Drinks all Around! (Open)

[Isaak Balcescu]

It was a fine evening for celebration. Wine, ale, and mead abound in the building, and a boisterous time was to be had amongst the villagers. And why not? As may be said: Eat, Drink, and be Merry, for tomorrow you may die. It seemed the merriest of all was Isaak himself, for though he did not drink, he appeared to take great joy in sending tankards screaming across the bar top.

With his sleeves rolled up, and his arms full, Isaak let fly a joke or two. And in exchange, he received laughter. Laughter, and secrets. Always secrets. Everyone trusted him in the village, and why not? When a woman’s child fell sick, if the church would not help her, so he would. Often he harbored runaway slaves in his guest room, though it was no fault of his that when they departed, it was straight back to the auction block.

“My friends!” He called out, slamming a large tray of ale onto someone’s table. “It is not long before the village festival, but I am still without a dancing partner! In honor of my wife’s memory, will anyone grant me that fortune?” He asked, grinning. A group of chortling women nearby who were old enough, possibly, to be his mother, leaned forward to give ample peeks at their…less than appealing assets. “We would, Isaak!” They screeched. Certainly not the prettiest women, and nor had they been when they were in their so called prime.

Grabbing his heart, he held out an arm to them. “Such fine beauties. It would be unfair to settle on just one! Alas, I suppose I shall be alone at the festival. Though it nearly bankrupts me every fall! You people drink too much.” He laughed, slapping a nearby man on the back, and receiving his own slap in turn.

[Doulos Toutheo]

It was a rare day when Doulos was allowed to leave the cold walls of the Citadel and venture into Littlewood; and for that reason he cherished moments like this. Though the city was dark with the danger that always loomed over it, to the vampire’s slave it was bright as a rainbow. The people here lived in freedom, even in the fear that they would be attacked. Freedom… how they took it for granted. How they looked down on those like him, those who couldn’t celebrate the festival that even now he could see them preparing for. The only parties he ever attended were the ones where he was the waiter… or the snack. In fact, it was a small mystery that none of his so-called masters had killed him yet. Maybe it was a testament to the taste of his blood.

Today, however, he wasn’t spending the night bleeding for a vampire. Tonight he carried with him a package, a small brown box with a red stamp signifying that it came from the Citadel. Though the city called to him he couldn’t stop to explore. The master had been specific, take the package to the Tavern owner, and return immediately. Besides, he wasn’t exactly welcomed here with open arms. His clothing told of his position as a slave, and it made the free people of Littlewood keep a wide berth. No one wanted to get involved with a slave of the vampires.

The tavern reeked of ale and sweat. It was nothing like the refined styles of the vampires, it felt dirty. Garlic hung like furniture, and Doulos contemplated the punishment he’d receive were he to return smelling of the stuff. Best to keep away.

He made his way through the crowd of drunken men and women, keeping his arms in and his low, as working in the Citadel had taught him. He slid up to the bar, leaning on it but not taking a seat and waiting to catch the attention of the man behind the counter. The sooner he finished this job and returned to his masters the more likely he’d be able to eat and sleep tonight.

[Isaak Balcescu]

As Isaak crossed back behind the bar and knelt down to heft up a barrel, he grunted. It wasn’t an easy burden, and not many could lift it as easily as him, even though the muscles and veins in both his arms and necks were straining with the effort. Slamming it on the bar top, he patted the top. “In a few weeks time, this will be what you’ll all be drinking. Some of the finest stuff I could afford, thanks to a little help. I have several barrels just waiting to be emptied, and I’m sure none of you will have any trouble. BUT, I want some opinions! If it’s bad, I’ll pour it down the streets. What do you all say to a free nip, eh?” He announced, with several cheers in response.

Tapping into the barrel, he held a tankard underneath and gave a wink to one of the barmaids. Even if it tasted like swill, he wasn’t going to toss it away. He’d just give it a different name, but there was no harm in having a little fun tonight. After all, he was to receive something special from the Citadel. Anything that came to him from there was a blessing.

