2024.05.31: The Dragon With the Flagon
| The Dragon With The Flagon | |
|---|---|
| Norman takes his team out for dinner. It's all going swimmingly until a celebrity arrives. | |
| IC Date | May 31th, 2024 |
| IC Time | Evening |
| Players | Norman, Sark, Trixie |
| Location | Foothills: Jolly Dragon - A Medieval Irish Inn and Tavern |
The chalice from the palace has the brew that is true."
- The Court Jester
Jolly Dragon - Tavern
The Jolly Dragon Tavern is a very carefully designed, 'authentic' medieval inn. While the lighting appears to be from torches on the wall, a closer look will reveal the gas burners hidden within. The tables are big, thick planks of wood with bulky legs and long benches that seat twenty or thirty people. The floor is dirt, the walls are rough carved stone. There is a large fireplace that sits in the middle of one wall, putting out what appears to be a raging inferno, but only puts off minimal heat.
Serving wenches run here and there with large platters of thick stew and gargantuan loaves of bread and huge tankards of locally produced mead. They wear a chemise-styled dress features a drawstring-gathered neckline and billowy, full-length sleeves. The open-front skirt falls from an attached, cross-laced leather cincher.
All meals are served with a loaf of bread. This is your fork. Knives will be provided for large chunks of meat. Everything here is served with some sort of meat broth. We do not have any vegetarian meals and unless you just want some boiled carrots, you're out of luck. Our panfried potatoes are complimentary. They are cooked in lard. Everything is cooked in lard.
Scene 1.1 - The Dragon With the Flagon
(Norman)
There's a large, boisterous crowd of office workers of some sort in shirtsleeves and slacks. Business-people out having a good time after work. The group is large, about 15 people, so they take up about half of one of those long tables. Food is piled in front of them and - as it's a Friday night - the servers are looking a little harried keeping up with drinks and food orders and the other more touristy sorts who think the theme gives them permission to grope the buxom wenches who really just want a paycheck and considerably less sexual harassment in their lives.
The office group looks a few sheets to the wind already. If workers get out at 5pm, and they were here by 5:30pm or so, then an hour into the fete seems appropriate for the hair to come down and the ties to go around foreheads. Ok, not quite that rambunctious, yet. They're American, not Japanese, and seem to be a little more professional than that.
At the head of the group is a larger man, probably the boss. With curly hair and a large frame, he seems to be telling a particularly off-color joke about Teslas and tailpipes and gas-guzzling. There's a burst of laughter at that end, and he's raising a large stein of mead and quaffing half of it.
(Sark)
Sark caught sight of the place when heading home from, ahem, somewhere else, and curiosity is always a powerful force, so that means the young man gets his sandals back on and slips his way in the front door to see what all the noise is about. A simple tshirt and jeans, with white sandals on his feet and his hair tied back in a rope that dangles down past his butt, he looks barely old enough to drink, with a fascinated look on his face as he scans the place, focusing on the big group of what look like friends or coworkers.
He's almost not paying attention when one of the waitstaff finally ask him if he's dining tonight and he chirps up, "Oh! Please yes, just me. Thank you. I mean, if its okay, can I sit close to those folks?" That gets him a wary look like 'are you SURE about that?' but probably too tired to argue, they just agree.
(Norman)
The office workers have broken up into smaller groups, chatting with one another over their food and paying attention to the meal which looks like it's only recently been served. Liquor first, clearly, is the motto of this place. Probably because the food's not the greatest, but you never know could be great! Hammered as a few of them are close to being, it's a safe bet that the grease and the protein are sorely needed to revive their flagging spirits and a day spent in the trenches of ... whatever it is they do.
While a chunk of the white-collars are downing potatoes fried in lard or meat cooked in lard or just sopping up lard with the chunks of bread, the server moves you around to the long table and plops Sark down near the large gentleman. There's a comfortable amount of space between the two of you, as you're not in the same group, but close enough for the family atmosphere of the bar to take hold. The big fellow is currently focused on what's supposed to be an Irish stew. Potatoes, lamb chunks, carrots, and a thick aromatic gravy that drips off the bread like dark glistening jewels of gelatin-rich gemstones.
The big man turns to eye you as you're seated next to him, mouth halfway around a lump of bread and juices. There's a twinkle in his eye as he waves in a pleasantly friendly manner and finishes off his oversized mouthful. He's polite enough not to talk with his mouth full, but he swallows and offers a cheerful, "Good evening!" with a somewhat New York accent.
(Sark)
Sark is, at first, taken with the typical touristy look of craning his head around, absorbing the look of the place, to the point he might not even notice Normal taking notice of him. When he's addressed, though, the young man blinks and then grins toothily, "Hi! I dont think I've even heard of this place before. Issa food worth it? Everyone seems to be scarfing it down...." He blinks and leans back a bit when a mug and plate are brought over and a pan of those potatoes pushed closer, "Ooo, and fast, too..."
