The Highwayman Came Riding [Alysia/Tadhg/Open]

[Marat]

The night is a chilly one. Despite the onset of early spring the night is still bitter cold. Marat breathes a visible breath as he takes a crunching step in the grass that appears to be a dark blue in the moonlight. It is dark, the kind of darkness that when lit by the moonlight distorts the colors of everything present. Marat himself appears to be a creature of black and silver, in the right lighting the even brightest of ruby red blood could appear black. Yet one thing stands out: the flickering light of the cantina.

It wasn’t like Marat to seek the solace of a tavern or even the bottle, but as he pushes the door back and feels the warmth of a fire wash over him he knows he had made the right decision. The place smells of alcohol, smoke and stew. It feels like home to the former marauder, the lesser god who was the patron of charity and wealth.

He nestles up to the bar, taking a seat with a smile flashing towards the lycanthrope male behind the bar. ”Your vegetable stew, please, and your house ale.” The lycan obliges and before long Marat has a mug of ale and a warm bowl of stew. Sipping the hot broth from his spoon, he yawns, his thoughts not of anything significant other than a warm bed and a full stomach.

[Alysia]

Alysia's cloaked figure silently approached the building she had spotted not to long ago. A scent of ale and stew assaulted her nose and her stomach growled in response. Looking around to make sure no one heard her embarrassing stomach sounds, she sighed in relief as she spotted no one. Happy and smiling at her luck on finding a tavern, Alysia rubbed her arms and clutched her smokey grey furred cloak closer around her half frozen form. She had been out for a couple of hours now and the cold was a bitter one.

Quickly making her way into the tavern, Alysia nearly groaned aloud at the pleasant feeling of warmth returning to her cold form. She dropped the hood of her cloak, revealing a mass of dark gold hair that quickly fell in waves around her waist. A glimpse of brown leather pants, tall dark brown boots, and a green button up shirt could be seen from the gap in the front of her furred cloak. Her bright tri colored eyes glanced around the tavern area and she approached the bar, the soft tap of her hilled boots the only sound from her form. Sitting down beside another man at the bar, she pursed her lips in contemplation. She smiled at the man behind the bar, "Stew and your strongest ale please." Watching the man gather her order, Alysia rubbed her arms to help circulate the blood and warm them faster.

After receiving her order, she glanced out the corner of her eye at the man next to her. Sipping from her ale, she contemplated on whether or not she would disturb him. Sipping at her ale again she sighed as the flavor hit her tongue. It had been a long while since she had good strong ale. Not that she was a tavern hang-about, but she loved good ale. When she was still living as a troublesome "forest guardian" she would sometime go to the nearby tavern to enjoy a mug of ale after a good day of hunting unwanted visitors. Ah the good 'Ol days.

[Marat]

The stew is salty but tastes of vegetables; carrots, peas, beans and potatoes that remind him of younger days. It has been ages since Marat has last enjoyed such a dish and he couldn’t help but think that the cooking of the pixie named Sabrina was living up to its reputation. He finishes the stew before moving onto the ale. Marat never had the stomach or the tongue for spirits and food. He preferred to drink water or teas with his meals. Sure he had been jeered by “manlier” men but Marat’s tastes had always come before maintaining any type of reputation.

The ale is darker than he preferred but upon taking his first sip he finds its bitter taste to his liking. Two more sips and he also found the ale wasn’t heavy in his stomach as the darkness of the beverage would lead one to believe. He sits back, interlacing his fingers behind his head he noticed the woman alongside of him steal a glance his way. Marat had always been friendly and striking up a conversation with a stranger was easy for him, especially when the stranger was a beautiful sidhe and had acknowledged him (albeit slightly) first.

”Are you enjoying your drink?” He casually asks as he takes a sip of his own. His words were coupled with a genuine smile and a twinkle in his honeycomb eyes.

[Alysia]

Setting her mug of ale down gently, she glanced at the man beside her. Her eyes- a mixture of azure, dark green, and bright gold- appraised the man and with a warm smile of her own she nodded at him. He was handsome. Close to her in height and built better than some of the males she had met, he couldn't complain on his looks. He obviously had strong sidhe blood running through his vein, but she could feel a slight...difference. A nimbus perhaps? Not that she judged Nimbus' or Garlanger's. Blood didn't necessarily make a person's character."Yes, this is the best ale I've had for a very long time. It's not often you find quality ale in these parts." Shaking her head at some of the sad tasting ale she'd had before, she took a sip of the bittersweet brew that she was quickly growing fond of. Perhaps she would make sure to visit every once in a while.