“Drink up, boy!” He intoned, slapping the nearest person on the back. It was a young man with haunted eyes. Isaak didn’t recognize him at all, but chances were that he was a servant, a slave, or a newcomer. Which meant…

“GO ON NOW! DRINK!” Isaak shouted, knowing that the only way to keep a citadel resident’s identity hidden was to be as friendly and loud as possible. Hopefully he was smart enough to take the hint.

“Don’t worry, there’s no charge!” He bellowed, with even more laughs from other customers.

[Doulos Toutheo]

The slap to the back almost pushed Doulos over the counter. He was a lithe little thing, barely 130 pounds, and Isaak obviously could heft some weight based upon the size of that barrel. The ale slammed down in front of him swished in its glass; and for a moment he contemplated refusing the offer. After all, who knew what would happen if he returned to the Citadel smelling of drink. Besides, to be completely honest Doulos had never had anything even remotely alcoholic in his life, but he’d seen what it did to people’s inhibitions.

At the same time he could now feel every eye in the tavern upon him, and he knew that refusing the generous offer would draw far too much attention. Whatever punishment he was t receive for drinking definitely wouldn’t be as bad as the punishment he’d receive if he made a scene here. And so with that his slim fingers grasped the glass (what a strange shape, were human contraptions always so crudely made?) and he lifted it to his lips, inhaling the harsh scent before tipping it into his mouth.

It tasted as harsh as the smell suggested, and after forcing it down his throat he set the glass back down and coughed slightly. The eyes still stared into his back, so he offered a slight smile and mumbled out, “’Tis good.” Another drink, this time it went down a little easier. In fact, it wasn’t so bad. Much better than what he was normally offered; and as time continued he found the glass was almost empty, and his fingers felt funny, like little needles were pressing into them.

[Isaak Balcescu]

Leaning over the counter, Isaak watched the boy drink. At first, it seemed he wouldn’t really finish it, which was what Isaak expected. Just a few sips for show-but then he up and almost finished the thing! With each gulp he took, Isaak’s eyes grew slightly wider. From what he could tell, this one wouldn’t be able to handle the stuff if he had too much. I’ll have to get Helga saddled and drag him back to the citadel by cart… He thought to himself, frowning. It would only be a viable option much later at night, when everyone else was in bed. But it all rather defeated the point of having a messenger…

Reaching into his apron pocket, Isaak grasped his letter, which was to be sent back to the Court Mistress. He would slip it into the young man’s grasp later, but for now he just had to make sure nobody drank themselves to death. “Slow down there!” Came a screeching cackle across the room. It was one of the old sisters who’d offered to go to the festival with him.

“Ahhh, leth him have shome fun!” A very…robust…man at the edge of the bar slurred, taking a gulp of his own drink, and letting the droplets slide down over his two chins.

“What’s your name, boy?” Isaak asked, looking down at Doulos. It was very hard to look up or level with anyone, when you were as tall as he was. Truth be told, his head almost brushed the ceiling.

[Doulos Toutheo]

Doulos put the glass down and touched his fingers together. What a strange sensation, was this normal? Curious…. Curious indeed. He almost forgot that his actions would probably elicit the wrath of his masters, and looked up with hazed eyes when the barkeep spoke to him again. “Im… Doulos.” It was a name given by his Masters, one that anyone knowledgeable in the Greek language would see the irony in.

“I have a box…” he reached into his coat and pulled out the little brown package adorned with the Citadel’s symbol, his buzzed mind not quite thinking his every action through. “And I need to go back… it’s late and I’ll get beaten…” With that he pushed himself up, immediately staggering and catching himself on the counter.

Did the world always shift like this? Gravity seemed to twist and turn, and with it Doulos. Only the counter he clung to kept him steady.

[Isaak Balcescu]

Snatching the package up as quickly as it was pulled out, he hid it under the bar and looked around. Nobody was paying too much attention to them, so he hoped they didn’t see. And even if they did, he was going to make good and sure they didn’t find out where the boy came from.

