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Although not one to mix business and pleasure, Abrax found that the rules shifted a little in Cairo. Perhaps it was because Osorsen was so often busy here, in attendance on senate and court. Or maybe it was simply the intensity of the city, the way it sat so close on top of itself; its residents felt more intense, for the lack of space. Whatever the case, whenever business brought him to the city, Abrax frequented a series of favored establishments. Most of them in the food-and-beverage business, rather than one where company could be purchased. He rarely had trouble finding conversation - or more - when it suited him. (Which wasn't often, with the latter.)
With the day's business concluded, Abrax had worn down the path between his rented room, and the particular tavern that dealt in his favorite wine in Cairo; spicy, and savory, and richly red. Despite his preference for spending time in such lively places, Abrax rarely drank too much in public; too cautious, and secretive, to risk a loose tongue - especially in this city. It tended to leave him to be the sober friend more often than not, and that in turn meant he had developed a habit of keeping an eye out for trouble while he sipped at his one or two drinks a night.
Trouble, in this case, presented itself in the form of a beautiful woman, as it so often did. She was seated at a table alone, postured in a way that suggested she'd had enough to drink to feel the pleasant, impotent, buzz that usually left him feeling invulnerable. Her hair, the color of copper, glittered in the light in a fashion that caught the eye - and Abrax suspected he was not the only man to have noticed. That, and her fair skin, marked her as a foreigner and that would attract the wrong kind of notice in and of itself.
He sighed once, glanced down at his half-finished wine, and then picked up the cup as he pushed himself out of his own seat to wander over to where the woman had settled. The soldier slowly lowered himself onto the bench opposite her, drink still in hand. "Mind if I join you?"
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Although not one to mix business and pleasure, Abrax found that the rules shifted a little in Cairo. Perhaps it was because Osorsen was so often busy here, in attendance on senate and court. Or maybe it was simply the intensity of the city, the way it sat so close on top of itself; its residents felt more intense, for the lack of space. Whatever the case, whenever business brought him to the city, Abrax frequented a series of favored establishments. Most of them in the food-and-beverage business, rather than one where company could be purchased. He rarely had trouble finding conversation - or more - when it suited him. (Which wasn't often, with the latter.)
With the day's business concluded, Abrax had worn down the path between his rented room, and the particular tavern that dealt in his favorite wine in Cairo; spicy, and savory, and richly red. Despite his preference for spending time in such lively places, Abrax rarely drank too much in public; too cautious, and secretive, to risk a loose tongue - especially in this city. It tended to leave him to be the sober friend more often than not, and that in turn meant he had developed a habit of keeping an eye out for trouble while he sipped at his one or two drinks a night.
Trouble, in this case, presented itself in the form of a beautiful woman, as it so often did. She was seated at a table alone, postured in a way that suggested she'd had enough to drink to feel the pleasant, impotent, buzz that usually left him feeling invulnerable. Her hair, the color of copper, glittered in the light in a fashion that caught the eye - and Abrax suspected he was not the only man to have noticed. That, and her fair skin, marked her as a foreigner and that would attract the wrong kind of notice in and of itself.
He sighed once, glanced down at his half-finished wine, and then picked up the cup as he pushed himself out of his own seat to wander over to where the woman had settled. The soldier slowly lowered himself onto the bench opposite her, drink still in hand. "Mind if I join you?"
Although not one to mix business and pleasure, Abrax found that the rules shifted a little in Cairo. Perhaps it was because Osorsen was so often busy here, in attendance on senate and court. Or maybe it was simply the intensity of the city, the way it sat so close on top of itself; its residents felt more intense, for the lack of space. Whatever the case, whenever business brought him to the city, Abrax frequented a series of favored establishments. Most of them in the food-and-beverage business, rather than one where company could be purchased. He rarely had trouble finding conversation - or more - when it suited him. (Which wasn't often, with the latter.)
With the day's business concluded, Abrax had worn down the path between his rented room, and the particular tavern that dealt in his favorite wine in Cairo; spicy, and savory, and richly red. Despite his preference for spending time in such lively places, Abrax rarely drank too much in public; too cautious, and secretive, to risk a loose tongue - especially in this city. It tended to leave him to be the sober friend more often than not, and that in turn meant he had developed a habit of keeping an eye out for trouble while he sipped at his one or two drinks a night.
Trouble, in this case, presented itself in the form of a beautiful woman, as it so often did. She was seated at a table alone, postured in a way that suggested she'd had enough to drink to feel the pleasant, impotent, buzz that usually left him feeling invulnerable. Her hair, the color of copper, glittered in the light in a fashion that caught the eye - and Abrax suspected he was not the only man to have noticed. That, and her fair skin, marked her as a foreigner and that would attract the wrong kind of notice in and of itself.
He sighed once, glanced down at his half-finished wine, and then picked up the cup as he pushed himself out of his own seat to wander over to where the woman had settled. The soldier slowly lowered himself onto the bench opposite her, drink still in hand. "Mind if I join you?"
It had been a long day in an endless string of long days, and Callidora wasn’t sure how much more she could take. It had been scarcely a week since she’d been freed from the Pharaoh’s dungeon, and she wasn’t sure if she should count these days as a blessing or a curse. Yes, she still had her life, which she supposed was a good thing. But other than that? She had nothing. Everything that mattered to her, everything that made a difference in her life, had been snatched from her in the course of the past year. Her husband, her brother, her wealth, and now Skylla…
Perhaps it would have been kinder to have just submitted to her execution.