She traced the patterns on the dark brown mug, the light of the room causing the gold tint of her ivory sidhe skin to look almost a light gold. Trying to ignore the way some of the other patrons on the other side of the room glanced at her, she looked at the nimbus beside her with a small smile still gracing her lips. "The names Alysia." She offered, not minding talking to another. She had been away from civilization for quite a while...well that and she was too busy acting like a 'dumb blonde' to really have any conversations worth while with many of the court seelie. You'd be surprised how many sidhe think their so high up on the pedestal that they would believe anything just as long as it made them better than the other. Even if it was obvious that it wasn't true. She rather missed being able to talk to another not only 'intellectually', but being able to talk to someone at all.

[Tadhg]

Even infuriated, Tadhg is somberly silent. Like a wraith, he slips from the dark embrace of the night forest, his cloak following in his striding wake with no more then a whisper of warning. Cyane is locked into the leather pad on his shoulder, her fierce eyes staring accusingly at the yellow light stemming from the windows of the tavern ahead. Tadhg is not an outwardly violent man. But this will be the last time he makes this trip. He's come to make sure of it.

The door screams on it's rusty hinges as he nimbly kicks it open and he fills the doorway with his dark anger, casing the mismatched tables before stomping to the bar and the quivering lycan behind it. The man's dumb expression makes Tadhg growl at the attempt of being played and not bothering to pardon himself, he reaches between a female sidhe and a nimbus perched between him and his quarry. Cyane spreads her enormous golden wings and lands with a screech on the edge of an empty stool, knowing what is to come and having the good sense to get out of her fairy's way. In the blink of an eye, he snatches up the droopy joweled barkeep by the scruff of his collar and gives him a shake just for good measure before leaning down to meet the lycan's eye. "This'll be the last time you make the mistake of no' heeding me words, Celimar. Now how many did you take this time?"

The man flails tubby arms and scrabbles to break free of Tadhg's vice-like grip on his tunic, all color draining from his sweaty face at the velvet threat in his captor's deep brogue. "None, I swear! I'm not stupid enough to cross you again, Tadhg. I got some brains, ye know! His nervous, shrill laughter has the hunter twisting up his face in disgust.

"Ye've no brains at all, ye dolt," the Scotsman sneers, throwing his weight back to rip the chubby man from his spot and land him on the other side of the bar. "They're protected, and you ken it. If Sabrina knew what you were doin', she'd have sacked ye long ago. Now get out whilst I make yer apologizes to her and these people. And if I catch you hunting them for yer sorry excuse for a stew again...I'll do more then toss you on yer fat arse, Celimar." His eyes promise he will. The barkeeper whimpers and moves faster through the broken door then Tadhg has ever seen him move, glancing back every few paces to make sure he's not pursued.

The Scot watches him go, the shadows on his face lifting only when the man is no longer in sight. He then takes a deep breath, as if remembering himself and strides across the room to edge behind the now vacant bar. In the same fluid manner, he's got one of the two boiling cauldron up and flings it's contents out a window. Only when it is completely empty, do his shoulders visible drop, the quiet openness returning to his rugged face. "I hope it wasn't the meat stew you had,"he says, at last addressing the couple seated at the bar as he wipes his large tanned hands on his jerkin. "Blighter thought it'd be fun to use eagle hatchlings in it for a bit of exotic taste."

Cyane takes this opportunity to gently replace herself on Tadhg's shoulder, her sharp eyes holding something akin to adoration as she watches her fairy try to explain himself.

[Marat]

Marat nods in agreement as he lifts his mug and takes a swig. Faerie were not known for their love of alcohol. Sure, there were the occasional faerie that had been gods of the bottle, patron saints of taverns and ales, but for the most part the creatures that inhabited Alanor were more interested in pleasures that were not of earthly means. Human vices, Marat had found, were viewed by the faerie in a very different way. Still, Marat agrees that the ale at Sabrina’s Tavern was of a much better variety than he’d expect for the Realm of the Faerie.

