i_paladin: (Default)
Paladin stares at the entry box for the email with a look of utmost concentration. Here she was, finally, and now she could think of nothing to write. An unexpected obstacle that the Tiefling had not bargained for. After finally getting the damn thing to wake up properly (the monitor was off the desk attendant explained). After finally logging in (that went fine). But then there was the fact that she couldn't find Adia's email address (user error). Now the words just simply wouldn't come.

It was Paladin's first message, in a world unfamiliar with social morays and rules. Fingers tapped on the desk, on her cheek, against a bicep while arms crossed.

Fuck it. We're doing it live.

adia. it is time for the holidays in this world and mine and i would like to invite you for a drink to celebrate. also i have not forgotten the matter of the honey. my debt shall not go unpaid.

friday evening at the inn question mark

i_paladin: (Default)
This story starts off in a Tavern because all stories like this start off in such a place.  A place with candle light, a crackling fire and low voices that occasionally rise and fall in joy or anger.

Usually in these stories there is one lone figure, sitting off in a corner, shrouded in darkness and mystery.  This is where the story diverges a bit.

Because Paladin is not necessarily a solitary creature, she enjoys company, stories, a bit of drink and a whole lot of cards.  It's a casual game the Tiefling is playing now, the patrons of the inn have gotten used to her onyx skin with it's strange blue markings, and her genderless features.  Even have gotten used to her taking all their money on occasion.

Her presence in the inn isn't solely for cards: a little bird whispered in her ear that there was coin to grab for sword work.  Not necessarily what she has become known for, but there's no reason to pass up coin as long as the work is legit.
The teal haired Tiefling laughs and tosses her losing hand on to the pile of coins and takes another look around the inn as if her future patron would simply walk in with an aura of looking for hirelings.
i_paladin: (refined)
Like most mess halls for inns Paladin has stayed at, this place has a sort of seat yourself policy. If there is a seat open, take it? If someone sits next to you that you don't like, deal with it (at least that's the general rule of thumb.) The seat that Paladin takes is at a smaller table off to the side but still near enough to the massive hearth that they can smell the wood burning and feel the pleasant heat of it as well. It always reminds Paladin about the only enjoyable part of winter: the nights around the fire, safe in a warm inn, drinking ale. Literally the only part of the white death of winter that she enjoys.

Paladin had slept for ten and a half hours and still it didn't feel long enough. The only reason they are not currently in bed wrapped up in blankets and oblivious to the rest of the world is because her stomach is so empty that it is physically making her sick. The sweet and savory smells from the kitchen are not helping this problem.

Waking, a note was sent to room 228 with an invitation for dinner if Amelia could make it, and then she got dressed.

Unsurprisingly Paladin favors blacks and whites, tonight: black slacks, jacket and tie, with the usual white collared shirt, all clean and cut to fit that androgynous frame.

One of the serving boys comes by with a basket of bread and some butter and it's hard for Paladin not to simply drool, that will happen after the boy is sent off for a glass of wine.


i_paladin: (Default)

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