“Sit down! It’s far too dark out right now to venture in the streets. Here, we’ll get some good stew in your belly, and see about getting you back to where you came from. How does that sound?” Isaac asked, his gravelly voice carrying, even if he put it at a whisper. Some people said he was a born actor. And they weren’t too far from the truth.

And that’s when the fiddle playing began. Which meant this was going to be a very late night. The prettier lasses began to clap, ringing their arms together and spinning about a table. Their partners joined in, for they were far too charming to be single. Normally, Isaac would be glad for the celebration, because it meant ample ale would flow, and coin into his pocket.

But there was a very busty woman, older than the lasses, but not too old to be unappealing to the eye, who couldn’t help but sidle up beside Doulos and whisper in his ear. “Aw, c’mon love. Your wife doesn’t have to know that you had a little fun tonight? And isn’t it worth it?” She giggled, making sure her chest was in full view. She had a tankard of ale in her own hand, and took a good long swig. She was the sort who could be paid to go away, or stay and have a bit of fun.

“Oh, go on, Louise. Leave him alone.” Isaac said, frowning. Louise just stuck out her tongue at him and grabbed Doulos’ shoulder. “C’mon, dance with me!” She shouted, slamming her drink down on the bar.

[Doulos Toutheo]

“N-no, I have to… I have to go.” But there was no chance that he was making it out on his own. He looked at Isaak, pleading. Didn’t he realize what would happen if he was late? Didn’t he realize what happened to slaves who disobeyed orders? He needed to leave, now. “Please, I must g-“

He was cut short by a whisper in his ear. It sent shivers down his spine and made his hand instinctively go to his neck, remembrances of lips locked onto his skin, sucking the lifeblood from his body. He turned his head to look at the woman; an older woman. There weren’t many of those in the Citadel, the vampire were eternally youthful and slaves rarely lived into their old age. Her bosom pressed up towards his face, and for a moment he stared at it in confused shock, not quite understanding the words that spilled from her mouth.

The barkeep tried to stand up for him, but the next thing Doulos knew she was pressing onto him, drink abandoned and ordering him to dance with her. Dance? He couldn’t dance! Slaves didn’t dance, it was an action of joy, and his life was that of mundane existence. “No, I must… I must return home.”

[Isaak Balcescu]

Before he could argue further, Louise drug the boy onto the dance floor, and linked her arm with his, kicking her skirts wildly with the tune as she spun about, obviously the sort who enjoyed leading. Everyone was just to excited and happy, as the fiddle music played, Isaak almost forgot it was a bad thing that the boy wasn’t being aloud to leave. He shrugged, and sat down, reaching under the bar and pulling out a bit of parchment. Snapping at one of the barmaids, she rushed off to get him some ink.

He was an odd tavern owner, sometimes, with his habit of randomly writing down notes. But people didn’t question him, because Isaak was beloved of the village. Friendly, loud, and free with his drinks. There was no possible way he could be doing anything sinister.

“Garland the leader!” Shouted one girl. “GARLAND THE LEADER!” They all began to chant, as a few people climbed up to the rafters and snatched down strings of garlic. It was a very strange local dance, wherein they would drape the garlic over each dancer and spin around in a large formation. Nothing out of the-

“Oh no…Come on, now! He’s a terrible dancer!” Isaak boomed, leaping over the bar and bounding out to join the dancers. “You’d much rather dance with me, eh, Louise?” He asked, pulling her away, and leaning close.

“Aw, come off it! I’ve got a new partner, thank you very much.” Louise teased, pushing him away. Chuckles rang throughout as another woman grabbed Isaak and brought him in to join the dance. All the while, Doulos was drug ever further.

[Doulos Toutheo]

He was lucky the woman liked to lead, for he had no idea what he was doing. In fact, as far as he could tell he was just being thrown every-which way, yanked back and forth. The booze in his system kept him in a hazy state, so he didn’t pull away. It wasn’t so bad, he thought. At least he was being accepted, how often was it that he got to have fun? If he was going to be dragged into this he might as well enjoy it, right?

He was even beginning to get into it, and was about to tell the barkeep (Isaak, was it?) not to worry so much when he was yanked away into a circle and a ring of garlic was draped around his neck.