”Marat.” He says with a grin and a bob of his head when they exchange their names. Knowing that neither of them was interested in continuing their time at the tavern in silence Marat slides over a stool so he is closer to her. The proximity at which Marat places himself is not so intrusive upon her personal space that she would feel threatened, but close enough that their conversation will seem more personal and his words more genuine. ”Come here often?” He quips, his clichéd statement interrupted by the arrival of a seemingly burly creature.

The exchange between the man and lycanthrope bartender prompts Marat to drop his hand to his sword. He eyes Tadhg, watching the sidhe and deciding it isn’t worth getting involved in the scuffle unless it concerns him directly. Still, Marat keeps his guard up.

Evidently the man’s cause is noble as he explains his actions to the group. Truthfully, Marat cared nothing for the man’s plight and would have partaken in eating the eagle hatchlings without a second thought but keeps that to himself. There is no quicker way to make an enemy than verbally defaming one’s cause. Instead he nods, ”I had the vegetable. No eagle hatchlings for me.” Chuckling as he takes a sip of his ale.

[Alysia]

Alysia watched Marat slide closer to her seat and smiled at having not to shout across the room while they talked. Tensing slightly at the slamming of the door, she glanced out the corner of her eye as a sidhe man strode through the door. He looked...determined and you could just feel the anger rolling off of him. She contemplated the man for a second, but finally decided that as long as he wasn't trying to kill her she'd mind her own business.

Happy at not seeing anyone trying to shove the pointy end of their weapons in her back, she turned her attention back toward Marat. Taking a sip from her mug, she was about to reply to Marat's question when the sidhe's arm reached between her and her companion, inwardly startling her. She reached for her throwing knives strapped to her thigh and watched the interaction between the man and the bartender. After the bartender ran from the tavern, she took her hand off the sheaves on her thigh, sighed and relaxed. She hated surprises like that.

Sipping from her glass she leaned against the counter and listened. After having heard his reasons, she glanced at her untouched stew and wrinkled her nose. She really didn't like exotic meats. They always had a tangy wild flavor that seemed to linger for days. Shivering at the thought of the ostrich meat she had before, she decided she had no desire to taste anything besides venison, pork, chicken, and gator meat. Besides they were his eagles. She knew that if someone started killing off lemurs and eating them she'd go ballistic. "No I hadn't even touched my stew." She pushed her uneaten stew away, she had no wish to try eagle. Besides she'd just go hunt something a little less likely to kick her in the stomach later. Looking at the sidhe man, she raised her eyebrows in question, "How long has he been killing off the hatchlings?" She was curious since this obviously wasn't the first time it had happened. Cradling her mug, she sighed as she noticed it's dwindling contents.

[Tadhg]

Tadhg, ancient man that he is, has been around long enough to read people quite thoroughly. And he knows perfectly well the man named Marat couldn't give a rat's ass about Tadhg's personal vendettas. Still, the fae is tactful enough to put on a good face about the whole ordeal and the hunter shoots him a wry grin. "Cheers, mate. I suppose I may have a wee tendency to...act rashly when my own interests are threatened," he chuckles gratefully, finding a loose mug of ale from somewhere behind the bar where he's still looming. It is an adequate description, for as silent and smooth as he moves, as gentle as his usual manner may be, Tadhg is broad enough to span a third of the bar's length with his brawn. In the flickering tavern light, he is an interesting contrast to the normal hooded persona that stalks the Seelie woods, unseen and unknown.

He flips over a stool from the end of the bar and seats himself across the wooden surface to face the pair still watching him warily. Sabrina herself emerges from a leather-draped back entrance to lay a brown hand on Tadhg's shoulder. She leans in, hastily whispering her apologizes for her previous employee's actions and the Scotsman waves her away with a murmur, his smile giving evidence to the lack of any sort of grudge between them. The pixie visibly exhales in relief and sets to refilling her customer's drinks. Tadhg raises his own crudely hewn mug toward Marat in a friendly fashion, passing a glance at the female sidhe who has just spoken. And he froze, the ale never making it past his lips.

