I suppose that follows, if it's to be named well. I don't suppose you're dreadfully attached to hanging out around the ruins? I have a place over a tavern, in Lowtown, if you'd like to visit.
The Anvil. It's a little walk up the hill from the docks, and there's some private steps to get up to where I am without having to go through the place, though we could get a pint if you like.
Agreed, a verbal handshake and a smile somehow transmitted across the crystals—followed by some finicky directions, landmarks, and so on.
The Anvil itself is settled on a corner, making it easy to find, and has a sort of top-heavy, slightly sunken feel to it, set a few steps down from the street if one were to go through the front doors. As promised, though, there's a painted gate off to the side with a rattly lock currently left open, and wooden steps curling up to the second storey. The heavy wooden door that leads inside is currently wedged open, and here, a hallway,
it's all clearly rather small and cheap, but not destitute. Of the three doors available, with the middle one clearly leading down to the tavern, Abby was told to knock on the third.
Beyond the door behind her, a dog immediately activates, yapping.
But the one she's at swings open, Loxley smiling and beckoning her inside. Again, small and cheap, but there's a nice rug on the ground, clean if faded in patches. There's a wood-burning stove in the corner, currently low-burning and warm. A slightly low-slung bed in the opposite corner, roughly made. Empty wine bottles, dried flowers decorate the windowsill. Cushions, curtains, a heavy trunk, a little clutter. A couple of chairs, a table, a jar with a wisp in it.
A wisp that drifts up, glows a little brighter than before. Loxley is saying, "Easy enough to find?" as he latches the door to hold it closed, and doesn't fuss with wat are altogether too many locks on a surprisingly sturdy frame.
"Yup," Abby says. She's not looking at him she's looking at his room, this little place and all the lived-in clutter that makes it unique to him. Everybody in Riftwatch has more or less the same furniture, the standard issue bed frame with slouchy straw mattress, the one pillow so you have to try a little harder to make it look like yours. Loxley has done a good job. She likes the dried flowers on the windowsill. The light from the stove skips through the wine bottles and throws tiny yellow slivers all over the rug.
The wisp is bobbing around in the jar as she comes in properly, getting out of the way to allow Loxley better access to the lock-festooned door. Having that many seems like a safety hazard in the other direction; what if you need to get out quickly?
As Abby leans in, the wisp floats up higher, its spirals compressing as it seems to focus in under her attention. By now, it shines brightly enough that it could be its own light source in a room, enough to read by if one fancied, a pleasant blue-tinged illumination that isn't any harder to look directly at as a lantern.
The jar itself is clearly built to purpose for keeping it in. Large enough for the wisp to move about, and formed of clear thick glass. The lid itself is latched on with metal, a frame that encompasses the jar entirely, and small runes pressed into the bronze might serve more function than just decoration.
"You can pick it up, if you like," Loxley adds as he comes to stand near her elbow, hands on his hips. "Just don't shake it around too hard, it gets—"
Side glance, abruptly unsure if she is convinced of its emotional sentience enough to buy 'angry'.
She watches it circle and bob underneath her scrutiny and picks the jar up the moment he says that she can to hold it aloft, over her head, and look at the wisp from below. It doesn't offer a view that is any different from the top or side, but the light output is pretty impressive. It would be enough to read by. Reminds Abby of how she'd take a torch to bed at night and read under her blankets until she fell asleep.
"I'm not gonna shake it." She's not a monster, okay. Even if it is only alive in the same way that plants or lichen are alive, it's... still alive.
Carefully, she hands the glass jar to him.
"You can't open it?" The lid, that is. The latch implies this. And the runes. Her assessment? "Kinda sucks that you can't let it out, it'd be cute if it followed you around."
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[ Like he's thinking about it. ]
I suppose that follows, if it's to be named well. I don't suppose you're dreadfully attached to hanging out around the ruins? I have a place over a tavern, in Lowtown, if you'd like to visit.
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Which tavern?
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[ It's a good time for vices. ]
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If it's fucking awful, we drown our sorrows at The Anvil.
→ action.
The Anvil itself is settled on a corner, making it easy to find, and has a sort of top-heavy, slightly sunken feel to it, set a few steps down from the street if one were to go through the front doors. As promised, though, there's a painted gate off to the side with a rattly lock currently left open, and wooden steps curling up to the second storey. The heavy wooden door that leads inside is currently wedged open, and here, a hallway,
it's all clearly rather small and cheap, but not destitute. Of the three doors available, with the middle one clearly leading down to the tavern, Abby was told to knock on the third.
Beyond the door behind her, a dog immediately activates, yapping.
But the one she's at swings open, Loxley smiling and beckoning her inside. Again, small and cheap, but there's a nice rug on the ground, clean if faded in patches. There's a wood-burning stove in the corner, currently low-burning and warm. A slightly low-slung bed in the opposite corner, roughly made. Empty wine bottles, dried flowers decorate the windowsill. Cushions, curtains, a heavy trunk, a little clutter. A couple of chairs, a table, a jar with a wisp in it.
A wisp that drifts up, glows a little brighter than before. Loxley is saying, "Easy enough to find?" as he latches the door to hold it closed, and doesn't fuss with wat are altogether too many locks on a surprisingly sturdy frame.
no subject
The wisp is bobbing around in the jar as she comes in properly, getting out of the way to allow Loxley better access to the lock-festooned door. Having that many seems like a safety hazard in the other direction; what if you need to get out quickly?
She bends to examine the jar.
"Is this it?"
... Are you supposed to call a wisp an it??
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As Abby leans in, the wisp floats up higher, its spirals compressing as it seems to focus in under her attention. By now, it shines brightly enough that it could be its own light source in a room, enough to read by if one fancied, a pleasant blue-tinged illumination that isn't any harder to look directly at as a lantern.
The jar itself is clearly built to purpose for keeping it in. Large enough for the wisp to move about, and formed of clear thick glass. The lid itself is latched on with metal, a frame that encompasses the jar entirely, and small runes pressed into the bronze might serve more function than just decoration.
"You can pick it up, if you like," Loxley adds as he comes to stand near her elbow, hands on his hips. "Just don't shake it around too hard, it gets—"
Side glance, abruptly unsure if she is convinced of its emotional sentience enough to buy 'angry'.
"—fussy."
no subject
She watches it circle and bob underneath her scrutiny and picks the jar up the moment he says that she can to hold it aloft, over her head, and look at the wisp from below. It doesn't offer a view that is any different from the top or side, but the light output is pretty impressive. It would be enough to read by. Reminds Abby of how she'd take a torch to bed at night and read under her blankets until she fell asleep.
"I'm not gonna shake it." She's not a monster, okay. Even if it is only alive in the same way that plants or lichen are alive, it's... still alive.
Carefully, she hands the glass jar to him.
"You can't open it?" The lid, that is. The latch implies this. And the runes. Her assessment? "Kinda sucks that you can't let it out, it'd be cute if it followed you around."