Heine Alaire

Alaire : Today had been the first day since the flogging that Alaire had managed to make it to the guard barracks in the city commons. He was finishing a shift, delivering papers for Katalina and Garrick, having been unable to catch either of them since their respective promotions. It was orders, handed down from General Rilynghym, though he had noted Katalina's name appeared on the proposal. What the general had deposited on his own desk was a proposal for undercover guards, one that she had already approved, meaning there was nothing for him to do for it save make adjustments appropriate for the city and then hand it back to Katalina to put into effect. It wasn't a half bad plan he had decided about half way through the proposal, which was, in truth, only about five pages, but had so many big words from the general's hand that it took him the better part of an hour to decipher. Presently, Alaire was leaving the barracks, removing the stifling cloak and unbuckling his breastplate there in the street, making a clear statement that he was done being in charge, if only for the evening. His cottage had been fixed up, and he had pulled Renaud out of guard school only to deposit him into one of the patrols, but even with this action, the cottage felt lonely. While Renaud was still very much the wild boy, Erzabet's presence left a hole so big that the commander had a difficult time going home without being three  sheets to the wind. So, tonight, he did not, and instead began to wander towards the Painted Robe, a haunt that brought more comfort than he cared to admit.

HËÏŅË :  There was purpose in Heine’s ambling steps today. Where the fuck was he going? To find one individual – Alaire Lisieux. He held no desire to throw diatribes at him over the matters pertaining to his comrades and their prior ‘punishment’ from the Empire. Rather, this was something different altogether. The warrior wished to converse with him. Now, a man as large as the nomad, covered in pelts and leathers (sharp pointy objects too); never appeared to be welcoming towards those in the the streets despite his convivial deportment which extended the branch of friendship towards all parties around him… Yes, even if they were a dwarf. Unless the greedy, sausage fingered bastard pissed him off then he had the right to deny any form of amicable relationship with someone. But shit, other than that, he wasn’t here to play the role of a noble and put on airs … he was here to drag the man off for a good drink and to get to know him. Because, while Signe’s words were limited nowadays, the spitfire Malhin’s were not and she blabbed back and forth about how the man had come off as a good soul. Bjarni were good judges of characters. Their tribe raised strong warriors and trust was something that was considered *very* important to them. Stopping, bright sapphire eyes looked towards the buil –d…ing… - and then they diverted to – oh hey. Alaire – unbuckling his breastplate there in the street. Whilst the tattooed man was only a few feet away, he decided to shout nonetheless at him from behind. “HEY YOU!” It may have caused him to turn around and wonder what village moron was yelling at him but he would be greeted with an ink speckled grin, with a simultaneous rough hand to his shoulder. “I’ve been looking fer yah. ‘Member me?” He saw that the man had been headed towards the Painted Robe but personal space was not something part of the barbarian’s ‘etiquette’ when speaking with others…so, of course, Heine was up in Alaire’s face. Whatever awkwardness the other had assumed the tall easterner had with him, this meeting canceled that out as the brawny male grinned stupidly at him. “Wonderin’ if yeh wanted tah get some drinks together? Since you’re already headed tha’ way.”

Alaire :  Alaire hadn't gotten more than ten steps when he heard a loud voice. Alaire had paused for half a second, preparing himself to get yelled at while he equally steeled his soul against the stupidity of the general public. What he turned to find was clearly a Bjarni, no introduction needed. He had spent months up in the Dragon Peak mountains on a posting, getting to know the people that called the mountains home between shifts of staring at mountain passes. A Bjarni man was the reason Alaire presently sported a crooked nose, the feature having been broken during a wrestling match of all things. Alaire's features softened, realizing it wasn't someone else coming to bring a complaint to him, and he offered a small nod when the Bjarni asked if he remembered him. "From the jail, right?"He was practically being shaken now, and Alaire couldn't help the cockeyed grin that crept onto his face, even if the Bjarni very nearly dwarfed him. "That's the least stupid question I've been asked all day." Or maybe the most, since the answer to that question was always yes. Alaire didn't wait, didn't beat around the bush - he simply plowed ahead with the question that popped into his mind when he spotted Heine. "How is Signe doing?" Well, he hoped, and for all Alaire's bravado about very nearly everything, this was something he broached with no small amount of remorse, even as they walked towards drinks.