His mouth goes dry and for a moment, he's forgotten how to breath. He is startled by the quickening of his heartbeat and thinks irrationally that it might jackhammer it's way out of his chest. It's her eyes, he realizes eventually, Cyane's uneasy shifting on his shoulder bringing him half way back from his shock. He knows those eyes. More colorful now perhaps, more aloof, but how many times had he gotten lost in that blue-green gaze? He knows he's staring, but he can't help it. It's been almost 600 years since he's looked into those eyes. "How old are you?" he murmurs softly to the woman, never once breaking his unblinking stare. He needs an answer even though he's not sure why. There is no such thing as reincarnation. He above all creatures should know the finality of death and loved ones long gone. But his tongue forms queries before his mind can compute them. "Where are you from?"

He's not even aware of ignoring her own questions.

[Marat]

”It was warranted.” Marat says with a shrug and a toast of his own mug. Taking a swig of the ale he sets the glass down but does not relinquish the handle. Just as many in the tavern, Marat’s hand would never fall away from his ale unless he was handing it to the bartender for a refill, his philosophy to never trust a man who didn’t hold a drink in a tavern. Those who aren’t partaking in the festivities of drinking and singing are usually up to no good. For when taverns aren’t used as a place to relax and unwind they are a place to trade secrets and plot.

He notices the man’s size. Like many faerie the male seated across from him is bigger, but Marat is used to this and thus pays it no mind. Instead, Marat chooses to take notice of the way Sabrina interacts with the man and the way the sidhe interacts with her. Even a well known garlanger like Sabrina was often treated poorly by the sidhe, but this man showes her more respect than even Marat got from most pure blooded people. It was a sign of character, a sign of modesty. In this moment Marat’s respect for Tadhg increases, or rather manifests itself, and the nimbus is significantly more at ease.

He sips again in response to Tadhg’s toast but the no conversation follows the friendly gesture. Instead Tadhg turns his attention to Alysia who he seems to have some affinity with. Marat doesn’t blame him, Alysia was a beautiful sidhe, but there is an oddity in the way the male asks his questions. The questions are something more important than trivial inquiry it seems and Marat sits up because of it. He is interested in the exchange that is to come.

But he does glance at Tadhg, first, and speaks quietly, offering a side note as opposed to an interjection. ”I was born in the hills of Dumnonia. From your voice it seems you are of a similar place.”

[Alysia]

Alysia blinked in mild confusion at the stare and change in questions, but took no offense. Tilting her head slightly to the side and pursing her lips in silent contemplation, she began to take in his appearance. She noticed that he was larger-broader of shoulder and taller- than most male sidhe she had met and there was nothing feminine about his looks, but she never really cared for men that looked like women or too 'soft'. He had a more rugged, mysterious look and instead of it diminishing his looks, it enhanced them. He was a handsome man. Glancing into his eyes, she saw no malice or threat towards her. She decide that this man meant her no threat and she gave him a warm smile.

"I just turned 322 years about a month ago. I hail from the deep forests of the Carpathian mountains." She really never considered herself part of a human country. She had been to wild and knew too little of human or sidhe ways when she had been a forest guardian. Hence why many sidhe (and a few nimbus and garlangers too) thought her dumb and wild when she had come to the seelie court. The many years at the seelie court had cured much of her wilder nature, but she had never been a dumb creature.

Taking a sip from her mug, she realized with a start that it was empty. Looking at Sabrina, she handed her the mug with a smile. "Refill please?" When she got her mug back, she looked back at the two men at the bar with her and looked a little sheepish. "Me and Marat have introduced ourselves, but I have yet to introduce myself to you sir. My names Alysia."

Alysia noticed that she had lost the chill she had when she entered the establishment and removed her smokey gray fur cloak, placing it along the back of her chair. You could better see her brown leather pants, long dark brown boots, and the forest green button up shirt she wore. The arms were a bit long for her and her fingers poked out of the cuffs. The top few buttons of the shirt were undone and showed enough to look alluring without looking obvious or inappropriate. Around her waist was a belt that led to two large sheaved throwing knives on her lower back. Her waist length dark gold hair hid those two knives for the most part. There were also two smaller throwing knives sheaved and strapped to her thighs. Alysia brought the mug to her lips and smiled as the taste of the ale hit her tongue. She listened intently to her two companions.

