Day 066: Luther, Objectified
Summary: Luther is a common topic of discussion at the pub. And then he's a patron.
Date: 2 August 2016
Related: Death of Pants
Fayet Galle Afaye Thesda Luther 

The Pub, Tondc

This public house is a mixed construction of old Earth brick walls and new Trikru metal. The entrance is from a preexisting structure — perhaps an old church based on the double-wide doors and steepled roof. It leads into a sprawling area that is far longer than it is wide. A long metal countertop runs the length of the room against a brick wall, and old stained glass windows are neatly spaced behind it, letting in color streams of light when the sun is high. Behind the countertop are shelves kept low of old bottled distilled alcohol and wooden casts of wheat beer and honey wine. The stools and seating at the bar are random and mismatched, and not all of them comfortable.

Opposite of the bar and at the back are the two newer walls made of metal and stone framing. The windows on this wall are cut roughly and inlaid with salvaged glass. The rest of the room is filled with random tables and chairs, creating various sized arrangements. Their is a door in the back wall that leads to the boarding rooms, and the shared common area for those using the public house for longterm stay.

66 Days After Landing

Okay, so being a carpenter in the summer kind of sucks. Especially when you're working on roofs. It's been roofs all day for Fayet and she has earned herself a beer. She strides into the pub, tool belt still slung low around her hips, plopping down on a stool and ordering one with a nod and a whispered private joke to the bartender, which earns her an eyeroll.

The voice of Afaye draws a sudden smile appear on her face, and head tilted slightly to turn to the horse master. Galle takes another sip from her cup, and she gestures slightly. "I left my Second there… she must learn how to terrorize without my watchful eye. How do we expect her to learn, otherwise?" She arches a slight brow then. "Besides… Luther believes I do not have fun…" Which is probably a really astute observation. Then she notes the carpenter, and is immediately looking the woman over from head to toe as if she is looking for possible wounds to tend.

Thesda is actually kind of a lush, but she's also very disciplined about when she's on duty. Except now she's not on duty, based on the bandage wound around her throat and unseen, over her shoulder to cover a portion of her chest. And given the limited access to pain-killers, tonight she's looking to get sloshed. Sidling up to the bar, she salutes the 'tender, and with a two fingered set of knuckles, raps on the bar for some booze.

"Luther doesn't realize that scaring people is fun to you," Afaye replies, waiting patiently for a drink to be supplied. "Something to wash the dust out of my throat. I feel like I've been baking for weeks." A contented sigh follows as a cup of cool, shimmering liquid appears in front of her, and she falls silent to indulge in the first several, welcomed sips. "Ahhh, better. I need a Second, badly, but I think I'm one of the whole two people who doesn't hate horses." Her nose wrinkles as the liquor tickles the back of her throat and brings on a potential sneeze, but it passes quickly. "Know anybody who doesn't have anything better to do than take my crap? And if you mention even one of them pasty Skaikru, I will set fire to your hair."

Fayet notices the healer looking her over. "I promise, I'm entirely uninjured," she grins, turning to face the other women. Her face lights up at the mention of horses. "I love horses, but they think it's fun to mess with me," she admits, raising her cup in belated greeting and taking a sip. "And as far as I can tell, Luther's idea of fun is terrorizing my snap-peas."

"I think that Luther is quite aware, but he does not find it fun himself." Galle smiles softly to the Coesbur woman before she shakes her head, laughing deeply as her fingers curve around the cup. "You can take mine when I'm done with her." There is some amusement there as she sips her provided liquor, and then her gaze cuts to Fayet. She snorts. "Of course he does… he is a simple minded fool." Galle says the sweetest things. Then she turns slightly to look at Thesda, nodding to the scout.

Thesda smirks at the mention of Luther, accepting he cup from the bartender with a nod and turning to face the others. Galle's nod is returned, and there's a fluttering of her hand for Afaye in particular. Thesda does tend to wind up on a horse quite frequently.

Fayet and Thesda are greeted with a raised cup from Afaye before she resumes drinking. "Someone should tell him he has so many admirers. It will really change his perspective, I think," she replies after swallowing. Her gaze shifts toward Galle once more, and her brow knits in thought at the mention of a Second. "Wait, who is your Second? I thought… But, no, I haven't been there. I need someone who is patient enough to deal with the horses, yes, but I also need a hunter. Someone who can switch jobs with me regularly. If only Veks… ah, well." She falls silent, gesturing to the others in a sort of 'nevermind me' manner.

