Bloodsong's Oasis: Restaurant and Speakeasy

[Deathkeeper]

[Private Dining Room]

Sam nods, letting her comments slide without poking any holes in them, despite thinking that there's a couple.
"Yeah, let's. Just remember though, if you join the company, I'd be your superior." he says, waggling his eyebrows at the thought of being able to give her orders.
And then have her not follow them, obviously.

[Gnrlshrimp]

[Private Dining Room]

Holes in her comments? There's probably less holes in a slice of swiss cheese! Not that it seems to be of any concern to Lucy.

"Oh? Is hierarchy dictated purely by date of joining the organisation? Seems a little old-fashioned. I suppose how I feel about that depends a lot - what sort of orders would you be giving to me, sir?" She asks, smirking and leaning across the table slightly.

[Deathkeeper]

[Private Dining Room]

Sam crosses all four of his arms and leans back with pensive concentration.
"Well, most importantly you'd have to quit all your question-dodging and tell me the truth when I ask you what you think about my cooking." he says, with the seriousness of a judge giving a death sentence.

[Gnrlshrimp]

[Private Dining Room]

Ooh, them's some harsh orders! Lucy puts on her best poker face, looking Sam right in the eyes as she considers this dilemma with a completely neutral expression.

She spends perhaps as much as a minute with that same thoughtful look locked in, rubbing her chin as she gives it a good thinking-over.

"Weeeell, I don't know if I could promise to cut out all of the question dodging, but I do hereby swear on my title and honor that I would answer all questions about your cooking truthfully." She bows her head and crosses her heart as she makes this pledge.

[Deathkeeper]

[Private Dining Room]

"Weeeeell I guess that'll do. Come on now, let's jet. We can get you set up with a place to sleep the night at the very least." Sam insists, easing out of his chair with a small groan. He might just have eaten a little too much.

[Ashen Lilies]

[BULLS]

Krayger smiles and finishes the drink, placing the glass back to the counter with a satisfied clack.
"Well, trying new things has gone well for me so far. So I think that's a pretty decent philosophy to follow." agrees the minotaur. He checks his pocket-watch. It's later than he usually goes out drinking alone, but he supposes there's no harm.

[Bulls]

"So what can I do you for, then?" asks Asterios, eyeing the empty glass. "Another of the same?"

[Elves]

Raril rests an elbow on the table and cradles his chin in his hand, looking at Cassandra. He sighs. She obviously wasn't ok, but he couldn't force her to talk to him.

"How are you feeling?" He asks quietly.

[Elves]

"Like I don't need to throw up anymore." says Cass, her eyes still on the table. It's an honest enough answer, but probably still dodging the general thrust of what Raril was looking for here.

[Morty]

One Dipsnig Razortooth, the illustrious and cunning chief executive of MERC, comes riding on one of his wolves. This new establishment seems to cater to the kind of people that MERC tends to attract, so it's worth scoping out. Besides, he's one of such people himself... not that his people's relationship with their bigger cousins has ever been cordial. But this place's owner isn't from his world, so that's not important. He dismounts the wolf and casually heads to the bar, wondering if he'll be recognized.

[Ashen Lilies]

The friendly minotaurc at the bar seems to be all too willing to take his order, approaching with a shaker in one hand and a bottle in the other.
"Good evening Mr. Razortooth. Anything I can do for you tonight?"

[Morty]

"I planned to start the evening off with a drink, if you've got something for the goblin palate," Dipsnig says. "But I'm also here on MERC business, so just the one. Could any of the management spare a moment or two to talk about money matters?"

[Ashen Lilies]

"The matron's not in tonight," says Asterios, opening up some earthenware jugs stashed under the bar, mixing together a pungent concoction that appears to have been dredged from the bottom of a swamp. After a brief shake, he'll pour the sludgy looking mixture of fermented root vegetable, swamp herbs, and cave spice into a ceramic cup, serving it to the goblin. And he doesn't even gag once while doing it. Now that's some dedication.

"But I think her eldest is here. I'm sure he'd be happy to do business with you. You want some privacy for that? The warchief's lounge isn't being used tonight, or I could open up one of the balcony rooms."

[Morty]

Dipsnig accepts the drink with a nod and takes a sip. Hmm. Quite good. They know how to make goblin booze here.

"If her son is authorized to make decisions for the establishment, I can talk to him. And the warchief's lounge should be fine."

[Artemis97]

[Bulls]

"So what can I do you for, then?" asks Asterios, eyeing the empty glass. "Another of the same?"



[Elves]

"Like I don't need to throw up anymore." says Cass, her eyes still on the table. It's an honest enough answer, but probably still dodging the general thrust of what Raril was looking for here.