HËÏŅË : The grizzly fighter was obviously set on having drinks with the other. They may not have met before but he’d seen his face and his actions against and for his comrades echoed, burrowing deeply into the Bjarni warrior’s mind. ‘If you show respect, we show respect.’ Heine did not hold any form of grudge for what the man did to his childhood friend and while it had pained him seeing her so broken … it’d also been a rite for their tribe as well. He respected her for enduring the pain. To show that, yes, they were an indomitable force within the Empire. But even they had their limits, they were mortal after all. (and the dominating law broke those rumored legends about the warrioress and her fellow comrades.) Her broken in skin and muffled cries (as well as the elf’s that day) revealing to others they were just as the same as any person who walked these cobblestone streets; from whores, to bakers, to tailors etc. etc. etc. but their unyielding spirit was what buoyed the Bjarni trio on that eve. Yet, with it being all said and done … now? They could only move on from their prior mistakes and learn. Their Chieftain’s laws were their laws and Heine had been proud of his tribe members for showing reverence towards those very principles. A burst of laughter came from the tall man’s lungs when Alaire appeared steely and then melted into softened features. “Ah, yah. Th’ jail. I never got tah have the proper word with you. Name’s Heine.” Of course he knows who you are idiot – didn’t stop him from introducing himself *again.* Relinquishing his hold on the other’s broad shoulder, he gave him a hard slap and another boisterous laugh left the blond nomad. “GOOD! ‘Cause I’ve got room for an entire night’s worth of fuckin’ around – “ he did come to pause though when the other inquired about Signe and his thick, untrimmed brows rose, “She’s doin’ jus’ fine. Thanks fer askin’. Pretty sure she’s out with Malhin somewhere fuckin’ around. It was because of them that I approach yeh tonight. Like, I’ve been wanting to have drinks with you FOREVER and all of these things keep happenin’.” Coming into the direction of the Painted Robe, he lifted his booted feet and kicked at the door and he rose up his hands, “DRINKS! Where is Armadi? – “ – “…errr, you mean Amanda?” – “YAH, ‘er! I want some drinks for my friend an’ myself with ‘er.” And in the male inhaled the essence of the Painted Robe – aw, yeah, smell it – piss, barf, dirt, and sex.

