An Eye for Talent (Azrael)

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Cylus 8, 720

Soren had been keeping a watchful eye, on both rooms of his tavern the last few days. He had always been a people watcher, but now it was his focus. Because he was looking for someone. Not someone specific, but rather someone to prove themselves able to fulfill something he needed.

Today Soren was in the back room of the tavern, watching as the third massive brawl of the night died down and people began buying the losers their consolation beers. Good business and sportsmanship that rule was. Soren was letting his bartenders do most of the busy work, but Soren was mingling when he saw a new face approach. With some, he delivered the drinks, others he welcomed to the bar. Some he sent to the vomit bucket and others he cheered on a story.

But his heart wasn't truly in it.

He was a man on a mission and he needed to solve it soon. It didn't help that the tavern was sleep deprived, plagued by a new ghost. She was relentless. Soren wasn't sure what to do about her yet. He still had a Sigviind problem on his hands though he was playing a longer game on that one. It would have to wait, no matter how much it chewed at him. He had a theater not yet open, so effectively a money pit, a gamble. He had a property he still needed to finalize the purchase of. Which led him to now.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

What was he doing?

Why was he being so passive? He wasn't thinking straight, clearly. Enough was enough.

Time to do take this fucking seriously. He grabbed a jug of whiskey, move around the bar, to his reserved stool. The stool no one dared to sit on for fear of having their face beaten in and a lifetime ban implemented. He sat down, thunking the jug down loudly on the bar, garnering the attention of those in the immediate vicinity.

Loudly, so the room could hear, even over the normally loud rabble going on. "Barkeep!" Shelly Belly approached, "A tower of glasses please." Shelly was quick to produce the glasses, which weren't normally available here, due to the propensity of fighting. But the stack was provided anyways. Soren grabbed the topmost glass, set it down, and poured a whiskey in it. The room silent, watched and waited. "I have coin for someone willing to work. You have one glass, shared with me, to prove to me you're deserving of the job I have for you." He looked to Shelly, "Once I'm drunk, cut me off. Interviews end then."

Shelly nodded, and she would take it seriously. It wasn't the first time she'd had to enforce that upon her employer, per his request. Soren grabbed his drink, holding it up, "Who is first?"

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Azrael]

8 Cylus 720 | Azrael Blackfire | A Pretty Good Tavern

It was another one of those very special trials where Azrael had a long day at work that left his body more sore than usual. When the work-trial had ended, Azrael made his way to one of the few taverns he was certain he could always get a good drink at. When he arrived at the tavern he did exactly that, he purchased a drink and sat at table to enjoy it. Half of the fun of drinking in the tavern was getting to watch the brawls that broke out an reminiscing about the better days in Yaralon before he'd run afoul of the mercenaries. He didn't have much interest in participating in any of the brawls though he thought it might be good fun to give one a try. No, Azrael was more interested in spending time with the few women who seemed to be eyeing him from a distance. None of them came up to him though, and so it made him doubt they'd be worth the chase.

Before Azrael really had a moment to resolve his inner debate about whether or not the type of woman to wait for the man to make the first move would be as good in the sack as the type of woman to make the first move, Soren's actions demanded the attention of the whole room- and he certainly had it. Azrael turned his head to the man and raised his glass as if toasting to him though he didn't know if Soren had seen it or not. It didn't really matter to Azrael. The gesture had been an instinctive one that he made when he recognized someone and he was holding a drink. Azrael finished his cup and set it on the table, listening closely to what Soren said.

Well he certainly had a flair for the dramatic when it came to getting someone to do a job. That alone drew Azrael's attention. Alright. I'll bite. Azrael thought as he watched the first man to take up Soren's offer sit before the tavern owner. He didn't worry about being first because he had a different advantage, he may have been a familiar face. There was a right way to do this and a wrong way and Azrael didn't want to do it wrong so he waited. He wouldn't be the first to accept, nor would he be the second. Azrael would watch Soren closely to try and deduce when the man was nearing his cut off. There was a fine moment where bad ideas sounded good that came just before drunkenness that Azrael was waiting for Soren to reach. Yet after five others had passed through the routine, Azrael stepped up himself.

Azrael took the glass, then the seat. He sipped the whiskey and set the glass on the counter beside Soren. "You know, most people just post a notice when they need help."