[Elves]

"Well, that's certainly an improvement." Raril says brightly, but his expression quickly returns to concern. "But you know that's not what I mean."

[Ashen Lilies]

[Greenskins]

Asterios nods, beckoning another bartender over to take his place.

"I'll show you over, then."

[Blueskins]

A truculent expression passes over Cassandra's face, and for a moment it looks like she's going to say something smart and unhelpful. It passes, though, and gets replaced with an expression of sullen blankness.
"I don't know how I feel."

[Morty]

[Greenskins]

Dipsnig and his wolf will follow Asterios to the lounge. Let's hope it doesn't feel overly big for a goblin.

[Ashen Lilies]

[Warchief's Lounge]

A vain hope, unfortunately, seeing as the Warchief's Lounge was built to hold a full orcish warband, and those things can get pretty big and awfully rowdy. Like the main hall, it's arranged around a main stage, though 'arranged' is probably a very loose descriptor of what's going on in this room, as far from the classy atmosphere of the main hall, this room is instead dotted with a chaotic array of mismatched chairs and stools. On the stage is a dais with a colossal spiked throne made out of twisted wood, bone, claws, and horns, with animal furs slung over the seat and tattered banners hanging behind the back, emblazoned with orcish clan symbols. Scattered around the room is the mess of what looks to have been a very... boisterous... celebration, which several orc waiters are currently in the process of dutifully cleaning up.

Asterios smiles wanly at the chaos. "The Gorespike Warband had this room last night. Clans Hammerfist, Ragehowl, Doomtusk, Spikepunch, and Handfist were in attendance. Chief Manus Handfist's stag party."

He leads Dipsnig over to the bar, which is thankfully already clean, letting himself in to the other side and breaking open a small cask of mead (which he lifts easily, the cask seeming light as a beachball in his beefy arms) and filling a tankard taken from underneath the bar. It only takes a minute or so for the door to the lounge to open again and a half-orc to step in. He's a burly individual, even by half-orc (or really, full-orc) standards, broad of shoulder, with dark green skin and a thick mane of black hair and full beard down to his chest, bound up in an iron ring. He's rather formally dressed in a dark suit of coarse linen, though with the unorthodox addition of a robe-like overcoat covered in shamanic totems. He carries himself with a scholarly, albeit somewhat distracted, air, an impression enhanced by the disarmingly small pair of spectacles perched on his nose. Also, he has horns - two of them - tall and sweeping up from the top of his head like those of a demon's.

"Greetings Mr. Razortooth," says the horned half-orc, his voice curiously soft and quiet for an orc's. "I am Kyran Bloodsong, shaman of the Bloodsong clan and son of Matron Sokhatai."

[Morty]

[Warchief's Lounge]

Dipsnig takes a dubious look around the lounge. Orcs. What can you do? But then, those are different orcs than he's used to. The ones he knew back home weren't quite so aggressive and exuberant. They were a glum bunch, honestly. But still really big.

And none of them had horns, certainly. Just who was this guy's father? Some demon or other devil, by the looks of it. And a scholar. Well, let's see what he has to say.

"A pleasure. I come here with a business proposition. I'm sure you're aware of the deals we have with Trog's Tavern and Black Dragon's Den, where our members and license-holders enjoy discounts and we provide protection to them. I think Bloodsong's Oasis could also benefit from the same offer. The clientele here does line up with many of our personnel, after all." Common as it is to find goblins, orcs and other such species among them.

[Artemis97]

Blueskins

"Is there anything I can explain?" Raril asks gently.

[Ashen Lilies]

[Warchief's Lounge]

"I am aware." Says Kyran, smiling. "I would be happy to represent my family in accepting a similar patronage," he says. "In fact, my brother and step-father have already drafted a likely contract."

He reaches into an inner pocket of his overcoat, pulling out a rather ordinary sheaf of papers, which he unfolds and places on the table. It's a pretty standard contract, as described.

[Blueskins]

Cass gets a hunted look in response to Raril's questions. "I think I just need some time to process this," she says bluntly.

[Artemis97]

[Blueskins]

Raril holds up his hands at that. "Alright, alright." He says, before leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his drink. He'll stay quiet until Cass has anything to say.

[Morty]

[Warchief's Lounge]

"Admirably forward-thinking," Dipsnig says, looking over the contract to see if anything is out of place. "Seems like you were prepared to do business with us."

[Ashen Lilies]

[Blueskins]

Oh no! The silent treatment!

That's okay, Cass can totally handle this! There's no way Raril will be able to out-silence her!

He's only been a dad, like what, 50 years? All that experience is nothing in the face of Cass' firm resolve towards silence.

Grrrrrrr...

