Issues [Hans]

[Duncan Oisin]

43rd of Vhalar

It's early evening, the sun just beginning to touch the horizon when Duncan shoulders through the tavern door, inside dim, but quiet, few patrons and regulars to be seen. He's worse for wear, his hair longer than he likes it, stubble grown into a unkempt beard. The skin under his eye's are dark, a combination of fading bruises and lack of sleep, and his knuckles are still healing from a brawl days earlier, scaly scabs dry and flaking. Usually he would blame his appearance on the travel, but he'd been in Ne'haer too long for that, and so the cause could only be his own negligence; too much alcohol and self pity for his own good. He knew the reality of it well, but couldn't bring himself to really care, raising his hand when he reached the bar and ordering a glass of bottom shelf whiskey.

He pins the barman with a glare when he stops at two fingers, and Duncan doesn't avert his gaze until the glass is full. Grunting in satisfaction he opens his coin pouch, gaze flicking back to the waiting barman as he counts out his coin. "You know of anyone lookin' to hire an extra set of hands?" He asks, setting down the coin for the whisky, fingers pausing as they dip back into the pouch, a brow raised. The younger man shrugs, shifting uncomfortably. "There's a bounty board outside one of the... cheaper taverns. you could find something there?" He replies, swiping the coin from the counter and moving quickly on the the next customer. Glowering after him Duncan closes his pouch, shoving it back into his pocket.

He'd seen the board already, considered a few of the jobs, but for the most part passed them by. He was after something more profitable, a long term job to fill his pockets with coin. He'd left Viden with enough to make his way, enough for a small apartment and more than enough to keep a buzz going, whether he was fueling it with alcohol or drugs. But he knew that his funds would run out soon enough. The last long term contract he'd taken had been Alistair, a string of bittersweet events that Duncan cringed away from almost instantly. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about any of it, not adulterous nobles or fickle twins. Andaris and Viden were behind him, and as far as the mercenary was concerned, the past could stay in the past.

Duncan downed half of his whiskey in two swift gulps and stood, the knots in his shoulders unwinding some as the warmth of the drink twisted through him. Casting his gaze around the tavern he found an empty table tucked into a corner and took a seat facing the door. He settled in for the evening, happy enough to drink his fill before he went in search of something stronger to soothe him.

[Hans]

Hans couldn't help the hand running through his hair as he stepped into the tavern, exhaustion in every step. His lip curled as he looked around the place, filled with drunkards and commoners. Not that he had a problem with commoners - it was just Ne'haerian commoners he couldn't stand. Ever since he had watched the crowd at Rea's execution a season ago, all he could see when he looked at Ne'haer was the way these strangers had called for the death of an innocent woman. Guilty only of having a power they couldn't hope to understand.

But as Ambassador, he couldn't avoid one of the most powerful cities in the region, even with war brewing between his territory and theirs. War had not been declared outright, even if an alliance with Ironridge had, and until Lysoria pit themselves directly against Ne'haer, he was still expected to do his duty. And his duty involved meetings with those who would do anything to snuff out his kind. Who could blame him for needing a drink after that?

"Lysorian red, if you have it," Hans demanded as he reached the bar. The bartender looked at him in surprise. There had been others waiting, others in line before him, but one look at Hans' clothes and posture told the bartender than this was a man not worth ignoring. "Certainly, sir," the bartender bumbled, "but we only sell it by the bottle, and it's rather expensive..." Hans waved his hand. "A bottle, then. Cost is irrelevant." The bartender frowned in consternation, but did nothing to dissuade Hans, simply uncorking a bottle and handing it to Hans with one glass. There was no need to ask if he needed another.

"Put it on my tab," he muttered, before turning around. He took only the bottle - tonight was not the sort of night he would bother with a glass. His eyes scanned across the room. Ne'haerians, all of them, too comfortable in their skin. His lips curled, until, in a corner, his eyes alit upon a man. With dark circles under his cheek, he looked worse for wear, and was clearly a foreigner. Attractive, too, though different to his usual type. An image swum in his mind, that of a tanned man and skipping pebbles on the beach, but now was not the time for reminiscence. Now, he needed tof forget.

On strong legs Hans strode across the bar, sitting unceremoniously at the strangers table, eyeing the amber liquid at his hands before his eyes flicked over to the man's face. With his magic, Hans could taste the bitterness emanating from the man, and though it was sour Hans wanted to drink from it. "Not from around here," said Hans, and it was not a question. "Who hurt you so badly you needed to escape?" Hans could not read minds, but only one thing created that scent of bitterness. The loss of a loved one. Robin again swam in his mind, but this stranger could not see into his memories. He did not need to know Hans felt the same anger.

[Duncan Oisin]

He watched as the well dressed man made his way over, a fiercely unimpressed expression making its way over his features, though he didn't bother to bid the man to leave him be. Instead, Duncan simply eyed him critically, his eyebrow raising in a mix of dark amusement and irritation as he sat. The other brow joined the first when he finally spoke, completely lacking of any tact or etiquette, a fact that was clear even to Duncan. For a moment the mercenary contemplated standing, pushing back from the table so that he may loom over the rude, entitled stranger, perhaps even drop a hand to the pommel of his gladius, an obvious but empty threat. He wasn't dumb enough to pull a blade on one that clearly came from money, but he wasn't about to rule out his fists. Duncan's eyes flicked down to his glass, focusing on the rich amber liquid for a long moment and drawing a long, calming breath through his nose.Then, huffing a long suffering sigh,he tipped the glass back, taking the last of the whiskey in a single gulp. He set the glass down with a thunk, and pushed it across the table towards the stranger. "You'd better be willing to share if we're going to be talking about ex-lovers." He grunted, eyeing the man as he waited, only willing to continue once his glass had been refilled. If the stranger was going to be a prick, dragging up painful topic, he had better at least share his wine.

Once topped up, Duncan leant back, taking a curious sniff of the expensive red. "You ever been with twins?" He asked finally, taking a slow sip and quirking a brow, his mouth twisting into a bitter smirk. "I didn't get the fucking chance to." Her growled, the smirk dropping from his face totally, his mouth now pulling down into a snarl as he slid to slump even lower in his chair. His heart clenched and his gut twisted with the mere thought of Edalene and Aeodan, a feeling much like betrayal gnawing at him. At first he'd been frightened when he'd returned to Edalene gone, but after he'd taken a moment, searched the apartment and spoken to their neighbours, he's been overcome with a sickly sense of loss. It was clear that Edalene had left on her own, of her own will, and that she wasn't in any danger. Duncan could best guess that she'd left to join Aeodan, which he couldn't fault her for exactly. They'd both missed him terribly, and had even spoken about their desire to go to him. But... For her to leave without him, without any note or message...

Duncan shook his head, gulping the red down in a clear attempt to drown his sorrows. "Doesn't matter, they were young, and far too good to be weighed down by someone like me." He passed a hand over his face, scrubbing at lines and wrinkles that were only getting deeper with each arc that passed. "I'm here for work, not to wallow in pity." He sighed, replacing his glass on the table and crossing his arms over his chest. "Who are you? You in need of protection or something? Someone to handle your dirty work?"