capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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WHO:

sassyqueermage, OPEN
WHERE: Outside the Tower.
WHEN: Today, early evening.
WARNINGS: Sassiness.
SUMMARY: Anders wants a drink. Badly. However, he has no idea where to look.
FORMAT: Prose.

After several minutes of fussing with his radio/communicator/demon box, he had opened up the text file Grace had sent him. He saw several names of what he presumed were pubs, but just to play it safe, he went with the establishment that actually had 'pub' in its name. Joe's Pub sounded good and straightforward. He liked that.

Slipping the radio/communicator/demon box into his bag, his hand skimmed over Ser Pounce-a-lot's back and he smiled as he picked up the cat from the depths of his bag. He slung his bag over his shoulder with his free arm and stood up to begin his trek through this monstrous city.

"Come on, Pounce. Let's hope we don't get ambushed by an ogre or another broodmother," he shivered, beginning to walk.

Then he realized he actually had no idea where he was going.

There were too many signs pointing in more than one direction and he hasn't even begun being freaked out by the fast vehicles on the road (at first he thought it was something he was going to have to kill, but on closer inspection he noticed people in them steering like one would do on a ship).

He could always ask someone for directions as much as it bruised his ego to do so. And he used to be so good at directions.

"Excuse me--can you spare a second--hello, will you--" Anders felt like he was talking to himself with these people brushing past and ignoring the apostate with a big MAGE sign on his back. With the way he was dressed differently, he thought that would at least give him some notice.

Anders looked down at Ser Pounce, absentmindedly scratching behind his ear. "Looks like this is the end of the road, Ser Pounce-a-lot. No food. No drink. Rude people everywhere--" he shot the next person he saw with a venomous look. "--and a demonic box for company.".

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"Noted." He slipped Ser Pounce-a-lot back into his bag where he mewed happily. He had made quite a home there, able to sleep through all their running around in dark dangerous places back in Fereldon. A bar would be nothing for Ser Pounce, slayer of Darkspawn.

"So, lead the way, my new fine-formed friend."

Fine...formed...friend....

Again there was a twitch in her fingers and a crackle of energy at her fingers, but this made the want for a nice tall glass of something alcoholic even stronger.

So she lead the way, and in about ten minutes she was leading him into a...stereotypical seedy-looking joint that served thugs and the like. And from the look that some of the regulars gave her and her acquaintance when they entered the bar, it seemed as though it were the kind where fights broke out. Frequently.

"Here we are."

The place smelled nearly like the old pubs his companions pulled him into. It was comforting, almost like home except the men looked a bit more frightening with their leather armor (jackets) and facial hair. Maker, they almost looked like dwarves except for the tall and human part.

"Charming," he responded in deadpan, looking around carefully. If anyone tried hiring him here... "Looks like there's no room at the bar."

Shego gave a little shrug at his deadpan comment. She did know nicer establishments that were a bit more welcoming and that were around the same distance as this one, but she was newly rePorted in and she wasn't exactly looking for nice. That might have been one of the reasons why she actually decided not to ditch Anders as soon as he started to act like a lech. She needed the excuse for some kind of excitement, and while she hated pervs they made the perfect punching bag.

She cracked her knuckles absentmindedly, and threw her head back to look at Anders. "Well, look at that. We could just make room, or take a seat at one of those booths over there." She motions to some raggedy looking booths by a grouping of pool tables that were currently being played by even hairier looking men.

"Let's go with the option least likely to have me on the floor with a black eye, shall we?" Not that Anders couldn't pull his own in a fight, but he'd rather not fight if given the choice. Besides, who knew what powers, James so aptly described it, these people had.

There's a shrug, and while she didn't even take a moment to consider which seating arrangement would help him avoid getting that dreaded black eye, she did figure that sitting in a booth was at least better than having to rough it for a seat at the bar.

She wanted to get drunk before she got into a fight, after all.

"The booth then. Fine. Should've known that a dress-wearing mage would wind up being a wimp too."

She elbows her way pass some men grouped together staring up at some game on a small television, and settles herself in one of the booths overlooking the men playing pool. It was the kind of booth that had absolutely no cushion due to years of heavy men sitting on it and idly tearing out whatever used to be inside the cushions.

Anders narrowed his eyes at Shego's back and against his better judgment, follower her to the booth. The seats were no problem as he has had so much worse.

"Robe-wearing mage who is smart, please. I don't know anyone who'd actively search for someone to punch them out." He paused for a second, considering that last statement. "Well, except you."

"I've yet to see the smart." She smirked, tapping her nails against the table as she waited for the waitress to make her way over here. The tips on her gloves add to the multiple pock marks on the table. Shego feigns surprise at his additional statement.

"So you noticed? And here I was trying to hide that," at least the banter she could possible get out of him would be worth his lecherous comments earlier. She needed someone who could keep up with her snark.

"We just met. And you already know me so well." Nevermind the fact that she still hadn't given him her name.

"In my life, you learn how to read people well. Sharp teeth means it's most likely going to eat you. Shiny armor means either run far away or flirt your way out of a scuffle. I like to think I mastered both." Anders eyed her gloves warily. He would not want those anywhere indescribable. "So, you really did come here looking for trouble, then?"

