Ruth chuckled, his brows lifting in a resigned shrug.
He took a long drink, then leaned back with a half-laugh.
With that, the two downed their first drinks, settling into the evening with the ease of old friends. The familiar warmth of alcohol began to soften the edges of the day’s troubles, their conversation drifting from casual gossip to more lighthearted teasing. Time passed quickly, and with every new round, the banter grew livelier. Ruth, ever the restless one, occasionally disappeared for short moments of peace, slipping away under the guise of needing a piss. In reality, he craved that brief hit - a snorted line of dust to sharpen his senses, even as the constant flow of drinks dulled his wits and blurred his better judgment. As much as that judgement was often questioned.
When he returned, the place had transformed. The bards had begun to tinker with their instruments, filling the tavern with lively music that quickly caught the lads’ attention. The night shifted into full swing. Ruth felt the pull of it, the infectious energy calling him to let loose. As more drink was imbued, laughter and music swelled, echoing off the wooden beams. Songs started flowing from the crowd, some half-mumbled, others belted out in full, and wordplay was tossed around like coins at the tavern. It didn’t take long for Ruth, ever the performer, to find himself in the centre of it all.
Someone had passed him a lute, confiscated from one of the bards who’d been playing earlier and Ruth, drunk but enthusiastic, took it up with gleeful abandon. He half-read, half-improvised a tale to the crowd, strumming a few notes on the lute with shaky but confident hands. It wasn’t an uplifting tale - the tale of a pair of twins, Jenny and a Boy named Screech - but the way Ruth spun it, with that inebriated wobble and dramatic flair, was oddly endearing.
The audience was charmed by his performance, and a few of the more sober patrons even sung along, quietly murmuring the verses as he weaved through the story. His voice slurred here and there, but that only added to the charm of the moment. With every note, Ruth captured the crowd, somehow turning a melancholy tune into a raucous, entertaining spectacle.
As he finished, there was a round of applause - some genuine, some fueled by drunken amusement - and Ruth bowed dramatically, wobbling a little but grinning ear to ear. He handed the lute back with a mock-serious flourish, raising his mug to the crowd, who cheered him on for the show.
OOC:
Jenny and Screech - REN
@Horus
@Theodora Oridotti
Yes, the books,he repeated with a smirk, the sarcasm evident in his tone.
Not because I apparently manhandled someone else’s girl, by accident, of course.His grin broadened, but there was a hint of frustration in his voice. It seemed to be the story of my life - wrong place, wrong time. The little bit of behaving he did do? Well, it rewarded him by getting royally fucked somehow.
He took a long drink, then leaned back with a half-laugh.
A break, though? From the naggin’ of the maiden folk? For fucking definite.His expression darkened playfully as he rolled his eyes. How many lectures from Megara had he endured this week alone? It was like they took turns - Meg, Dora, Nairn… all of them have got something to natter at him about. He shook his head, his chuckle turning into a snicker as Horus joined in with a knowing laugh.
They don’t give a man a moment’s peace. Nairn’s fucked.
With that, the two downed their first drinks, settling into the evening with the ease of old friends. The familiar warmth of alcohol began to soften the edges of the day’s troubles, their conversation drifting from casual gossip to more lighthearted teasing. Time passed quickly, and with every new round, the banter grew livelier. Ruth, ever the restless one, occasionally disappeared for short moments of peace, slipping away under the guise of needing a piss. In reality, he craved that brief hit - a snorted line of dust to sharpen his senses, even as the constant flow of drinks dulled his wits and blurred his better judgment. As much as that judgement was often questioned.
When he returned, the place had transformed. The bards had begun to tinker with their instruments, filling the tavern with lively music that quickly caught the lads’ attention. The night shifted into full swing. Ruth felt the pull of it, the infectious energy calling him to let loose. As more drink was imbued, laughter and music swelled, echoing off the wooden beams. Songs started flowing from the crowd, some half-mumbled, others belted out in full, and wordplay was tossed around like coins at the tavern. It didn’t take long for Ruth, ever the performer, to find himself in the centre of it all.
Someone had passed him a lute, confiscated from one of the bards who’d been playing earlier and Ruth, drunk but enthusiastic, took it up with gleeful abandon. He half-read, half-improvised a tale to the crowd, strumming a few notes on the lute with shaky but confident hands. It wasn’t an uplifting tale - the tale of a pair of twins, Jenny and a Boy named Screech - but the way Ruth spun it, with that inebriated wobble and dramatic flair, was oddly endearing.
The audience was charmed by his performance, and a few of the more sober patrons even sung along, quietly murmuring the verses as he weaved through the story. His voice slurred here and there, but that only added to the charm of the moment. With every note, Ruth captured the crowd, somehow turning a melancholy tune into a raucous, entertaining spectacle.
As he finished, there was a round of applause - some genuine, some fueled by drunken amusement - and Ruth bowed dramatically, wobbling a little but grinning ear to ear. He handed the lute back with a mock-serious flourish, raising his mug to the crowd, who cheered him on for the show.
OOC:
Jenny and Screech - REN
@Horus
@Theodora Oridotti
10-09-2024, 02:03 PM