(Norman)
"Well," says Norman, quoting Star Tours with a bit of a lilt to his tone, "it's my first time, too!" Not that you probably know what Star Tours is, was(?), but that doesn't stop the line from falling out of his mouth automatically. He's particularly amiable and gregarious and it's easy to fall into the rhythm of a good time surrounding him. "Mead," he says tapping the stein, "meat," he adds pointing to the lamb stew, "and merriment. What more is there to life?" asks the office worker with a wink. "Name's Norm." he offers unbidden and hands you a batard of bread in a yeasty sort of handshake across the distance between the two of you.
(Sark)
Sark rumbles a little at the introduction, laughing as each of the aspects are pointed out, "All three do make for a very good evening..." The bred is taken along with a bit of a mutual shake as if he had grabbed the man's hand instead, even going so far as to lightly bow his head, "Sark, pleasedtameetcha, Norm. Pretty sure I would have remembered meeting you before, so happy to do so now. I take it you are with these guys?"
(Norman)
Norm looks back at the bakers dozen plus one of office workers and then over to Sark, "Or they're with me, yeah." he rumbles and then tosses another, smaller loaf to a coworker who was asking for one of the "forks" this place uses. It's a bit of a mess, but a fun time seems to be had by all. "We're fresh off the boat. Just flew in from New York, been getting our offices set up, and now we're out for an evening of fun and games before we head back to the hotel."
He turns his head and yells at a companionable volume towards someone a few seats down about their alcohol intake. It's friendly, and laughing, and then he's looking back at Sark. "Ugh, she's going to have a hangover tomorrow and not be able to help with moving filing cabinets and desks." He waves a bread loaf like a sword and asks, "So what do you do?"
(Sark)
A soft 'ohhhhhh' escapes the young man as Norman explains what's going on, "I see, well, congratulations and welcome to Prospect, it sounds like? There are quite a few places that can be fun to visit depending on what interests you the most. For me? I run a working ranch up the coast a bit where we breed really big horses and really small horses, among other things. We also take on boarders if you know someone that owns a horse and has nowhere to put it."
(Norman)
With a laugh, the big man tosses his curls in a negating motion and puns, "Neigh. I don't know anyone out here with horses. And it's not like polo's a big west coast sport? Right?" he looks around, as if actually wondering what exactly they do out here on the west coast for fun other than lay in the sun and tan, surf, and take pictures of movie stars. Norm, though, is never one to pass up a chance to network and get to know new people. "Toss me a card," he says, "and if I meet a cowboy or three in my line of work, I'll send 'em your way. I mean, there are guys who come in from Houston and Montana every so often but I'm not sure if they 'have horse, will travel.'" It's another old phrase that a young man probably wouldn't know, but it has a ring to it that Norm loves. "Have a business card?" he asks before digging his bread heel into the soup and taking another bite of meat and veg.
(Sark)
A laugh escapes Sark as, conveniently, soup is also placed down where he can get to it, "You'd be surprised how many people have them. Lots of open beaches and forested areas to ride in...no card though, here, gimme yer number and I'll text you." He pauses for a moment to reach inside his tshirt and pull out the thin silver chain he has hanging around his neck, apparently attached to a tiny cellphone, which he powers on and loads the messaging window, "As for things to do, I highly recommend the Boardwalk. Good view of the bay, and there's a couple of amusement rides and games and food vendors out there. Its not quite Disneyland, but its a good day of fun..."
(Norman)
Norm dusts his hands together over the table to the side of the bowl, then grabs one of the napkins and carefully wipes the grease from his fingers. This place is not, in any way, a delicate and genteel dining experience. It takes him a moment to wipe the sticky grease from his fingers. Carefully, just in case he missed any, he fishes a business card out of his shirt pocket between two fingers and reaches across the table to hand it over. It reads:
H. Norman Alperson
CEO, Alperson Investment Conglomerate
"What about breweries?" he asks, "and any good casinos around these parts?"
(Sark)
Sark takes the card with curiosity and then types the number into his phone so he can text a link to Windstorm Isle's web page, "In case you get curious, and this way you have my number too." Stuffing the phone back into his shirt, he has to think about the question for a moment, trying some of his soup first, then scrunching his nose, "Well, there's King's Brew house, which usually has a good selection of local ciders and ales and meads as well as more commercially available stuff. Casinos? I think you gotta find the closest reservation for those. OR go over to Nevada, cause gambling's not legal in California the last I checked, EXCEPT for reservation lands."
