“Good evening good sir, might I ask your name?”
Anton looked around, wondering if this dump would be worth his time. The half-elf at the door wasn’t the most encouraging sight, but at least wasn’t as bad as the dwarven bouncer at the last location. That was someone he hoped to never meet again without his guards present, and he didn’t want to be seen with his guards. It defeated the point of such outings.
Anton turned back to the greeter, clasping his hands and giving as best of a smile as he could manage.
“You may write me in as Tony if you would be so kind.” He tried to not sound disappointed at the interaction, but he hated it when he was prompted by the commoners. He was forcing himself to get out and observe the people, to make notes and record research of how day to day life differed from what his studies read, but it was proving a grueling process. In the first half of his day, during a dozen attempts to “mingle” among the populous he had managed to offend or disrupt their trivial and rather mundane mannerisms to the point of rejection. He realized he was now grimacing into the room while thinking about it, and that the half-elf was now giving some attempt of inviting assurance to go in and be seated. With a slight nod, Anton walked on ahead and tried to decide where best to sit.
He looked at the counter, likely frequented by those in a rush, or looking to simply waste away under the effects of alcohol. Not for him. The fringes of the room seemed to have been claimed by various folk. A girl near the entrance was asleep with a book in the front window, the back corner had a man who sat watching over the rest. A few others ate in stagnant silence. Anton decided upon the tables throughout. It suited him to remain with plenty of space, and the tables offered the chance to sit among people and still keep away from them. Anton approached a large table in the center of the room. It appeared clean as best as he could tell, and had a rather thick menu placed at a seat. He drew out his own chair and took a seat. He wondered if leaving a menu out was this establishments excuse to be lax on service response. He raised an eyebrow to see if he could spot the help. He found that a rather well-kept man had arrived at once. Kudos for attentiveness so far.
“Can I bring you food or drink, Tony?” The servant asked. Anton was a bit taken aback at the directness of this man. Did he dare to address him so plainly? On top of that, the man was now reaching to retrieve the menu before he had even looked through it. Anton swung out a hand, blocking the reaching grasp of the servant.
“Firstly, you can begin by addressing me as Sir Tony. Second, I’ll have a glass of red wine, it need not be your best, but don’t insult me with a bottle of last-year bulk sale.” Anton drew in a breath and gave a dismissive smile to send the man on his way, hopefully with haste on the wine. To his disappointment, the man still seemed intent on removing the menu, and Anton had to snap his finger to regain the man’s attention.
“Now, if you would.”
The man stood upright again and withdrew his arm. “I will have the guest book updated with your request and send out a glass shortly.” And with that, vanished. Anton shifted nervously. He was unaccustomed to being in the presence of anyone openly practicing magic outside of government licensed and appointed officials. There had been no notice or script at the door to warrant such blatant usage. He looked around nervously to see if anyone else noticed. The half-elf was staring at a second book, as a pen floated above it, darting about as if taunting the page. The man in the back corner was reaching forward to grasp a glass that was filling itself. A larger man, stooped to the ground in a waddling squat, came around the corner with a dustpan held to the floor as a floating broom whisked crumbs into it. Anton didn’t know if this was legal, and wondered just how much trouble he would be in should he be found out. He decided it best to act casual, decline the menu selection and leave quietly. He reached forward to open the book, only to have it open and snap at his fingers. Anton let out a shriek. The “menu” was now glowing from the various gems that were faceted into the cover, it’s central gem shifting with an all too sentient motion. The movement of the glowing edge rested on Anton and remained on him as the book flipped around and stood, a shimmy of pages that sounded of an angry rattlesnake. A glass of wine appeared on the table, further agitating the book’s rattle. Anton stood in a smooth motion, shoving aside his chair, backing away slowly as he had learned to do from angry…creatures. He continued towards the door, but backed into another table, halting his progress. The servant appeared again beside him, to which the paged creature seemed to pacify.
“Leaving so soon? You will need to pay your dues if so.”
Anton was astounded at the boldness this peasant had, assuming he was to be compensated for his little freak show.
“How dare you ask money of me for…this…this lunacy.” Anton waved about. “I’ll have you know that I’m going to have a word with some people who will come give you something deserving,” he remarked, his voice becoming shrill and threatening to squeak as it did from time to time when he would debate with his tutors. He drew in a breath, keeping on a bold expression.
“Do tell anyone you can, we appreciate the advertisement,” the man said plainly.
Anton would not be addressed in such a rebuttal amongst his displeasure.
“You will not be so pleased with the attention I bring this little barn of animals. You clearly have no concept of whom you address and of those who would hear my complaint.” He said with a sneer. Looking down from a craned view at the vested man.
“Of course he doesn’t know who you are you little stick. Sit down and be silent, I don’t want to get up.”
The voice had come from behind Anton, the lone man in the corner. Anton inhaled sharply, turning to observe the face of the fool who dare oppose him. This second peasant sat knitting of all things, like some poor tailor’s wife. Anton picked up his glass and walked over to the corner, still looking down his nose at the pathetic sight. The man had spoken in what he figured for a soft and cowardly manner. Even now he wouldn’t face Anton, still nervously twiddling his little sticks. Anton extended his glass and began pouring into the center of the yarn’s mass, most of it completed in what looked to be a scarf.
“Oh, no need to get up. I’ll just finish this glass and go.” Anton said, the spattering of the thin stream of wine nearly silent on the absorbent material. He smiled even as the man let go of his little project, glancing up with oddly calm eyes. With an annoyed expression, he reached up and bent back his lapel, a small hidden pin revealed. Anton looked down with stunned horror as he recognized the symbol.
“Oh good, you’re not clueless.” The man said in cold precise words, his voice quiet and clear. He released his jacket which at once hid away the small symbol once again. The wine could be heard dripping onto the floor beneath his seat. Anton set the glass gently on the table as if in apology, but it was already empty. His jaw twitched, fear freezing him in the face of absolute danger. Very few knew of that mark, and fewer carried it. The man raised the dripping yarn, among two cupped hands while still glaring at Anton. He squeezed the scarf at first among his palms, before his fingers tightened in a crushing grip which caused the crimson liquid to dribble out on the floor. Then in a dainty motion flipped the material loose between two pinched points.
“Nice color choice, you saved me time thinking it over.”
Anton nodded, still in a stupor of fear. The man shook his head and sighed.
“Sit down, and listen.” The man quietly growled.
Anton dropped into a seat. The man set aside the damp yarn and leaned forward slightly, his tone hushed between them.
“Do take into consideration that it is not worth your time to trouble this place, because I assure you I can turn any report you make of this place against you with less effort than it took you to tip that wine glass. Am I clear about that?” The man’s eyes were steady, like a bird of prey watching a young rabbit tremble. Anton nodded. To his relief, the man leaned back and opened his hands wide with a smile, as if the two were friends who had just shared some good news.
“Great, then I’d suggest you order a bowl of the pork stew, you won’t get anything like it back in the castle.”
Anton nodded, his nerves still shaken, but the feeling of dreadful danger having passed. He slowly turned his head back towards the bar, looking for the servant.
“Back at your own table.”
Anton stood at once without glancing back towards the corner, and stumbled back over to his previous seat, the possessed book having been taken away or left of its own means. He sat and waited quietly to order what he had been told, daring not to stray from the man’s suggestion.