[Tadhg]

"So young," he whispers more to himself then as a reply. He realizes just how true it is as he continues to stare into her pretty face. There is a lack of something, something that only comes with eons of wasted time, something Tadhg has too much of and he finds himself wistfully wanting to keep it, whatever it is, away from her. To keep her from getting old and jaded and nostalgic - like him. He wants to keep her smile all for himself, the one she's passing across the bar now only potent enough to last him a few days, he knows. He's not even aware he's leaning in toward her till his eagle chirps a warning.

Cyane bounces on his shoulder and he drops an arm to set her down. The bird can sense he's letting his emotions run away with him and Tadhg brushes a few fingers over her tail feathers in thanks as she hops off. He appreciates her concern since he is after all, being irrational. Alysia is a stranger and he mentally chides himself about getting invested so quickly, after one chance meeting no less. Only a fool languishes in memory of the dead, and Tadhg is many things. But a fool he is not. She is not who he wishes her to be, no matter how hard he stares into those eyes. She is not smiling at him with the face of a beloved ghost. She is only a fellow sidhe. A beautiful, bright, bewitching sidhe who will be stuck in his head for long after he leaves this tavern.

He takes a long swig of whatever it is Sabrina has put in his mug, partly to cover face, but mostly to steady himself. It's bitter and lukewarm and has him feeling a bit more like his old self as the introductions go on. "Tadhg," he says softly as way of a response, his gaze being pulled back to the golden-haired woman whether he wants it to or not. "And that'll be Cyane. She willnae talk to strangers though," he adds with a straight face.

He has forgotten about the other faerie in the room and it's with great relief the other man chooses that moment to chime in. He shoots Marat a half-hearted apologetic grin, one to conveys something of a silent man code that excuses one from being chastised for forgetting themselves over a pretty girl. Alysia could be (is) more then a pretty face to him, but there is only so much he's willing to share with the other man, no matter how reasonably likable Tadhg finds him to be. "Yer off by about 550 miles, ol' son. And lucky it is I'm no' one of those Scots easily insulted by being called an Englishman. But I did tutor a king from there once. Good man. I like the kind of people you breed there."

He swallows down the rest of his liquor with a grimace, still feeling much to sober to handle the way Alysia's hair looks in the firelight. "Dinnae tell Sabrina, bless her. But this is the worst ale I've had in years."



ooc: I put his reactions to Marat second even though he's next in order since it just seems to make sense in the way the thread reads. *shrugs*

[Marat]

The exchange between Tadhg and Alysia leaves Marat feeling as though the sidhe is deliberately pushing him from the conversation. Even when Alysia mentions Marat’s name the Scottish faerie does not immediately recognize the nimbus’s presence. The look Tadhg shoots him is a recognizable one but does little to ease the feeling that his company is not appreciated by the sidhe. After all, Marat has sent similar looks at men in less than sincere ways. But he raises none of these points and even goes as far as winking discreetly at Tadhg’s look.

However, the sidhe’s words do coax a more sincere chuckle from Marat. Both eye brows rising, mimicking the shrugging of his shoulders. He takes a large swig from his mug and grimaces at the bitterness of the drink, ”In my time there I never heard a single Dumonii refer to himself as an Englishman. Perhaps they’d be offended.” He says all of this jokingly and then takes another drink of his ale just as Tadhg gives his critique of the beverage.

He doesn’t fight the urge to chuckle again and looks at Alysia. ”I suppose our tastes are not as refined,” saying before he turns to Tadhg, ”Before you burst in we were discussing how much we liked the ale.” He takes another sip, starting to feel like he had been nursing his drink as the other two had already finished their firsts.

[Alysia]

Alysia's face colored slightly at the intent stare she was receiving from Tadhg. She wasn't offended, no many things human and some sidhe would find offensive she did not. Yes she was pretty and she was very use to others staring at her, but for some reason it was different this time. Inwardly frowning, Alysia decided she'd figure it out as she went along.

Upon hearing Tadhg introduce himself and Cyane, she looked at Cyane and she sent a smile and a nod at the eagle. Mantel's were highly intelligent creatures and could understand practically anything. Thinking of her own mantel, she pursed her lips wondering where she hid herself to this time. She really hoped she wasn't playing pranks on unsuspecting sidhe again.