(Norman)
The rest of Norm's group has been busy eating and sobering up. They're entertaining themselves, and are probably grateful someone has taken the boss' attention away from them for a short while. Especially after a long day of unpacking and moving new furniture and the like. Even if he is treating them to a raucous dinner at a themed restaurant. Too, they seem used to Norm's conviviality and welcoming nature towards all when the group is out of the office.
"Good to know," says the man with a nod of his head. "Gotta say I'm not really a fan of the taste and smell of King's product lines. But I'll check out their taphouse. I'm always looking for new stuff to try." He doesn't pull his buzzing phone out of his pocket since he's sure it's your text. "I'll have to look into the Reservations. New York is the same way, or we take a trip across the bridge or tunnel down to Jersey and hit Atlantic City for a day or three."
Scene 1.2 - The Pellet With the Poison
Trixie has arrived.
(Sark)
Sark nods quickly at that, "My estate manager has sorta forbidden me to visit a casino since its just a good way to lose money, and I cant say I completely disagree with her, since there are plenty of local places here to have fun at." he rolls one shoulder and grins, then gets an odd look when HIS phone beeps at him.
Pulling it back out of his shirt, he dangles it in front of his face long enough to read the text alert from someone named 'Martin' talking about 'Thor having broken out of his paddock'. Sark sighs and purses his lips, "Spoiled rotten...well, not a life threatening emergency, he'll go back when he's done scarfing grass." With a roll of his eyes, the phone is slipped back into his shirt.
(Norman)
The restaurant-bar is really hopping for a Friday night and there are several groups at the long tables filling them and keeping the servers busy. One group of about fourteen white-shirted office workers is currently chattering away a little loudly and drunkenly over bowls of stew and potatoes and other things off the menu. Most are digging in heartily at the moment, and a larger fellow in a shirt, tie, and suspenders - who is likely their boss, given the deference they seem to show - is just to the side currently chatting with a thin young man dressed in a relaxed California style across the table.
The blocky, older office worker has a party air about him and while his focus seems to be on a conversation with Sark, he occasionally chats back at questions tossed from his coworkers. He has a New York accent, light, though, as if he's spent a lot of time traveling all over. "It's not like Vegas is that far away, yeah. But for a nice drive out in the evening... yeah." He goes back to taking bites of his food using the bread to sop up the liquid while Sark talks on the phone.
(Trixie)
Trixie enters from the street, pausing a moment as her eyes adjust to the dim light inside. She brushes red hair away from her eyes as she looks around the place with an appraising eye. She even seems to nod with a sense of subdued approval at the wench costumes here. Her eyes pause on Sark for a moment with a look of recognition, then she heads over towards the bar and claims a chair there, clearly not with any of the other groups present. She bends over the drink menu, examining it intently for a bit.
(Sark)
Sark nods once at Norman and chirps, "Now, I mean, if you go to Vegas, there's a lot more than just gambling. We went out there for a F1 race watching show last year and there were shows all over the place you could go see, and not bother gambling a single penny, so it all depends on what you wanna do..." He trails off as he spies Trixie heading for the bar, and lifts a hand to wave enthusiastically at the young lady. At least he doesnt try to yell across the noisy room at her, right?"
(Norman)
As Sark gets distracted by the woman, Norman turns his attention back to his passel of office workers. Seeing drinks are running dry, he orders another round. Which will very, very likely be the last for the evening until he bundles them all onto the shuttle back to the hotel. He seems perfectly sober despite the several empty tankards in front of him, but his coworkers on their third beers definitely do not. Well, everyone could use a day off tomorrow, right? He's a generous fellow and they've been working hard.
After calling for another round, he turns back to Sark and asks more about the Boardwalk. "When you say the Boardwalk, you mean in Prospect? We're still pretty new so I don't know the area at all. Even our office space is mostly temporary while we hunt down permanent digs. got some feelers out, but everything has come back unacceptable to our insurance provider. So I'm all ears when someone is telling me about town."
(Trixie)
Trixie looks back up and around as she feels the eyes on the back of her neck. She spots the waving and raises her hand to wave back with a small smile, although her motion is a bit more subdued than his. She turns back to the bar to order a drink, a glass full of a very dark beer showing up shortly. She turns back in her seat to raise it to Sark before taking a sip.
(Sark)
Sark grins and lifts his mug when Trixie raises her glass, calling out, "Happy to see you someplace other than the Taphouse!" With that said, he nods at Norman's question, "Right. The Boardwalk. If you grab an Uber or Cab, just say 'the boardwalk', they'll know where you wanna go. And if the weather is nice, is a good way to spend a day just being a tourist and eating very bad for you food..."
