Llyr walked slower, not due to sea legs like Saza but rather he kept seeing memories play out in his mind while he walked into Foster's Landing. While his assistant had eyes of gold, his own were of silver. The two biqajs walked close, but not side-by-side, as Llyr led them through the cobbled streets.
Hearing a slight click, Llyr glanced to see Saza shake his head - though he didn't know what for. He didn't care for the buildings? Or something else? Whatever the case, he didn't ask.
When he heard the Ith'ession, heavily accented and awkward though it was, one corner of his mouth twitched upward. He looked up at a nearby building while they continued to walk. He didn't need to look to know that Saza was blushing. Llyr could feel it in the other biqaj's tangle while he observed. He'd gotten rather apt at it, simply ethereally hovering over the mess of emotions while he watched them writhe untouched by any manipulation.
"Close," he replied, then repeated in the proper phrase of Ith'ession, "Where are we going first?"
Llyr paused, long enough for Saza to repeat it once or twice, then he turned sharply and said, "In here."
Through the door of a tavern and inn, Llyr slipped inside of a three-story building. The door creaked, painted on the front in white with various symbols that'd gotten chalked on by the pirates and sailors and travelers that frequented the port town. He walked with familiarity, though it'd been over an arc since he'd last been in the place - and he'd only ever visited when it was packed to the brim with desperate souls.
No one was running away from a war, or plague, anymore... but the tavern still proved busy. Every seat at the counter, taken. Every table either taken or in enough of a mess that it looked like there might be people about to come back. There were a couple men arguing at the counter, one who had an apron on, and the other who had a very tight bowtie of velvet red.
Llyr paused, in a surveyed scan, then he held up a hand to gesture for Saza to stop walking as well. He silently waved to the side, and stepped around to slightly hide in the shadow of a wooden post. He adjusted the strap of his bag, while he leaned slightly to try and hear whatever was being said.
It wasn't hard as the voices seemed in the midst of rising into shouts.
Velvet Bowtie kept pointing a gnarled finger at Apron, snarling about some no-good sister and Apron progressively turning redder in an already ruddy face. The argument consisted of swift Ith'ession rather than common. Finally, Apron tore off his namesake article of clothing and threw it at Bowtie's feet. The ruddy-faced man stomped out of the place with a slam of the door behind him.
"You can't leave!" bellowed Bowtie while he pointed at the still-swinging door. "I feking own you and your whole family, you ingrate! ...Damn. Dammit! What're you looking at? What? Everyone, out. The bar is closed."
Grumbled discontent, and louder complaints, started from the various patrons. "We just got here!" and "I haven't gotten my food yet, I paid for it!" and "One more drink, c'mon." and variations between.
Llyr glanced at Saza, then handed his luggage for the assistant to hold onto. He nodded to the other biqaj, then slid around the post in a sleek glide of his lithe body. With a swipe of his fingers through the pale locks, he fixed his hair some while he walked past the various patrons. A few Etzori stopped entirely, with mouths hung open, when they saw the mage with the blatant halo and wings. At the corner of the bar, a dark-haired woman leaned over and whispered something to the man next to her. The two both got up and left quickly.
Whether he noticed or not, Llyr didn't seem to pay the reactions any mind. Instead, he swiftly walked forward and held out his hand in a sudden offer for a shake. So sudden, and so taken aback, that Bowtie's eyes widened and he automatically placed his hand in the gloved palm of the mage's for a firm shake of greeting.
"You appear to be having some trouble," said Llyr with a look of concern over his youthful features. He spoke in near flawless Ith'ession, though flourished with his southern accent. "Am I right to assume that your staff has walked out?"
"Ye-yeah, who... that halo... Who are you?" asked Bowtie while he rubbed his hand against the front of his jacket as if uncertain whether the mage was contagious or not.
"Ah, yes, that's right. They wouldn't tell you, would they? Mm, you are Flynn, yes?"
"How... oh. OH!" The man's eyes bulged for how much wider they got. His sallow face turned paler, in a sickly way with a tinge of green to it. He looked about ready to retch.
