Of Song and Spirits
The rich dark wood of the bar gleams along the entire length of the tavern's back wall. The flickering light of tallow candles within several hand-blown crimson ceramic holders reflecting off its well-oiled surface. Behind the bar, tall shelves stocked high with assorted specialties boast a proud display of colorful glass carafes, sultry rich ports, and ornate silver ale tankards. Equally dark mahogany booths cushioned in plush fabrics line either side of the tavern. Patrons are invited
into the dim-lit secluded part away from the usual clamor of the foreign and local patronage. A massive iron chandelier, suspended by thick black chains above the very center of the tavern, casts its variegated shadows over the tavern.
Exits: [north] east
The vigil barkeep of the Singing Rose tavern watches the ongoings in mirth.
Emberlyna Wildbreeze-Fyremusik. is standing here.

The number of emptied wine glasses set on the table of a particular, black haired boy in the corner makes it seem as if the poor young man himself has a ton of troubles bothering him that evening. [Lucien]

The front of his shirt, formerly white, is stained with splotches of dark purple and fresh red; obviously wine that missed the mouth while he tried to feed himself the rim of the glass he's holding. The only waitress on duty that night looks at the boy with quite horrific concern yet the bartender on duty waves her off. The young man appears to be quite well-to-do, judging by the vino's he has been asking for all night and it has rang up a hefty little sum of earnings for the bar. [Lucien]

As the woman slips through the doorway, into the slightly darkened room, a soft smile slips over her lightly parted mouth. She was on the search, again. Exploring? Perhaps. After her last adventure brought her into the theatre, and perhaps guided by the strange actresses words, the pale woman with the long dark hair was more determined than ever to explore the city of Irae to it's fullest. Booted steps echo along the floor quietly, and she finds a seat at the bar, gold-flecked gaze sliding over the nearby occupants. More of the same - those same faces, types of people that she was becoming accustomed to seeing. Along they go, until they fall upon that boy, surrounded by his glasses and bottles. And there, they pause, hesitate. What an interesting sight. So, with a quick wave of her gloved hand, she orders herself a drink, and observes quietly. [Emberlyna]

"Failure, what a failure I am." The black haired young man mutters into his glass and his hand wobbily moves to place it down onto his table. Amidst the bottles and the glasses, is a pretty gold-and-pink folder; within which the corners of cream-colored parchment peeks out. The boy moans as a wine-infused haze takes over his visage and the glass is crooked, its contents spilling over the folder, staining it bright red alone with the papers. [Lucien]

One would normally jump and scream at this point if that happened — yet the boy just groans and the folder is pushed away from his sight in frustration, the parchment pieces dropping heavily to the ground, half-soaked in wine, the less damaged pieces managing to scatter over to where the gold-fleck eyed woman is. [Lucien]

Accepting the glass of wine that is delivered both carefully and graciously, the woman turns slowly as the parchment flutters to rest just a few inches from her booted foot. Following the line of spilled paper with those chocolate orbs, her gaze rises to rest again on that boy. Well she was tryin to make friends, so she should start now. Sliding from her seat, she lowers herself to gather the pieces from the floor, eyeing them over quickly. Standing, one hand is brushed down the front of her skirt, smoothing the fabric. Quiet steps bring her closer to the obviously distraught man on the table, where she clears her throat quietly. [Emberlyna]

Despite being drunk, the boy is lucid enough to catch sight of the parchment sheets held in the woman's gloved hand, and whom is coming towards him. Suddenly, he sits up all flushed, his features florid and points directly at her. "I do not want those anymore. She will not appreciate it…" [Lucien]

The man-childlike timbre of his voice holds a desperate note to it and he sinks right into the wooden chair, unaware of the scene he has just racked up; his head drooping even lower than before, not in embarassment but in rejection. [Lucien]

Understandably confused, those gloved fingers tremble ever-so-slightly, and the woman simply frowns for a moment, before she takes another few steps toward him. "I…" She pauses, clears her throat, and begins again. "I'm not entirely sure I understand, sir." With a long glance around the room, that frown only deepens. "And… if this 'she' is something personal, I'd suggest we discuss this outside." Another pause. "Or not, it is up to you."

She didn't need friends that badly. [Emberlyna]

The black haired boy's head jerks up and his expression is beset with a pitiful, mourning expression. He waves for the waitress to come clear away his pile of bottles and glasses, and then grabs at the girl's elbow, telling her to bring a fresh bottle of wine and two clean glasses instead. Then he signals her to be off. "It is far from personal, come sit down if you want to hear my story." The youth mutters, his stained fingers curling unto themselves. [Lucien]

"Sure, I don't have much else to do tonight." The words could -almost- be mistaken as jabbing, save for the inflection of interest in her voice. So, she slides gracefully to sit in a chair next to him, crossing her legs at the knee. Leaning down quickly to rub at a small, invisible spot on the toe of her boot for a moment, the woman finally rises, places her still untouched glass of wine on the table, and pushes her hand through her hair. "Tell me your story, if you wish." She always did love a good tale. [Emberlyna]

The waitress comes with the boy's orders and he pours yet another glass for the female stranger anyway; and once again she is dismissed with another wave of his hand. "My name is Lucien Fontaine. I am an orphan — but I was given a chance, a chance to prove myself in the theatre. Yet, I am unlucky, saddled, cursed and given the most difficult of ladies to work with." He moans, slumping his fair face over his arm upon the table, his grey eyes fighting to look at Emberlyna. [Lucien]

"The way she looks at me as if I am worth nothing. My writing is worth nothing, my ideas ripped. There is nothing worth living for anymore; a artist should not be treated so deplorably by her." The black haired boy cries and buries his face into the bend of his arm. [Lucien]

Once more, she looks confused. But after a moment, and a soft, gentle cough, the woman speaks, albeit softly. "Lucien, hm?" I am Emberlyna." Those leather'd tips creep toward the newest glass of wine, snaking around it to draw it closer. "Who is… she? And what have you done to deserve such…bad luck?" Oh, they had all types of interesting types here in Sanctus Irae. More time would have to be spent here. And her attention is drawn once more to the target of her questioning, those eyes opening wide. [Emberlyna]

"I have done nothing! But she.. She, Ra..Rasha Moncrieffe. The most beautiful, the most talented of them all in that Theatre." The boy rubs his palm against his forehead in frustration. "Yet I cannot please her. She does not like my work…" His other hand reaches out, pressing trembling fingers to the papers the woman wit the gloved hands had collected; his fingertips rubbing against the raised motifs of the Theatre printed upon their surfaces.[Lucien]

Then the hand falls short of taking the pieces of papers from her, and Lucien mumbles into the bend of his elbow, into the crumpled stained linen of his shirt's sleeve; and without even caring for Emberlyna's reply or even remembering her name; the black haired boy falls off into a fitful sleep, his head lolling to a side. [Lucien]

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