Dora spent a good chunk of her life on a ship, so the Grecian woman knew her way around the bottle. While she did not overindulge as much as she had in her younger years, she saw no point to keep up such a habit. After all, what else did she have to lose? The few pennies left to her name? She might as well use them for something that made the night bearable.
She was finally at that point of comfortable numbness when a stranger approached, stiffening slightly at the sound of another’s voice. Understandably, she had little trust for men in taverns; she had seen her fair share of harassment, particularly since coming here. A Greek woman stranded on Egyptian shores at the brink of wartime hardly boded well for her, and so, of course, a curl of suspicion ran down her spine as she eyed her unexpected companion.
However, when Dora looked up at his face, she could find nothing malevolent in his expression or the stance he took. His voice was calm and even, and she could see nothing in his countenance but polite interest. Her profession relied on her ability to read people, and even inebriated, she still had confidence in her ability to do so. He didn’t seem a threat, and even if he was, well… what did it matter?
“Go ahead,” she gestured at the seat across from her when he asked if he could join her, a half-hearted and tired smile resting on her lips. “Beats drinking alone.” Her Coptic was slow and accented, a little slurred from drink, but still understandable. Taking another swig of the cheap ale her flagon contained, the merchant settled it back on the table and pulled the back of her hand across her mouth.
Nodding to the wine he held, she asked, “Celebrating or commiserating?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It had been a long day in an endless string of long days, and Callidora wasn’t sure how much more she could take. It had been scarcely a week since she’d been freed from the Pharaoh’s dungeon, and she wasn’t sure if she should count these days as a blessing or a curse. Yes, she still had her life, which she supposed was a good thing. But other than that? She had nothing. Everything that mattered to her, everything that made a difference in her life, had been snatched from her in the course of the past year. Her husband, her brother, her wealth, and now Skylla…
Perhaps it would have been kinder to have just submitted to her execution.
Dora spent a good chunk of her life on a ship, so the Grecian woman knew her way around the bottle. While she did not overindulge as much as she had in her younger years, she saw no point to keep up such a habit. After all, what else did she have to lose? The few pennies left to her name? She might as well use them for something that made the night bearable.
She was finally at that point of comfortable numbness when a stranger approached, stiffening slightly at the sound of another’s voice. Understandably, she had little trust for men in taverns; she had seen her fair share of harassment, particularly since coming here. A Greek woman stranded on Egyptian shores at the brink of wartime hardly boded well for her, and so, of course, a curl of suspicion ran down her spine as she eyed her unexpected companion.
However, when Dora looked up at his face, she could find nothing malevolent in his expression or the stance he took. His voice was calm and even, and she could see nothing in his countenance but polite interest. Her profession relied on her ability to read people, and even inebriated, she still had confidence in her ability to do so. He didn’t seem a threat, and even if he was, well… what did it matter?
“Go ahead,” she gestured at the seat across from her when he asked if he could join her, a half-hearted and tired smile resting on her lips. “Beats drinking alone.” Her Coptic was slow and accented, a little slurred from drink, but still understandable. Taking another swig of the cheap ale her flagon contained, the merchant settled it back on the table and pulled the back of her hand across her mouth.
Nodding to the wine he held, she asked, “Celebrating or commiserating?”
It had been a long day in an endless string of long days, and Callidora wasn’t sure how much more she could take. It had been scarcely a week since she’d been freed from the Pharaoh’s dungeon, and she wasn’t sure if she should count these days as a blessing or a curse. Yes, she still had her life, which she supposed was a good thing. But other than that? She had nothing. Everything that mattered to her, everything that made a difference in her life, had been snatched from her in the course of the past year. Her husband, her brother, her wealth, and now Skylla…
Perhaps it would have been kinder to have just submitted to her execution.
Dora spent a good chunk of her life on a ship, so the Grecian woman knew her way around the bottle. While she did not overindulge as much as she had in her younger years, she saw no point to keep up such a habit. After all, what else did she have to lose? The few pennies left to her name? She might as well use them for something that made the night bearable.
She was finally at that point of comfortable numbness when a stranger approached, stiffening slightly at the sound of another’s voice. Understandably, she had little trust for men in taverns; she had seen her fair share of harassment, particularly since coming here. A Greek woman stranded on Egyptian shores at the brink of wartime hardly boded well for her, and so, of course, a curl of suspicion ran down her spine as she eyed her unexpected companion.
However, when Dora looked up at his face, she could find nothing malevolent in his expression or the stance he took. His voice was calm and even, and she could see nothing in his countenance but polite interest. Her profession relied on her ability to read people, and even inebriated, she still had confidence in her ability to do so. He didn’t seem a threat, and even if he was, well… what did it matter?
“Go ahead,” she gestured at the seat across from her when he asked if he could join her, a half-hearted and tired smile resting on her lips. “Beats drinking alone.” Her Coptic was slow and accented, a little slurred from drink, but still understandable. Taking another swig of the cheap ale her flagon contained, the merchant settled it back on the table and pulled the back of her hand across her mouth.
Nodding to the wine he held, she asked, “Celebrating or commiserating?”