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@spear-bearer
“Pardon me, I wasn’t deliberately staring.” Morgana shook her head, snapping back to reality as she realized she has zoned out again. “I tend to drift away a lot.”
“It’s nothing.” Prentice shrugged, keeping his thoughts to himself - he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate such things from a complete stranger. “If that’s the case then, I offer my apologies for jumping to conclusions.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you had any fire? I have been dying to light my own cigar and it appears I have forgotten to being my matches.”
“I do.” Prentice eyed the other woman before procuring matches from his pocket and handing it over wordlessly. “Do you require anything else?”
“Ah, but who am I to judge?” Rafaela said. “I can not say that I am too innocent to have never indulged in needless matters, myself.”
Prentice shrugged expansively. “People tend to judge.” He spoke simply. “I apologise if I was under the wrong assumption, my lady.” And though the other woman was dressed in a noblewoman’s manner, there was still an air about her that spoke of authority. Better safe than sorry.
Eva was not really aware she was staring so rudely at the man. Shaking her head, she let herself smile apologetically, as it was expected of her.
“No, do pardon me. I got lost in thought, I was unaware I was staring.” She apologized, before she arched an eyebrow. “I find cigars and cigarettes to be quite calming and beneficial for the nerves.” She added, taking one of her morphine laced cigarettes and lighting them, deeply inhaling the smoke.
“They are also poisonous to your body.” Prentice muttered but still he took his cigar between his lips and breathed in deeply. “Still-” He offered, begrudgingly. “-they do well enough in helping you relax.”
“Ser Prentice,” she greeted. “It is not my place to dictate your indulgences.” She nodded. “I must admit that the smell is both repulsive and pleasant.”
She shrugged as she sat on the marble bench he was seated upon. She was glad to be away from her responsiblities for at least a short while. She breathed easier knowing her sister and the others, who had tortured her son, were in the dungeons below.
“If it offends you my lady, I can stop.” Prentice murmured, looking up at the noblewoman with an expressionless face. Still, he couldn’t quite hide his stiffening muscles as she took a seat next to him, the way his gaze darted down quickly at the few inches that separated them.
“So...” He coughed, trying to bring his nerves under control. “What brings you here, Lady Pemberley?”
“Hm. We all need an indulgence now and then,” Phyllis said. She held out her hand, eyes twinkling with teasing amusement. “Share with me?”
“Well, I can hardly deny you, my lady.” Prentice murmured, fishing in his pocket for another cigar and handing it over. His expression remained unreadable. “Just one though.” He added, unable to help himself.
Prentice caught the other person’s lingering gaze on the cigar pressed between his lips.
“I don’t do this often.” His spoke, and though his face remained expressionless there was an edge of defensiveness to his tone. “I know it is a needless, unhealthy indulgence.”
Though he still couldn’t come up with a logical reason for why he was there waiting for her, still Prentice didn’t move from his spot, his entire posture tense as he eyed that single closed doorway at the opposite end of the hall. His mind couldn’t help but conjure an assortment of scenarios, each one more gruesome than the last, and he found little pleasure in the irony that all such thoughts stemmed from his own experiences as an interrogator for the House of Balor.
Prentice wasn’t ready to admit that he was already at his wits’ end when he heard the opening slam of wood against stone.
“Ser Norah.”
Pietra curiously watch her chosen companion as she continued to sip her ale; his obvious struggles bringing her an odd sense of joy as she eventually set down her tin and she took a chance to breath the fresh air beyond her cup. While her companion selection was for the most part completely random, she could sense those who would make her time spent drinking more worthwhile. A single chuckle escaping her chest through both her mouth and noise as he spoke, Pietra’s eyebrows rose up and inward as her smirk bound even tighter.
❝ T’ start, offendin’ me is both t’hardest ‘n easiest thin’ t’do so don’t worry y’er ocean eyes… I’s gonna happen whether y’e try or na’… ❞ Taking a large swig of her warming ale, the fiery boatswain scrunched her nose slightly as she quickly set the barely-filled cup back onto the table. ❝ Sober minds are dangerous minds in my opinion – ❞ Pietra continued as she made sure to stare the man straight in the eyes as she spoke. ❝ If y’e ever wanna real answer or t’truth, ale helps folk speak wha’ can only be thought sober. ❞
Prentice refrained from reaching up and touching his face when she mentioned ocean eyes. Such an odd description - did she mean to flatter him with it?
“Well, I’d tend to agree with you on that. Alcohol truly does loosen the tongue, allowing you to get you sorely needed information-” Though in truth, Prentice preferred other, more direct means of interrogation. “-but since this my mind we speak of, I believe sobriety is a far better fate than spilling my secrets for all and sunder.” And yet, still, he took another drink.
“That’s it. One drink won’t do you no harm.” Panya grinned, sitting across from the man with her elbows propped up on the table. Drinking was one of her favorite pastimes because it usually didn’t involve having to keep an eye on her older brother. These were the rare moments she could really enjoy herself and what more fun can there be than to enjoy a good drink with a stranger?
“Aren’t you a little too young to be saying such things?” Prentice asked severely, staring down at the young girl across from him ( as if he just didn’t take a long draught from his own tankard. ) “One drink may do you no harm, but two, three, four more and you’ll be finding yourself tied to the peer, penniless, with no clue how you got there.” And yet, despite his own dark mutterings, Prentice tilted his head back as he took another generous swig.
