Elcid had a seat at the bar, ordered a pint of Ale and a ploughman's lunch for himself and on Anei's request a glass of wine for her. She looked noticably uncomfortable which Elcid assumed had to do with the suroundings.
'Kick back and relax Lass. If this place ain't to your liking, you're in for a shock onboard ship. The ship stinks of all manner of things worse than cigarette smoke, it's dirty, it's small the food is horrible once it starts to go bad and it's always cold and damp, and you got naught for company but a bunch of smelly violent 'Tars' (OOC: slang for sailors) and yours truely.' Elcid motions to himself with a cheese wedge. 'Damn that reminds me, I need to see about provision. I'd send the midshipman if he wern't such a useless sack of meat, but I suppose if he were useful I'd have made him a lieutenant.'
Anei just sips her wine and Elcid mentions he never could get a taste for that fancy stuff, that his old captain was always trying to culture him up with little success. The wine didn't seem to be having the desired effect on her. He wanted to loosen her up,
but she was getting more and more tense by the minute.
'Don't take this the wrong way lass, but you look as if you need to lie down. I'll settle up here and then let's go back to the ship. You can tell me about things when you're feeling better.'
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"The word rustic doesn’t even begin to satisfy the requirements of an adjective used to describe this town. Rustic is a looming butressed cathedral to this town’s Stone Henge. Rustic is the ocean to this town’s mud puddle. Simply put, rustic is a word inadequate to describe the squalour."
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