<hr/>NPC: Bookseller (Dallphebo)<br/>Tagging: Jin, Calathes<br/><hr/>The heavyset bookseller, receiving no reply, downturns his face to one of his tomes, pausing in his reading to occasionally glower up at the room, darting a few quick and careful appraisals of the companions at the table, and again in the general direction of Brogan.  Apparently, voicing his objection at any potential danger they might pose is.. suitable.<br/><br/>The food service has stalled, except where specifically requested, and a few begin to make their way from the main room.  They are efficiently replaced by a growing number of workmen who, apparently, found their meals elsewhere.  As the door opens and shuts, men can be seen at the door removing reed hats, raincapes, and the like.  Others simply enter soaked to their skin from the cool rain, seemingly relieved and invigorated by it.<br/><br/>Among that number are a familiar face here and there... a handful of crewmen from the lost ship, names lost to time but faces etched in memory.  When the music slows or stops altogether, Bairne's big voice fills the silence and is punctuated again and again with laughter as more and more men slow their consumption of food and replace it with drink.<br/><br/><hr/>NPC: Cigarmaker (Rossi)<br/>Tagging: Brogan<br/><hr/>The dusk-eyed young woman emits a scoffing laugh at Brogan's comment, then angles her eyes up at him.  "Yes,<i>each</i>," she smirks as she reaches to retrieve the cigar, a faint brush at his lips from her long, warm fingers.  "These are artistry.  If you want simple pipe-filler, you can gather up the stubs from these cretins."  With a sparkling sidelong glance, she returns the cigar without hesitation to her own lips, and the tip glows alight in little winks at her puffs, and a thread of the oily smoke curls about her face.  She rests the cigar upon the tray then, considering as the last trails spill up and fan out from her mouth.<br/><br/>"Just like a man, asking for as much as he can get, if he knows he wants something..." she sifts through her basket, re-inspecting each cigar to ensure the quality as she picks out five perfect-rolled sticks, "And like a woman, too, I can give... and ask in return." a sixth stick, dark and smooth.  She fans them before her, three to a hand.  "Save the last one for a special occasion, no?"<br/><br/>Placing them on the table, she folds fingers together to form a rest for her chin, and leans closer.  There's a rather pronounced view of her cleavage at the neck of her shirt, the honey-brown skin smooth like wet sand after the receding tide, as she stares at him with the hungry assurance of a woman with an appetite.  "I am Rossi," she says with a soft purr, a rolling of her tongue that is... well, promising.<br/><br/><hr/>NPC: Bairne<br/>Tagging: Galacia<br/><hr/>As Galacia makes her way toward the stage, the stocky man seems to glint his blue eye in her direction for a moment, making note of her as he continues to work the crowd.  He's somehow talked his way into a point of some jack-tale that involves a two-legged cat chasing a blind chinchilla on a frozen pond-- somehow this illustration ties perfectly into the strange demonstration he's making on stage, and there's a riotous chorus of laughter from the crowd as he perches face-down, suspending his weight entirely on one arm as he hops on that single hand across the stage, his legs suspended above the stage floor-- yes, completely-- in the air like a lurching, leaping bird.  The feat is amazing in both its comedy and in the effortlessness by which he achieves it.<br/><br/>The performance he's putting on doesn't seem to be phasing him in the least, and he finally halts the proceedings by bounding up and showing two broadly outstretched arms to fierce whistles and bold cheers.  "Alright-- enough of my splendor for now, lads-- my cup has gone empty but my keg here is full," he gives a meaningful glance down before rolling his eyes comically.  "So, yes, it's time for you good lads and lasses to head home-- the family entertainment is all done, now get the kids to bed for the love of Lisant, cause the only food you'll find here when I return will be PICKLED!"<br/><br/>He strides purposefully toward the edge of the stage, then-- in a graceful reversal, completely spins his body round to take stage once again.  Even so, some are filing out-- some dressed rather well, or perhaps conservatively.  A pair of leathery workwomen are hauling their husbands out by arms, some meeting protest, others resigned cooperation.  There's a distinctive whine from a merchant's son as he's shooed along by his mother.  "Oh, and... lords and ladies, my eye be cloudy today, can thou not tell me once if that shadow yon-- does it not seem to move of its own?"  Some in the crowd crane their necks, others scan the rafters expectantly.  "Perhaps the entertainment is not yet done!"  As the last of the patrons to slip out is replaced by a lingerer from the porch-- some already carrying cups, others raising their hand urgently for a waiter or waitress to give them cause to take a seat.  Bairne's voice is trailing off, his blue eye rolls across the crowd, and he strokes his blond beard in pantomimed consternation. "My throat grows dry, my friends," he grins, handsome in his rugged and comical way, "IF there be drinks in it, I may speak her name!"<br/><br/>There is a huzzah filling the room, and three mugs are thrust his way, each teeming.  "AH!  that's the stuff--" and he finishes a fresh mug of the Sangre in a long smooth swallow.<br/><br/>"And so be it-- friends, set your jaws and put your hats in your laps, for Vishny'a be here this evening!"  There is a hooray as Bairne takes the other two mugs nearest and, as the band plays to the roar of the crowd, Bairne moves ahead like a needle through cloth, claps on his back not even stirring him, as he clears a table with a sweep of his arm-- men shrink back, bringing their cups with them, as if afraid to raise his ire.<br/><br/>"Watch the band boys," he says clearly, and eyes avert.  The crowd has a renewed enthusiasm now, and drink is flowing freely as Bairne shrugs his massive shoulders through them.  He arrives before Galacia, and his broad hand sweeps a cordial invitation to the adjacent table, which empties obligingly.  "Bairne the entertainer," he says in a cool and even purr. "M'lady, to what do I owe the honor of your interest this evening..?"