Iapetus raised a brow, a smile hinting at the edges of his lips. He’d offered the ale as more of a polite gesture than anything, knowing that Prentice wasn’t as prone to drink as the rest of the family—but he was pleased with the unexpected turn of events. “Well, I’ll be damned. Who or what do I have to thank for loosening you up?” he asked, amused.
“You’ll have to excuse me, my Lord.” Prentice grunted as he set down his tankard. Already, with a single draught, he’d consumed nearly half of it. “I’m afraid I’ve let the events of the past few weeks get to me.” He gave that as an excuse instead, grimacing slightly when he heard Isiah’s casual who?, the vision of a certain brunette flashing in his mind’s eye.
No, he wasn’t inclined to share such knowledge with his Lord. At least, not yet.
“Still, I know you have expressed such sentiments to me before, but I take it you truly do not object to my-” He wrinkled his nose. “-letting loose?”
pietracashore:
When the alcohol was flowing, Pietra did everything in her power to make sure it didn’t stop. Whether or not that meant she drank alone or took other poor souls down with her, she did not care - she merely did her best to keep her good buzz going.
After sliding a glass towards her newest victim, she watched carefully as she took another swig of her own beverage. Her eyes smiling as her companion broke and made his glass move towards his lips, Pietra crossed her legs in victory. Her usual smirk gracing her features, the Boatswain picked up her own glass to mirror her companion.
❝ Here’s t’a long life, an’ a merry one; a quick death, an’ an easy one; a pretty girl, an’ an honest one; a cold beer - an’ ‘nother one! ❞
“Amen to that.” Prentice muttered, trying not to think how possibly, for him, he’d achieve not even one of those things...which drove him even further in his pursuit of the last one. Eyeing his new companion over the rim of his tankard, he struggled to find some point of conversation he could latch onto - it was the least he could offer, given she had provided him with his drink.
“Do you do this often, buy watered-down ale for complete strangers?” Well, that came out more offensive than he intended, his brow furrowing as he attempted to rectify the matter. “I apologize, that was rude. I mean, do you find it is easier to form attachments when the person isn’t in their best state of mind?”
anniepemberley:
She had returned to her more lavish clothing and lifestyle, but she often wandered from the castle to assess the state of the city. She happened upon a pub, where she imposed her presence although the owner seemed slightly reluctant.
She discovered a familiar face inside. She took a seat near him without him noticing, and she requested a glass of wine and ale. She sipped her wine as she waited for Prentice to take his ale. “Ser Prentice, I would think that of all people, you deserve a drink,” Leanne shrugged as she sat back in her chair.
“Drink clouds the mind and slows the senses, a state I cannot be found in as the Head Guard of the Balors” And yet despite his words, Prentice took a long draught of his ale, tilting his head back and exposing the vulnerable column of his neck as he did so.
“I apologize, my Lady Pemberley.” He murmured once he finished, but he was unable to help his look of satisfaction as he slammed the empty tankard onto the table. “You’ve caught me at an unfortunate time, as my discipline as a warrior fails to intercede at this point.”
Prentice glanced at his companion, then back at the drink on the table, brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to deny the offer, never one to imbibe regularly (especially so early in the day), but while staring at the amber liquid in front of him as he struggled to come up with an excuse, something in him just snapped.
“What the hell.” He muttered, reaching for it.
@spear-bearer
Norah walked slowly around her new room. It smelled funny and it was cold. “It’s nice, I guess,” she deadpanned and shrugged. It wasn’t the same as her old room, nor the room at her mother’s place. The girl then mindlessly asked: “Are you still working with the Balors?”
Prentice watched his daughter observe the room from the doorway, trying to mask his hurt when she dismissed it with a simple ‘it’s nice, I guess.’ He’d tried to make it as suitable for her as possible, even resorting to asking a female acquaintance her opinion on what should go into a teenager’s room. It seemed he failed, after all.
“You can change it up however you want - I’ll pay for it.” Prentice grunted in response, crossing his arms over his chest. Her next question had him freezing however, and his mind raced as he searched for an appropriate reply. “Yes, but it’s only boring work. Nothing you’ll be interest in at all.”
“Well hello there, come on in! It’s still a little early for the regular crowd so our bartender’s out, but I can get you whatever you want.” Isiah called over his shoulder when he heard steps coming in from Sky Lounge’s foyer, turning to press his hands to the bar’s smooth wood surface. “What’ll it be? Coca-Cola? Root beer?”
“Your choice, Mr. Balor.” Prentice said in reply, taking one of the few empty seats at the bar. “I hope you’ll take this however in exchange for that drink.” He reached into his coat pocket for some spare cash, easily folding a note between the bills before sliding it across the counter to the other man.
Character Info
Name: Prentice Godric Abel Age: 36 years old Occupation: Hitman for the Balors
Other people have a mind for business or a talent for the arts, which all made for viable occupations and careers, he was certain.
Prentice skill set, on the other hand, suited far more violent tendencies, and with little opportunity elsewhere and a young daughter to raise, he took the chance and got himself hired as the Balor’s favored hitman.
Oh, perhaps it wasn’t the best decision, as he was constantly reminded by his ex-wife - what kind of environment was he exposing Norah to after all, when he’d come home all bloody and wounded with death in his eyes?
What they both couldn’t understand was honor and justice meant very little in this sordid City, and if he wanted to protect his family, he’d have to take the matter into his own hands.
( whether at gunpoint or at the end of his fist, they’d learn to fear his name. )
Connections: [ Norah Abel ] the only thing that will keep him going, staining his hands for the sake of her future. [ Sharon Mikkelson ] once, he loved her more than words, but once she turned her back on him, his world got a little bit darker.