"What I would give for a second," Fayet mumbles, shaking her head. "Continue the time-honored tradition of smacking them upside the head for mistakes I actually made," she smirks, folding one arm and leaning it on the bar. "And what perspective of Luther's are we wanting to change now?"

"Luther has admirers?" Galle smirks. "I don't think that we should tell him that." Then she snorts slightly. "I agreed to take on Silver kom Skaikru… she is to learn how to heal according to our ways, and then teach those ways to her people." She shakes her head. "I needed to take a second. Komfi was getting quite annoyed that I hadn't." Komfi, of course, being the ancient hag who is Galle's granny. She glances over toward Fayet then and she snorts. "He is still quite upset I cut his pants off."

"Wouldn't mind." Thesda remarks as she knocks a bit of booze back. "As long as he wasn't talking."

"You cut off his pants?" This is of great interest to Afaye, the one who lives vicariously through so many. She knocks back the rest of her drink and then slaps the bar with her free hand. "Save that story for next time, will you? I've lounged long enough, and with nobody to look after my work…" She lets the thought drop off into a less-than-vague hint about the lack of a Second. "I will stop by when I'm done to see you, Galle, and to watch this Silver in action. Perhaps it will convince me that they aren't all worthless crybabies with large and fragile egos." Her lips curve upward into the faintest of smiles and she slips off of her stool.

Fayet grins mischievously. "I wouldn't necessarily mind if he was talking…" she drawls. She takes a long drink of her beer. "It all depends on what he was saying. Like crying my name? I could deal with that." She waves at Afaye as she heads out.

Luther is still limping. That's no fault to his healer, but rather to the fact that he walked most of the way back from the Mountain, leaving the horses to those who were 'really wounded.' Making his slow way into the bar, he upnods to the proprietor, his dreadlocks loose to flow around his head and neck, "I'll bring you something nice back from the Mountain if you get me the good stuff." There is only the barest hesitation, and then a ceramic mug is put on the bar and a small, opaque bottle is pulled from beneath the counter and a good solid measure poured. Luther takes the mug between his middle finger and thumb, holding it up in salute, takes a sip, and then turns around, spotting Fayet, Galle, and Thesda are sitting and Afaye is departing. The Horsemistress gets a long look, and then Luther turns a smile back to the other trio of women.

Galle laughs at Thesda's words, and she shakes her head. "I would not kick him out of the bed." Though she quickly puts up a hand. "Not that, that is a possibility." Then she looks to Afaye, and gestures offhandedly, but she grins all the same. "Of course, Afaye… please know you are always invited." Then she finishes off her cup, and offers it to the tender to refill with the dark liquid and honey. She then turns to Fayet and Thesda once the horse lady makes her leave. She shakes her head, mouth holding a light smile. "Perhaps…" And then she notices Luther, and her words taper off. She narrows her eyes at him. "Should you be walking around on that leg?"

Afaye's gaze meets Luther as she passes and holds it until he looks away. Her smile widens a bit, and she flicks a glance toward his backside as he turns to greet the ladies at the bar. Her lower lip curls in to meet the edge of her front teeth, and she lets out a soft whistle right as her hand pushes the door open. Dat ass, tho. Dat. Ass. And then she's gone.

When Luther enters, Fayet smirks and takes a drink. "Careful," she warns him. "That sounds like a trick question." Her free hand fiddles with her hair, rolling a dreadlock that feels a little too flat.

If anything, Luther's smile gets broader at Galle's scowling question, "Probably not." His tone is entirely too cheerful. He probably didn't notice Afaye objectifying him. On second thought, he definitely didn't… his grin would be even broader if he had. The cut on his right cheek has scabbed nicely, as are the knuckles of his left hand. Fayet's warning causes him to shrug, "She already cut up my favorite pair of pants. What's the worst that she can do?" Challenge… given with a shake of his head, the motion tossing his own dreadlocks back over his shoulders.

The Healer scowls as she finishes her second cup. She stands — almost wobbles actually, but don't you dare point that out to her. "I could force you on bedrest in the healing house where I can keep an eye on you." She shakes her heads lightly, and then casts a quick smile to Thesda and Fayet. "I leave him to you… do not let him walk on that leg so dismissively." She shakes her head then, and starts to make her leave.

"Don't worry," Fayet calls after her. "If he tries anything funny, we'll just sit on him until you get back." She looks over to Luther. "Went back into the Mountain, then?" she asks grimly.