Shego chuckled, the smirk remaining on her face. "Nothing like getting drunk and getting into a fight to make you feel right at home." Her statement seemed to catch the attention of some of the fine gentlemen playing pool, but at that moment the waitress (one of those trashy 'hot chicks' they hire to give a mostly male populated bar something to look at) approached, looking impatient and expectant.

Shego placed her order for some generic beer brand, continuing to pick at the tabletop with her claws.

Nothing like conversations on violence to make a woman laugh--wait, what?

Anders gave the waitress a look that was mostly confused on whether he should be happy about scantily clad women serving him or find it mildly strange. He'd seen similarly dressed women outside and the unnamed woman was seated across from him was definitely not wearing anything they had back in Fereldon.

He picked up what looked like a menu from a side tray on the table and looked through the drinks. His mouth hanged open at some of the artful names listed.

"Did you take me to a brothel?" He exclaimed. "Give a man a warning next time."

She gives him a look. "...no. I didn't." And while she looks amused and perplexed at the same time, the waitress looks downright offended.

"Are you trying to be funny, or are you actually being serious?"

"Look at this!" Anders hissed, turning the menu over and pointing to some of the cocktails listed. "Hairy virgin? One Night Stand?"

"They get stupidly creative with the drink names. So?" She leans back in her booth and there's an agitated sigh. "Are you going to get a drink or are the names scaring you off?"

"As long as their drinks are hairy virgin free..." Anders sighed, looking back at the menu. Why did they need fancy drinks that clearly were attempting to be enticing invitations? He generally liked brothels, but they never gave him a menu.

"I will...have what she, whoever she is, is having," he motioned to the waitress

"Maybe they'll throw one hairy virgin in just for you." She snorted and glanced over at the men playing pool, sizing them up as though to make mental notes about how tough the crowd at the bar was tonight. The waitress seemed to be in a hurry so as soon as he placed his drink order she offered him a rather forced half-smile and went on ahead to entertain a rowdier group of men some ways off who had just entered the bar.

Shego crossed her arms and remained leaning back, still looking at the men playing pool. "It's Shego, by the way."

Anders wrinkled his nose in disgust at the suggestion of hairy virgin liquor, fresh from the cellar. Maker, he would not take a regularly hairy drink. This is why he never took mugs from dwarves.

"She. Go." He enunciated, leaning back against his seat, relaxing. "You've already met Ser Pounce-a-lot which just leaves me--the name is Anders."

She had half expected him to find something to comment on regarding her name, but instead she turns her head back towards him to stare at him impatiently as he sounds it out and introduces himself.

"Anders." She says it simply. "That's...an underwhelming name for a wizard."

"Were you expecting Percival the Prolific? How about, Magickanders Master Wizard of the Local Pub," he waved his hands in front of him for effect.

She is unmoved by his dramatics and remains reclining against the uncomfortable booth with an eyebrow arched.

"Something like that. Yeah." she shrugs. "I mean, after hearing the cat's name I was only expecting things to go downhill in the name department."

"My parents didn't name the cat, you know." Never mind that Anders was not his real name to begin with, but he was not going down that route.

"Then I sure feel sorry for your kids if you ever knock someone up." She leans forward, eyes glancing back towards the men still playing pool. She had felt their eyes on her every now and then, probably trying to wrap their heads around whether or not her skin colour was legit or not.

Or maybe because they were wondering about the freak in the dress. The waitress from before snakes her way skillfully through the hair group, and slides the beers to both Shego and Anders and leaves without so much as a hello. She's probably still offended by the brothel comment.

She takes her glass immediately. "But hey, being a wizard must be good for something, boring name or not."

"There's where you're wrong," Anders beamed. "I'm not having children."

He never fancied himself the ~father type particularly with the whole on-the-run thing and mages unable to properly procreate in the Circle without Templars getting their grubby little fingers into it. It wasn't the most pleasant of thoughts, but Anders knew how to threw a smile on even when it should hurt.

"There's the magic, easy access robes~" He sang. "And of course never being able to live your own life, free from oppression, but we can't all have what we want, right?"

He was glad for the beer, cold and comfortable no matter what dimension he was in. He wrapped his hands around the mug, keeping it cool with the slightest bit of magic from his palms, and drank. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the scary burly men and they were watching back.

"If they're thinking of hiring us, they should be warned that you're a masochist and I have standards. I vote you tell them," He pointed to the group casually.

"So there is hope for...well...wherever you come from." She crosses her legs and holds takes a long drink of her beer. It wasn't the most classy beer, but drinking for the sake of getting drunk never exactly called for classy.

She's half-listening to him talk, mind completely gracing over the 'easy access robes', and she set the glass down. "Well that sounds lame. So, what? They lock you up or something?"

But she smirks at his comment about the men, and doesn't hide the fact that she's turning around to look at them for the umpteenth time. "Oh trust me, they're not looking to hire. Leeeet's just say the natives aren't exactly too fond of us "imPorts". Or maybe they're just offended by your dress."

"Yes," he answered honestly. "Big tower. If you ever get taken to Ferelden against your will, I can show you...by pointing you in its direction. You won't see me willingly going back."

Grumble, grumble.

"I guess it's too much to ask for a place without the 'hate me!' stink in the air." Anders frowned at the burly men-that-could-pass-as-dwarves. "If they're looking that carefully at my robes, it is definitely not out of offense."

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