Listening to the exchange between the men, she silently watched the light from the fire cast flickering lights and shadows across the room and glanced at Tadhg out of the corner of her eye, a curiousness seemed to have sparked in her. Upon hearing Tadhg's statement, Alysia actually grinned and chuckled lightly. Taking a drink of her bitter ale, her eyes twinkling at Marat's statement. Looking at Marat, "And here thought I had excellent tastes in ale. Now I must worry over my taste in my clothing and weapons next!." Looking Tadhg in the eyes for a brief moment, still confused at herself but curious non the less, she looked back at her mug of ale that rested in her hands. A smile still upon her lips, she raised her eyebrow all the while looking into it's murky depths. "Of course I haven't had ale in a good 100 years so it could just be nostalgia talking."

Just as Alysia was about to sip from her mug's content again, a small bang startled Alysia enough to look to the window that Tadhg had emptied the stew out of earlier. Sighing aloud as she saw a reddish brown blur shoot through the open window, startling Sabrina and several other patrons as the blur leaped over the bar and into Alysia's arms. Alysia ran her fingers through her mantel's reddish brown fur and looked guilty at Sabrina and the other patrons. Silently wishing she were invisible to the glares and stares, she rose her brow at her frightened lemur. Looking up at Sabrina and her companions, she apologized."I'm sorry everyone, she's merely frightened. She usually doesn't startle anyone but me." Petting her mantel until she calmed enough to decide to perch herself on Alysia's shoulder. Mabu looked at the men and snorted at them as if it were an apology. Alysia shook her head and offered a smile at her two companions."This is Mabu." Alysia worried slightly over her lemur. Not much scared her, but if she wasn't panicked any longer it was probably another damn hawk creeping her out again.

[Tadhg]

Tadhg barks a laugh, shaking his head at Marat's remark. "Anyone who cannae call himself a Scotsman is a sassanach, mate, whether he considers himself one or not," he says wryly, the good humor returning to light his eyes instead of the wistfulness that had just previously hazed them. He grins, feeling better as the banter clears his head a bit. "And if you weren't one yerself, you'd know the truth about this ale."

But then Alysia's talking again and his chest is back to being as tight as before. It's almost involuntary, the sweep he does down her body, sprung by the remark about her clothing. It really couldn't be helped, but Tadhg has to clear his throat when he's completed his once over. He absolutely refused to comment on exactly how well her clothes fit, masculine as they be. He did find himself wishing she'd fasten one of the buttons on her blouse to discourage his wandering eye however.

Then something fuzzy and jittery leaps through the window and Tadhg subconsciously slips a dagger into his palm from seemingly nowhere, his large frame leaning forward in readiness for an animal (or worse) attack. But the ball of fluff streamlines toward Alysia and Tadhg shoots Marat a raised eyebrow in question as both men watch the embarrassed sidhe woman coddle the creature. It's not like any mammal Tadhg has seen before, closest to a furry red mink if he had to compare it to something he's hunted. But as he watches the blonde woman run long fingers over the thing, a lopsided grin turns up one side of his mouth and he sheaths his knife.

A rustling of feathers from the end of the bar has him catching a flustered Cyane staring intently at the other mantel. "Dinnae even think about it,"he openly chastises her, forcing her back with a palm. She cries out indignantly and makes to snap at his fingers, never really touching the browned skin. "It's no' for you. Go and hunt something if you want food."

[Marat]

Marat is about to throw a jesting word at Tadhg about being a Scot but the ruckus of Alysia’s mantle clambering in stops him. His gaze quickly turns to the lemur as it leaps through the window but out of the corner of his eyes he catches a glimpse of Tadhg’s most minute movement followed by the subtle glint of steel in the tavern’s dim light. Lighting quick in his reactions he turns one eye to the knife and moves to unfasten the string around the satchel where his mantel is kept. Marat too is always vigilant and doesn’t blame the other man or moving to his blade at the first sign of excitement. He shoots the sidhe a wary smile as he slides the knife away.

Tadhg’s dialogue with his mantel is noted and Marat turns himself back to Alysia as she introduces her mantel. Marat’s mantel is much more menacing than either of the two faerie sitting before him and because of this he resolves to keep the scorpion tucked away. He does, however, pick a small cube of carrot from what is left of his stew and places it in his palm. Holding it out to the lemur, ”Pleasure to meet you, Mabu,” he waits for the mantel to take the food.