Luther scoffs at Galle's threat, "I fear for my pants if you were to do that, Galle kom Skaikru." He watches the Healer depart with as much interest as he watched the Horsemistress, then looks back to Fayet, his smile flashing back to life despite the fact that Thesda has managed to vanish, "I couldn't let everyone else have all the fun." 'Fun' apparently involves being shot in the leg and gathering other assorted bumps, bruises, and contusions. "I heard they had a whole garden of vegetables indoors. I had to raid it. But all I managed to find were angry Maunon."

"See, that's how they get you," Fayet remarks dryly, gesturing with her cup. "The old underground tomato trap. Oldest trick in the book." She waves for the bartender, bats her eyes and asks for a refill. The bartender asks her if there's something in her eye. She flips him off. "How many'd you get?" she asks, turning back to Luther.

Luther takes a sip of his own drink, savoring the rich, smooth flavor… or perhaps just the exceptionally potent kick. At her query, he reaches up with his free hand, drawing down the collar of his shirt to show one new kill mark scorched into the front of his shoulder. "Helped with others, but just the one by myself. The one who shot me." His eyebrows raise slightly, and then waggle to accompany his grin, "Are you sure that 'the underground tomato' isn't something else entirely?"

Fayet snort-laughs, nearly spitting out her drink. "That is possibly the worst innuendo I've ever heard. I love it." She raises her cup in respect to his new kill-mark. "Good work."

Spreading his arms in helpless protest, Luther scoffs, "Come now… no innuendo is bad. It is all good, almost as good as making a pretty girl laugh." Even if she did nearly spit out her drink doing it. "Up close and personal, they are not so scary. It is not easy to get up close and personal, but once you do, it is over."

"Are you talking about the Maunon or the tomatoes?" Fayet asks, composing herself and tucking an errant dreadlock back into place in her scarf.

Luther throws back his head and laughs at the joke, slapping the top of the bar and tossing back another mouthful of the good stuff, or at least whatever the barman claimed was the good stuff. "Either or. You never imagine how difficult it is to sneak up on a rooted tomato plant."

"I'm no warrior, but I'd think that the way they are, they expect to always have the advantage of distance. Once you got in there, it must have been like shaking a box of kittens." Fayet blinks at her own phrasing. "…not that I've ever shaken a box of kittens."

Luther's eyebrows loft, "I was going to say… have you ever shaken a box of kittens? Because considering unshaken ones are pretty much pointy on five of their six ends… I would imagine that shaking a box of kittens is a good way to lose quite a bit of skin."

Fayet wags a finger at him. "Not if you close the box," she replies. She looks him over. "How much skin did those kittens take?"

Luther chuckles at the riposte, although the question draws a shrug, the Warrior turning his head to show the scrape on his cheek, then display the battered knuckles of his left hand, point out a scrape on his left upper arm, and then gesture down to his left thigh, "Nothing bad, except the leg. And there it is not so much the skin as everything in between the skin."

The carpenter nods gravely. "Not as bad as all that, then. Other than getting shot, that is," she adds, hastily. She scoots her stool over to take a look at the knuckles. "Someone's face get a good dent?" she asks. She holds up her left hand. If one looks closely, there is a bit of a lump and then a dip on her hand right below the pinkie knuckle. "Last time I punched anything. I was sixteen and in a mood. Punched a tree. It punched back."

"Helmets are cheating," proclaims Luther as he holds out his hand for her to study. When she returns the favor, he leans forward, taking her hand in his and studying the aged damage, "Hah. Over some would-be-niron, then? Isn't that what all sixteen year olds get angry over?" Releasing her hand, he collects his mug again, finishing off his drink with a little sigh of pleasure.

"I was asking if you skinned your knuckles bashing in someone's face," Fayet clarifies. She flexes her hand, bringing it to rest on her lap. "If only. I had some damned stupid argument with my father over something I don't even remember." She pauses. "…probably a would-be-niron, actually." She nods and gestures vaguely, conceding the point, before finishing her own drink.

Luther shakes his head, "No. She ducked. I hit her helmet. Someone else… Escer, I think, gutted her." The estimation of the cause of the argument causes him to laugh softly, "Isn't that what most teenagers fight with their parents about? That or who's tougher." Machismo, it's not just for dudes anymore. Blinking as the alcohol he guzzled down starts to lay its hooks into him, Luther notes very carefully, "I think that I'm going to wander my lovely ass back to the Healing House, and make sure that my leg is functional as quickly as possible. You stay whole and safe, because you're going to have a lot to do with putting Coesbur back together, I would assume. And we can't have you punching trees before then. Leave that to us Warriors with no other skills."

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