03.07.3014: Hermits and Ale
Summary: Cyrielle sneaks some time at Mott's before going home.
Date: 12-3-13
Related: A Day at the Carnival
Cyrielle Tristan 

The Mott Taphouse, Arborenin, The Spine
The taphouse is burrowed out from the heart of one of the various elder trees that surround the Heartwood. It is dark, warm, and inviting no matter the time of day. There are not a lot of hard corners, and it feels as though the walls blend in with the ceilings that curve high above. The interior wood has been stained a honey gold, which is offset by the rosewood bar and tables. There are a couple of circular windows that have been carved from the tree trunk, though the glass is stained a soft green to continue to maintain a particular atmosphere no matter the time of day. Scattered throughout the room are tables of various size and chair arrangement, and the aforementioned bar runs along the left-hand wall.

The taphouse only provides ale. Order a whiskey, you get ale. Order a martini, you get ale. The menu is also very simple with a set series of meals — breakfast, lunch, and dinner — that change from day to day. It is common knowledge that special orders or requests are always ignored.

Friday, March 7, 3014

Now that he's fully healed from the last run-in with Hostiles, Tristan's been back on patrols and such, something the Arboren is more than happy to do. That done, he's now made his way into the taphouse, where he's gotten himself some ale and the dinner choice, which seems to be some kind of stew, and found himself a table off to the side. That's where he sits now, the food mostly untouched, while the ale is almost emptied. Glancing at the various people present, every now and then.

The Hollolas was released from Willowtree a few days early. Either because she was a pest enough to do so or her healing was advancing along well enough. So, knowing she has some time before being beset upon by family within Beacon and made to laze around even more and actually play at being noble… she must visit an old haunt. A favorite of the Hollolas clan.

So when Cyrielle enters into the taphouse, she's still using a cane. She's not quite capable of walking on her own two feet without issue and it's a struggle to adapt to a cybernetic gained so late after the injury, as it were. She looks fairly tired as well, barely even casting gaze over the taphouse initially.

Looking up from the sip he was about to take as the door opens, Tristan lets out a bit of a breath as he sees who it is. Taking that sip as he looks around again, before he actually starts eating some of the stew now. Gaze moving to the newly arrived lady every now and then.

A server passing by looks warily to the Hollolas. She knows. She knows how they are. They'll order something not on the menu just to be funny. However, perhaps someone isn't feeling funny today. "Ale." The order is made simply and perhaps it leaves the poor lass even more confused in the brunette's wake. Cyrielle continues, unknowing, past her and further into the tavern.

It's either good or ill fortune, depending on how you view it, that Tristan has chosen the same table she usually ends up with. So there should be no surprise, really, that the young woman ends up standing at the end of it, staring at the Arboren for a moment. "Hmm."

"Need? Likely, yes." It's an attempt at banter, but Cyrielle is clearly tired herself. She slides into the seat opposite Tristan and presses a switch on the cane, letting it collapse down into a rune-etched silver rod. "Want…" There's a shrug as she leans back, eyes closing as she exhales slowly.

Once her breath is recovered, she cracks an eye and peers towards the Arboren. "Please. You're my Paramount. You, if anyone, have a right to call me by my name. Cyrielle."

Tristan nods a little as he takes another sip from his ale, draining it. Pausing a little as he hears the words, before he offers a brief smile. "Sorry…" Looking a bit unsure of what to say now. "So… I hope you are well, Lady Cyrielle?" Gesturing towards the bar for some more ale now.

And with his new ale arrives Cyrielle's. She leans forward and sets the rod on the table's surface, wrapping both hands around the mug once she has. "Just Cyrielle. I… really have no interest or desire to feel a noble this evening." She lifts the ale and takes a long drink. "I'm as well as one can be after finally freeing themselves from the prison that is a hospital."

Eating some more of the stew, Tristan nods a little as he listens. "Hospital? Were you ill, La… Cyrielle?" Taking a sip of his new ale now, offering a brief smile.

There's a bit of a smirk for the near-slip and she takes another sip of ale before setting the mug down. Turning slightly, to angle her right leg out of the booth, Cyrielle grabs the fabric of her slacks around the knee and pulls it upward. Between boots and the raised fabric, the inhuman shine of the cybernetic comes visible. "I finally got it tended to." The injury that ended her naval career, ere had even begun. She lets the fabric fall back into place and turns back to face the Arboren. "Soooo…" Lips twitch slightly in a smirk, "I hope you don't mind how swiftly I had to depart after giving you your gift."

Watching as the cybernetic is revealed, Tristan offers a brief smile. "Congratulations?" A brief pause, before he adds, "It's good getting such things tended to, isn't it?" Taking a sip from his ale, he coughs briefly as he hears that last part. "Err… I mean, such things happen, don't they?" Another brief pause, and a smile. "It's okay."

"Save them for once I'm able to walk or even run," Cyrielle says with a slight wrinkle in her nose. She settles back into the booth and leans back, reaching for her ale once more. The cough earns a raised brow and the smirk settles more fully into place. She does cover it, however, with a brief sip of the ale. "Mmhmm. You looked like you could use something to cheer you up."

"I did?" Tristan asks, after a few moments of pause, before he sighs. "I've never really liked huge gatherings of people," he finally admits.

Shifting, Cyrielle leans forward, letting a curve develop in her back as she does so. Elbows find themselves planted on table, suspending the ale. She takes another sip and tilts her head, watching the Arborenin Lord. "Is that so? I'd've never guessed." The humor, delivered deadpan, is made light by the smile she bears. "Nor do I, but they're part and parcel of who we are. Nevermind, your sister looked dead set on getting you to enjoy yourself."

Tristan grimaces as he hears that, but he nods a bit slowly. "Yet another reason why part of me wish I could have been a hermit in a cave, or something," he replies, before he nods a little at the mention of his sister. "She tends to…" Trailing off, as he looks around for a few moments now. "I should be going…"

"Being a hermit isn't all it's cracked up to be," Cyrielle murmurs, lifting her chin to study Tristan for another moment. "Trust me." She tilts her head in a nod to the need to leave, lifting a hand from her mug to wave it absently to him. "Certainly, certainly. I could show you some places within The Spine sometime. Nice, deep in the forest. Not a human soul in sight."

There's a brief pause, as Tristan nods a little now. Hurrying to pay for his meal and drink, and almost running out of the taphouse now.
Tristan has disconnected.

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