"Yes." confirmed Llyr with a slow smile. "Poor timing, is it not? But I am here now, so... I do assume you have a place where we can talk?"
"Yes, yes... of course. Let me handle... or..." Bowtie - or Flynn - wiped away some gathering sweat from his brow. He made a helpless gesture toward the bar.
"Unfortunate timing, yes. Here, allow me to assist you," offered Llyr. He turned with a swift, almost soldierly pivot of his pointed shoes. The biqaj's gaze swept over the people - the irises a vivid color of topaz yellow. A rather charmingly sincere smile showed on his youthful features and the mage held up his hands. With the gesture, the patrons stopped their various muttered complaints and grumbles. They stared at him. "Does anyone here know how to mix drinks, or cook?"
A pause... and then a younger curly-haired woman raised her hand.
"Excellent, miss, and would you care for some nel and free food and drink for only a few breaks of work?"
"I'm sorry," she returned with a shake of her head. Her accent pitched awkwardly. "I don't know Ith'ession."
"No trouble," said Llyr with a dismissive gesture of his hand. "I had asked if anyone knows how to mix drinks or cook, do you?"
"Oh, yes, that I did understand, the... mix drinks? I used to bartend, back in Scalvoris."
"Ah..." Llyr smiled, then swapped to his rough approximations of Scalveen, a language he was still in the midst of learning. "Mix drinks for free food and for nel? Two... Four hours, most?"
The young woman pulled at a curly strand of her hair, then she nodded in agreement.
"Now, wait a moment..." started Flynn, but he quieted when Llyr simply looked at him with a flash of red that brightened the biqaj's irises.
The red was gone in the next trill, though, and back to the topaz yellow when he gestured for the young lady to come toward him. She did so, then he guided her by the shoulders to walk behind the bar counter. He set a flagon in her hand, then put her to a keg tap, and guided her to pour a beer. Once finished, he guided her back to set the beer on the counter for one of the customers.
"There's that," said Llyr. "Anyone know how to cook?"
"I do," said a scraggly-haired old man. He wobbled while he got up from the table he'd seemingly been mostly napping at. With a wooden hook cane, he made his way over to Llyr. He had a thick Etzori accent, but spoke in common. "Used to cook in my fightin' days."
"How wonderful," returned Llyr, without a hint of insincerity while he manipulated his own tangle to make himself truly care. The topaz of his eyes glinted with gold. "Would anyone like to also earn some nel to assist this veteran in the job?"
Some quiet, then a middle-aged man slunk out of his seat. He wobbled some, clearly buzzed by liquor, but managed to walk in a straight line while he said, "Free drinks, y'said? To help the old man? I can do that. Gimme a beer."
Llyr's dark brows raised, but his smile remained and then he shrugged. He clapped a hand on the drunk man's shoulder and said, "You'll make for a fine chef's assistant. Yes, indeed. Now, on with the both of you, to the kitchen!"
The biqaj folded his gloved hands in front of him, while he watched the drunk and the old soldier hobble into the kitchen together. He exhaled, as if witnessing something just so profoundly heartwarming. Then his smile vanished. His head sharply turned. He looked directly at Flynn, who'd started to take several steps toward the side door. Flynn had only just gotten his hand on the door, too.
"Is that where your office is, Flynn?" he asked in a low voice that rumbled for how deeply the pitch plummeted compared to the forced silvery tenor of before.
"N-no... u-up here," gestured Flynn with an upward point to the first floor. He dryly swallowed then led the way up the creaky wooden stairs.
Llyr gestured for Saza to follow. He had not forgotten the other biqaj, anyway, though he hardly looked at his assistant while he started up the stairs. At least until they reached the first floor landing, then he abruptly stopped. He leaned back, and spoke to Saza in common, "Do keep hold of the luggage... and keep watch. Tell me if you hear or see anything."
And so, with that instruction, he headed to follow Flynn into a shadowy office that reeked of tobacco smoke and spilled whiskey. Flynn kept the door open for Llyr, but once the pale-haired biqaj had gotten through, he started to hurriedly attempt to shut it before Saza could get inside.