The smell snapped him out of his drunken haze. With a cry Doulos ripped the foul-odored herb from around his neck knocking his collar down in his haste and revealing the bite marks that riddled his neck. Even the most ignorant man would recognize the scars as a vampire’s mark.

[Isaak Balcescu]

The room was silent, as looks cycled across the group faster than the fiddle could stop. The dancers stared in astonishment and slowly began to back away, whispering amongst each other. As for Isaak, he slowly reached up to his own garland and pulled it away. It was an uncomfortable sort of feeling, trying to figure out how to properly react. So, he straightened up his back (which gave him a good extra three inches in height) and slowly walked towards the boy.

“An escaped slave, from the Citadel. You should be more careful about who you reveal that to. Who knows if they have spies amongst us.” He spoke softly, but his voice carried all the same. A few people began to nod in agreement, all knowing what would happen to escaped slaves if they were ‘returned’. And it was no secret about the rewards offered.

“Come, boy. We’ll get you cleaned up. I’ll give you shelter until morn, when someone can get a coach out.” He offered a hand. Nearby, an old man puffed on a pipe and nodded. “I can take ‘im.” He rasped, scratching his stubbled chin. Isaak mentally made a note to report him to the Court for conspiracy to harbor or transport escaped slaves, all the while smiling and nodding.

“You are amongst friends here.” Isaak continued. “And none more than myself, as well as these good people.” At which point, the fiddle picked up again. Disaster had been averted, thanks to a few quick words.

[Doulos Toutheo]

Doulos’ heart stopped along with the merriment. He looked back and forth as whispers spread, all too aware of what was being said about him. He was a slave. A piece of trash that had crawled out of the Citadel. And now they’ shun him out, or worse, try to return him to his masters. Oh, how he could see his fate already, the anger on his masters’ faces as they realized that the slave they’d sent to do a simple task had caused a public scene. They might as well kill him now, surely death at the hands of these villagers would be better than what the vampires would think up for him.

But then Isaak was there, covering for him again; and all of a sudden everyone was nodding in agreement with his words. A coach, a way out… for a moment he let himself consider it as if it was a possibility. But he was no fool, there was no safe place for a person like him. His life was in the Citadel, and trying to escape it could only mean death. Besides, the barkeep was a Citadel spy. Had to be, or Doulos wouldn’t be here now. He could only manage a nod in relief, though not because he had been accepted. Because now, maybe, he could finally get home. He was already dangerously late, he’d be beaten for sure. Whether he lived… well, that was up to how soon he could leave this place.

He had eyes only for Isaak as the music started back up and the dancing started back up; big and round eyes, pleading for a way out.

[Isaak Balcescu]

Isaak’s loyalty lay not with the court, but with Tyranny. The boy had done nothing to anger either, but merely been too eager to finish his drink. In a way, it was Isaak’s fault, and he would take full responsibility for it. He should have poured less, perhaps. Maybe even merely pretended to pour, whilst keeping only barley water in the mug. But it was too late now to turn back the clock, so he decided he would write a letter to the Court Mistress, begging leniency for the messenger from the hands of his master.

Taking Doulos under his arm, he began to lead him across the room towards a door behind the bar. Isaak’s own private quarters. “I will have the girls bring you hot water for a bath. You’ll have to scrub the garlic off before I send you back to the court.” He whispered confidentially, bending his head down low so the rest would not know what he was speaking of. They probably thought he was offering words of solace for the boy’s suffering. And who would know pain, better than friendly old Isaak, who’d lost his own wife, adoptive father, and closest friend to the court? If anything, he should be the person most likely to harbor slaves from the court. It was a wonder he’d gone so long without being captured himself, or murdered.

“If you expect to leave the Citadel again, you’ll have to figure out a way to look less like a rabbit in a snare, and more like the hunter who built it.” Isaak advised, pushing his door open and leading Doulos inside. As he closed the door behind him, his eyes darted towards his private fireplace. “You did not bring extra clothes, obviously. I’m sure you didn’t know you’d be wrapped in garlic when you got here. No matter, Ilsa will bring you suitable garments. We have travelers here all the time who go mysteriously missing. Plenty of garments for you to choose from.” He tapped the side of his nose and smiled.