[Warchief's Lounge]

The contract is fairly standard, and doesn't contain any hidden tricks or unfair loopholes.

"It's true," says Kyran, nodding. "I was planning on seeking you out myself. For this partnership, and for one other matter I was hoping to consult you on."

[Morty]

[Warchief's Lounge]

"Well, I'm listening," Dipsnig says. "Let's hope it's as profitable to us both as this contract."

[Artemis97]

[Blue Skins]

Raril sits, swirling his drink in his hand and listening to the music, humming along when he knew the tune. It wasn't exactly the silent treatment, just... patience. Raril had learned a lot of that in his younger days, waiting on women. If they weren't ready, you just had to sit there and wait for them until they were.

[Hattish Thing]

Pulling Up:

At this point, a sleek black vehicle will pull up outside of the restaurant. Several armed guards open the side-doors, allowing first for Executor Kramolagh to exit, followed by Felandria. Looking on with a pleased expression upon his face, the gray-coated man proceeds deeper into the restaurant.

He begins to head upstairs.

"Zhe dining room I've reserved is quite e-exquisite, or so I am told."

[Felandria]

Pulling Up:

At this point, a sleek black vehicle will pull up outside of the restaurant. Several armed guards open the side-doors, allowing first for Executor Kramolagh to exit, followed by Felandria. Looking on with a pleased expression upon his face, the gray-coated man proceeds deeper into the restaurant.

He begins to head upstairs.

"Zhe dining room I've reserved is quite e-exquisite, or so I am told."

Felandria takes a look around, admiring the decor as a fellow restaurateur would.

I will say this place is quite lovely.

I do look forward to seeing what the private area is like.

[Hattish Thing]

[Private Room]

Kramolagh, all in white, leads the way throughout the restaurant, eventually sliding open an ornate door which leads into a luxurious and professional looking chamber, with ambient music playing softly in the background and twinkling decorations. After several seconds spent studying the room, the man takes a seat at the end of the table, smiling softly.

Moments later, a waiter arrives, and Kramolagh orders some sort of small dish.

"Make yourself comfortable, hm?"

[Felandria]

[Private Room]

Felandria casually pulls up two chairs as she resumes her usual size, she takes a seat and orders a bottle of Chimera Cabernet and an appetizer.

Alright, Kramolagh.

You have my attention.

[Hattish Thing]

[Private Room]

Kramolagh's cheek twitches somewhat as Felandria rather inelegantly assumes her usual size, a rather rude gesture which the gray-coated man takes special note of. Curious, indeed, how the individuals generally deemed disreputable have been far more pleasant to deal with over these past few weeks.

He offers an artificial smile before setting a folder down upon the table.

"A b-bit of a presentation for you, regarding zhe nature of our facility. You may recognize several of our researchers."

"Perhaps it vhill come as a surprise."

--

The folder contains pictures of Magtok, Nigel, Amity, as well as dozens of other smiling scientists presiding over their work, most of which appears medical or technological in nature. One of the researchers, a bald man, has been photographed before dozens of women and children, recently cured due to Felandria's contributions.

"It is fortunate zhat zhey received zhe help zhey did."

[Felandria]

[Private Room]

Kramolagh's cheek twitches somewhat as Felandria rather inelegantly assumes her usual size, a rather rude gesture which the gray-coated man takes special note of. Curious, indeed, how the individuals generally deemed disreputable have been far more pleasant to deal with over these past few weeks.

He offers an artificial smile before setting a folder down upon the table.

"A b-bit of a presentation for you, regarding zhe nature of our facility. You may recognize several of our researchers."

"Perhaps it vhill come as a surprise."

--

The folder contains pictures of Magtok, Nigel, Amity, as well as dozens of other smiling scientists presiding over their work, most of which appears medical or technological in nature. One of the researchers, a bald man, has been photographed before dozens of women and children, recently cured due to Felandria's contributions.

"It is fortunate zhat zhey received zhe help zhey did."

Felandria was really starting to resent this guy, there was something about him that really bothered her, she kept trying to get some kind of reaction out of him, but he was thus far unflappable, and it was really driving her up a wall.

He was obviously hiding something and she was determined to find out what that was.

She examined the pictures, and her face showed very little reaction.

Well, I obviously recognize Magtok, but perhaps you could tell me more about the others?

[Hattish Thing]

[Private Room]

Kramolagh nods, continuing. "I must remind you of zhe non-disclosure agreement you signed, before we p-proceed. Unfortunately, you are n-not to speak of zhe Conference with zhose pictured zhere, vhich is l-likely vhy zhe cyborg did not inform you earlier. From vhat I have heard, you two get along famously."

"Some of zhe brightest minds across zhe Nexus, aligned under one goal."