don't hope for much. Hope is a sucker's game to me. I mean, its great as the opiate of the masses, but I don't put much stock in it myself; its too dangerous a drug. But more likely than not, yeah. Forget I mentioned it. So now that you have a second chance at life," Miasma sips and then asks, "got a bucket list?"
Zevran seems pleased that his new friend has a level head, before accepting the drink from the bartender. "Of course you weren't suggesting I was, and you're right about safety in singular numbers. Now that I am back..." He takes a moment to muse, taking a sip of the rum. "I'm not entirly sure. While I still enjoy the events, I feel I need to spread out and expand my creative talents."
Miasma says "Well I was gonna say. If I was independently wealthy I'd do a whole hell of a lot beside SCA. Though I am given to understand some of the girls there are pretty hot. Still, the uniform usually takes care of any dating needs. It's fucking magic I tell you." He swallows. "You should make one. It'll slip by, believe me."
That's a daring, if not dangerous, proposition. Especially coming from a cop. "I thought it was illegal to impersonate an officer." Zevran murmurs quietly to Miasma, nursing his drink as he observes his friend from the peripherie.
Miasma blinks a moment and then laughs, "Um....I wasn't suggesting you do Zevran. That's about one of the dumbest things a person can do. No, I meant that my own dating needs are taken care by being a cop. Look, if you flat out killed someone, we'd arrest you but you wouldn't piss us off. Its just not personal. If you impersonate a cop...lets just say some of my fellows are...deserving of the reputation that first responders have these days." More than half actually, but he wasn't saying that out loud. "I was just saying I didn't need to do SCA for that. But I am happy to act as wingman in the uniform any time you like.
Misunderstanding cleared up, Zevran grins as he puts the glass back down on the bar. "That's a generous offer you've made. I accept, should we meet again in a more relaxed setting." Normally, his strange manner of speech and flamboyant dress scares off normal thinking folk. Who normally bore him anyways.
Miasma raises his glass in toast, "To life. It's too short. Why not do neat things with it? That sure as hell doesn't mean a desk job, let me tell you that."
-Fin
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