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Post by Jorg Snow on Sept 15, 2017 0:01:49 GMT
Back in Winterfell, he'd been no more than a house servant with a special pass to the armory on occasion, and King's Landing was basically the same sort of deal, despite finally being given the official title of a squire. The knight he was serving was not very keen to have a bastard caring for him, and Alden Saunders already had a squire. Jorg was an extra. He'd been an extra his whole life, so in conclusion: it was all the same shit. Not that he disliked it, but he definitely didn't enjoy it all that much. What he did enjoy though, was a warm drink and the sound of too many people in too small a place. So when his master dismissed him for the night, instead of going straight to bed, he dragged his feet, half asleep, to the nearest tavern he could afford, which was actually several taverns away from the Keep. By the time he was sat down and snuggled in his furs -which were quickly starting to look out of place-, he eyelids were ready to betray him. Thankfully, the bartender deciphered his mumbled request, and a few moments later, Jorg has his drink in hand and his head low and dangerously ready to rest on the table. Tags. Raun Waters |
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Post by Raun Waters on Sept 18, 2017 15:50:41 GMT
Raun was enjoying his first few days of freedom from his ‘tyrannical’ father. Through the day, he and his best buddy, Jeffrey, walked the markets running errands for those who would hire them and picking the pockets of any unaware customers. They have been admitting to each other that this wouldn’t last long and they needed something concrete to settle down with. But when night comes, the idea of ale and women drive any such motivation out of their heads.
This night was no different. The duo was in the most popular tavern at King’s Landing, with whatever little gold they had snatched that day ready to be wasted on the sweet nectars. As usual, Jeff wasted no time. Fifteen minutes into the tavern, his pale skin was already red as a tomato and he had two beautiful bar maids escort him into the back rooms.
Raun, on the other hand, liked to take things slow. He always picked the most difficult target and relished the euphoria that came rushing in when he succeeded charming the one lady who couldn’t be charmed by anyone else. Unfortunately for him, there were no such targets that night, yet. And so, he waited. He walked up to the familiar bartender with a wide grin. “’Evening Alberto~ The usual for me,” he said, placing a silver on the table. The bartender nodded and began fixing his drink, while Raun scanned the room.
Usually, in such places, Raun’s eyes never fell on any man. But what he saw was so out of place that even his curve-seeking eyes couldn’t ignore. A northerner, with the typical thick fur coat, almost dozing off in front of his drink. Raun couldn’t make out whether the man was simply too drunk to take another sip or if he was genuinely sleepy. Curiosity getting the better of him, Raun picked up the drink he ordered, walked to Jorg and leaned on the counter beside him. “I know it’s none of my business, but I thought I should warn ya. They have a special room behind, where they throw everyone who passes out. I’ll spare the details; but I assure you, you don’t want to wake up there in the morning. Scars you for life.”
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Post by Jorg Snow on Sept 18, 2017 22:46:43 GMT
First, he touched the edge of his wooden cup with his forehead. The second time, his nose tasted the drink and made him winch from the unexpected heat. The third time he was ready to finally let his head hit the counter, but instead, a voice changed his course, and he lazily looked up with droopy gray eyes at the stranger beside him, quickly realizing how unguarded he had been. His instincts pulled him back a few centimeters, and he hastily rubbed his eyes wide open, taking in the situation before him. "Uh," he trailed off for a moment and then combed a hand through his hair and lightly laughed. Maybe squire was not a title he deserved yet after all. "Haha, yeah, thanks," his words were meek in comparison to the shouts and laughter o the rest of the customers. He knew well enough how unforgiving the southern nightlife could be to a meek man like him, but then again, at this point, it was beginning to matter little to him. Still, a stranger's unwarranted help was welcome any time. He chugged down his drink while it was still hot, burning his throat in an inhumane but strangely pleasant to him way, and turned to his questionable savior once again. Judging from the other man's appearance, they had at least one thing in common. "So, do I buy you a drink for saving me? How does it work around here?" Besides the constant burning in his throat there had to have been something extra in his drink -or so he told himself-, because he was suddenly feeling way more comfortable than he had before. Tags. Raun Waters |
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