“Tell your master that I am most grateful for the package, but next time bring it around the back.”

[Doulos Toutheo]

Once safely away from curious eyes and ears, Doulos stepped away from Isaak and bowed, “Thank you sir. I apologize for my ruckus.” The words slid off his tongue like the mead had down his throat, his head clearer but still fogged by the drink.

“I can’t linger, my lord will be very unhappy that I have failed to perform my duties properly.” Though a bath very well was in order, to return smelling of garlic was a death sentence. And his clothes should be washed, at the least; though the idea of taking the garments of some unlucky traveler did appeal to him. It wasn’t everyday he got new clothes he could call his own.

“You’re kindness is unsurpassed, sir.” Truly, were all of the human Citadel spies like this? If so, then perhaps he should opt for these village tasks more often; grated that he didn’t mess up again.

[Isaak Balcescu]

Putting one hand on his hip, Isaak bent his head slightly and scratched his forehead, giving Doulos a sort of half-smirk, his forehead wrinkling a bit. “I have had to calm far worse scenes. The worst they could have done, knowing where you came from, was to throw you out of the tavern.” He said this wall with a sort of weary voice, as if all of the energy he expended daily in the open was taking it’s toll. In private, Isaak was not nearly so outgoing.

Removing his jacket, he knelt by the fire place and snatched up a poker, stoking the coals. Sparks flew out as a thin, charred log broke in half. Beside the fireplace was a large metal tub, which he reached for next without releasing the poker, and drug it out into the middle of the room, tossing the poker back to clatter beside the bricks. Clapping his hands together to wipe away the debris it had gathered, he headed towards the door and tipped his head back to Doulos. “Relax in here for a bit, I shall be back.” Isaak said, heading out of the room.

For a long time, it was silent, and empty, save for Doulos. Behind the door, laughter could be heard. This was one of the days when the good villagers felt free to be cheerful. And their dancing was so energetic, that their feet shook the very floorboards of the tavern.

Finally, after what seemed a very long time, the door slowly opened, and two women came inside with huge buckets in hand. They emptied them in the tub, and then left. It took three more trips before the tub was brimming with water, and only one woman remained. She was a chubby little creature with bright red freckles, and several missing teeth. “I am Ilsa, boy. I have clothes for you to wear, but there is not much to fit you.” She explained, indicating a chest by the doorway. She shared the room with Isaak.

Jogging over to the chest, she heaved it open and smiled broadly back at Doulos. “It will be easier to hide in this, so that is good, right?” She asked. Her words were rather halted, as if she wasn’t very familiar with the language. Immediately she pulled out an intricate turquoise garment, which could very well have been worn by a courtier…it was fine and ornate, with great trailing sleeves…but…it was a dress.

“This is your size.” She stated, her smile still big and wide.

[Doulos Toutheo]

When Isaak left, Doulos found himself in the nearest corner, pressed into the wall. The tight, surrounding space brought some comfort to him, allowing his body and mind to relax after the drink and traumatic events. He did his best not to think of his dim future; if worse came to worse Doulos had his silver tongue, it had saved him on many an occasion. Though if his mind was as weak as it was now, none of his words would come out with the musical flow he needed.

The tub was not completely foreign to him, they had such things in the slave quarters. Although the kind he was used to was often filled with ice cold water once a week and then shared by a multitude of slaves. The water the servants poured into this tub was crystal clear. Doulos made his way from the safety of his corner and to the tub’s edge, reaching in and touching the water. It was by no means warm, but it wasn’t cold as ice either. The water swished in formations around his hand, enchanting him. Was this what it was like to be free? To drink, to dance, to have a clean bath whenever one desired? It was not such a bad life, he supposed.

Still, Doulos couldn’t find it in himself to be very envious. The life of freedom was unattainable to him, even were he to escape. He had no doubts in the vampires’ abilities to hunt him down and end his life.

“I am Ilsa, boy.”