Alaire :  All the time in the Dragon Peak mountains still hadn't prepared him for a proper slap on the back by a Bjarni warrior, because not only could you never expect when it would happen, but they all had such varying degrees of strength that it was impossible to brace for. This reality meant that Alaire had visibly lurched forward and laughed as Heine's hand slapped him on the back, his loose breastplate rattling with the convivial gesture. "Alaire," the guard responded  without a second thought to Heine offering his name. They hadn't properly introduced themselves, so he didn't personally find it strange they were exchanging names. "I don't remember the last time I actively fucked around while drunk." It had definitely been in the Dragon Peak mountains, small surprise. The conversation touched on Signe, and Alaire gave a nod of his head, glad to hear that she was making a smooth recovery. He had tried incredibly hard to keep the lashings as light as possible, but honestly, with a Cat o' Nine, it was hard to tell. "I was hoping to grab all three of you, but I guess I'll settle for the least scary of the bunch," Alaire responded with a wry grin, cheerfully shoving Heine's shoulder with the jab. The Painted Robe never changed, and now, with his life in upheaval, it was more like home than the cottage. Alaire took a moment to drink in the setting - loud, wild, reeking, but joyous. The music got louder by the hour now that dark was upon the city, and the crowd was only growing denser, more wild as liquor fueled the flames of reduced inhibitions. "Amanda still works here?" Alaire asked, moving to sit at the bar - all the tables were claimed, and this way, liquor delivery would be quick. "I slept with her once. Gave me the itchiest crotch I've ever encountered. Fucking -crabs-."
HËÏŅË : He hadn’t meant to cause the other’s equilibrium to be off...oops. It was amusing to see, nonetheless. Though, Heine did come at him pretty hard, unintentionally, of course. Such laughter from the Bjarni warrior only came to be louder until he quieted himself (or at least what was considered ‘quietude’ for this ever-bouncing warrior consistently on the tips of his toes. Eyes brightened ever more at the sight before him and in he swept with a rough, calloused hand to grab at the tail end of the other’s shirt to steady Alaire, or, um, well, *try* to anyway. It was in the other’s recall of previous inebriation, the hardman snorted in a hearty manner. “Then you’ll need to get used to it when you’re in my company. You’ll be *literally* fucking while drunk by tonight’s end for sure – I mean, tha’ is, if you have a … girl’er’somethin’…. then not.” Hell, he didn’t know. This was how you found out about people, duh. Internally, the toned nomad was pleased that he got the other’s name right. He had tried repeating the name but with his accent and the way he spoke common with others – it made it harder to pronounce (why was why he felt grateful the head guard introduced himself as ‘Alaire’ … thank, Valhalla.) After the two migrated in from the street and approached the weathered down sidebar, Heine pushed himself into the aging wood. Even as it creaked, it still maintained his encroaching weight and he lightly tapped upon the surface signaling to the bartender to bring them two rounds of heavy ale. Watching Alaire respond with a wry grin then, he felt the motion of his body come to move slightly at that jab to his own shoulder, “OI, ALL of our women are scary in their own right but the scariest they can be is in the bedroom, ya’know?” He thumbed at his nose to signify to Alaire he had heard of his tales of the guard stationed within the mountains (and perhaps some other rumors as well relating to *that* kind of activity besides his assigned duty.) As the two settled themselves and the tattooed nomad gave his request for ‘Amanda’ – he found himself quickly revoking his request. “Shiiiiiit. I’ve not slept with her yet. I am not up for a fuckin’ medical visit. FUCK THAT! GET TIFFAN—“ – The bartender didn’t look amused as he used his dirty rag to clean out some recently used glass of ale. “…you barfed on her last time. She don’t wanna see yeh.” Oh, right… …oops. “OKAY, look, just…just get me a fuckin’ – “ It was then some good lookin’ lassie strut up beside the gentleman and propped her boobs up onto the counter’s surface…that’ll do. As the coin was given and the drinks were served, Heine held up his drink towards Alaire. “Cheers to … fuck I don’ know. Just cheers. I’m thirsty!”

Alaire :  "That's the dream, isn't it?" Alaire responded to Heine's comment on fucking. The comment of a girl had Alaire give a shrug of his shoulder. "Wife left me," and just as it seemed he might fall into that dark spiral again, he grinned deviously, "But you know what they say. Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else." As another barmaid wandered by, Alaire garnered her attention by waving her over. "Can you take this up to my old room for me?" It was once  Erzabet's, then their shared room, and now it was his. He wondered who he would share it with before he took his turn to move on. The barmaid smiled and Alaire shrugged off his breast plate, cloak, bracers and greaves, but had tucked it all neatly into the dip of the plate before handling it over. He made sure it wasn't too heavy for her, and then let it into her capable hands. "Look," Alaire said, turning towards Heine as he began to mention Amanda, "That was years ago. She probably has it cleared up by now." That, or it was a whole new game of Russian Roulette that you played with your dick. Much more frightening, to be honest. Alaire wasn't waiting for a woman to get there to get drunk. He was far more entertaining when he was drunk, and it was so much easier to convince a woman you were harmless when you could barely stand. It helped that the potential girl couldn't either. BUT NO MEANS NO. "Lets get some of that whiskey rolling." Coin exchanged, Alaire snorted as the bartender told Heine how he had puked on Tiffany. "That's nothing, man. I banged her once, too. I forgot her name half way through fucking," he rose his glass and cheered, ignoring the woman that just came - for some reason they liked it when you ignored them, and why not give Heine the first swing? This was his idea, anyways. He made a final thrusting motion with his hips. "Came in her ass. Said thanks. Called her 'Tina' of all the fuckin' things. Never been hit so hard in my life."