Doulos spun around to meet the woman who had spoke. He watched her warily as she made her way to the chest a shifted through clothing, still only trusting Issak in this place. She pulled out an item, very beautiful and stunning… and very much a dress. “That… that is a dress,” he corrected the woman, hoping she was as new to choosing clothing items as she seemed to be with the language. There was no way he could return in that, the vampires loved to poke fun at others expense. It would be like walking into a wolf kennel covered in meat.

[Isaak Balcescu]

Ilsa blinked and stared at the boy. The poor creature had probably suffered countless indignities, and he was such a pretty child too. Her mother had told her long ago before she came to this place, when the monsters were legend more than truth…that they appreciated beauty in their toys. For those whose eyes sparkled with innocence, they treasured even more. And she was old enough to see it somehow remained with this young man…

“You must wear.” She insisted, walking forward and holding the dress up in the light. Pride would have to be placed aside, if he hoped to escape from them. “Only way you can run.” Ilsa explained, folding the dress up and laying it over a chair.

Meanwhile, outside, Isaak had been confronted with an unpleasant scene. Namely, someone who’d had far too much to drink (even for a rowdy night.) So he’d had to bodily throw old Croak out through the window. It created far too much entertainment for the rest, who were already plotting to make their stories of the incident far more exaggerated in the retelling.

Dusting off his hands, Isaak straightened his tunic and tossed a towel to one of the bar maids, winking at her. “Going to go check on the boy. Come get me if this lot gets too crazy for you, love.” And with that, he was sweeping back into the room, laughing at a joke old Inga was saying about her long dead husband.

“Ilsa, feel free to go. I can take it from here.” Isaak gestured to the woman, who nodded and rushed from the room. “And you, boy, take that bath already. You can’t stay here all night, after all.” He advised, crossing his arms. The dress escaped his notice.

[Doulos Toutheo]

“Oh…” Doulos resigned himself to his fate. Return in a dress, or in clothes that reeked of garlic; yes, the former was by far the safer option. All the same it didn’t sit well in his stomach, he was always so careful to make sure his every action could not elicit the wrath of his Masters; but here he was where he could only make the best of a bad situation. “I will… wear it then.”

Just has he had made his decision, Isaak returned to the room and reminded him that time was of the essence. Immediately he stripped and slipped into the cool water, sinking beneath the threshold into a world of silence where nothing seemed to exist. For a moment he floated there, under the water, and then, like a babe thrust from the womb, he broke the surface with a gasp of air.

Accustomed to bathing quickly, it was barely three minutes before the slave pulled himself from the tub and toweled himself off. He didn’t even miss a beat before donning the elegant dress. It clung to his frame tightly, compressing his torso into a hourglass shape, and flowing out to the floor. His arms were a little too manly, his chest a little too flat; but other than that, he made a fine woman.

[Isaak Balcescu]

Gazing at Doulos, Isaak was silent for a very…very long time. Frowning, he furrowed his brows and slowly crossed towards the young man in the pretty dress. Encircling him with slow paces, Isaak breathed deep. The air was…more than a little tense. Finally, he stepped back, and met Doulos eyes. And then…nostrils flaring…

He began to snort. And then chuckle. And then laugh…and then finally, he began to laugh so hard, that he had to grab his sides. “I….” He gasped, leaning forward. “I…” Isaak cried again, his voice dangerously high. “I’m sorry…” He continued, making an awful ruckus as he held his stomach tightly.

Eventually though, Isaak did quiet down, and began to wipe the tears from his eyes, placing two hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You must be the only messenger to the tavern henceforth. I shall inform the Court Mistress by letter that no one else is more welcome than a slave who could provide old Isaak such a laugh. In truth, it has been very long since I have been so amused in earnest.” Slapping Doulos’ back, Isaak headed towards a desk piled with old quills and crumbling parchment. Brushing aside some debris, he sat down at a nearby chair which creaked under his weight…yet did not give.

After a bit more fiddling and shuffling, he finally managed to begin the letter. “What was your name, again?” He asked, looking back up at Doulos.