(Norman)
Norman wasn't really paying attention to the woman who walked into the bar. He was focused on his employees and the conversation with Sark. So he misses the fact that there's a gorgeous celebrity in the little bar. This really is Southern California, isn't it? Movie stars and brand ambassadors abound in the sun and the surf of Hollywood. More than a few of the men and one or two of the women from the office are eyeing the beauty across the bar. Really everyone in the bar would be. Looks like that are hard to miss.
Norman is blinking, checking his mead stein, and then blinking again. He shakes his curled head and offers Sark a broad grin. He's got a party of professional paper pushers to herd. And a chance to learn about the area. "Thanks for the information. I really appreciate it. And I'll definitely send any horses I meet your way." he laughs with a wink. "Might actually happen. Have a few oil guys coming in, in a few weeks."
(Trixie)
Trixie pauses in her chair for a few seconds, taking a second sip of her beer while she hesitates. Then with an almost imperceptible shrug to herself she slides out of the seat and crosses over to Sark to answer his hollered comment. "Hey, yeah. I do like to get out of there sometimes. It is work, after all. Plus, I need to check on the competition, right?"
(Sark)
Sark gives Norman a curious look at that look from him, but smiles again and nods, "Sure thing my friend, you have my number now..." He looks back up at the approaching Trixie and flashes a bright smile at her, "Sorry, I didnt mean to drag you away from your stuff, and I dont blame you for wanting to get away. Uh...Trixie, this is Norman, he and his company just moved into the area and I actually recommended the Taphouse to him. Norm, this is Trixie. IM going to need to head back to the island in a moment, but Im very happy I ran into both of you."
(Norman)
Ok. A commercial star? At their table? The men and women of the office party are enrapt as Trixie makes her way to their table. Basically all eyes are on her at this point while she stands there looking like a Beer Goddess poured into a pair of jeans with a tight red top. The men have definitely noticed. So have the women. A few of whom look jealous, one or two look interested, but all of them are agog to be within breathing distance of a living legend of Advertising.
And now they're mostly all insanely jealous that Norman gets an introduction to the woman who's adorned the walls of more than one of their bedrooms. "Ms. Busch." the executive says with a smile as he stands from the long bench and offers a large hand for a shake. "Your family name precedes you. It's got a long and storied history in the beer-making industry." He glances at his team and widens his smile, "We're all honored to meet you."
After the handshake, he says to Sark, "I'm so sorry you have to go. But thank you for the information. I really appreciate it and so will my team."
(Trixie)
Trixie shifts her beer to her left hand to shake Norman's much larger hand. She looks a bit chagrined to be recognized, but not especially surprised. She only spares a small glance towards the others at the table before answering. "Ah, so you know about all that, huh? I've actually gotten into the art myself recently. Some of my own brews are on tap at the King's tap house here in Prospect."
Sark has disconnected.
(Norman)
The entire office team is leaning in to listen to the conversation. Because they know what Trixie doesn't yet know and is about to learn first hard. Their boss is kinda obsessed with alcohol. Ok, not kinda. The man will talk non-stop for hours on end about various distillations, worldwide breweries, cask strengths, malts, grain bills, aromas, notes, phenols, advertising campaigns, historical trends, minutiae, and even gossip about which vineyard owners were found fornicating in their fields during harvest. The man has a one-track mind if someone gets him started and he Will Not Shut Up. Which can be impressive in some situations, but is really just hilarious to watch someone else be the target of his endless stream of information when it comes to his liquor.
Trixie, either fortunately or unfortunately, depending on her mood, is now squarely downrange of that particular battleship and it's firing on all guns. One of the female office workers tries to quietly whisper to Trixie, "We'll distract him. Save yourself!" as if a rescue from Seal Team Six might be required otherwise. The man is encyclopedic in his knowledge. Though his actual knowledge of brewing methods is light, everything else about liquor seems to be a massive hobby of his.
(Trixie)
Trixie finds her eyes flicking back over the gathered party as they all seem to be staring at her. The 'save yourself' one gets a weird and confused look. "So, right... What are you drinking tonight then? All of you, I guess?"
(Norman)
Norman finishes the handshake - a firm, friendly, amiable grip and release that speaks of business acumen and no gender-games. He's clearly just about to launch into a recitation of his reverence for the Busch family when one of his employees distracts him with some made up office need. Because no one, not even a Beer Magnate, deserves to be on the receiving end of Norman's obsession with every last thing about alcohol. There's a shoo-ing motion, behind his back, from the male employee talking to Norman and holding his attention. Meanwhile, the ladies of the team casually surround Trixie and in the most friendly way possible suggest they all go and powder their noses. "Listen," one whispers, "if he gets started we'll be here 'till three am and you'll probably murder him. Assuming the bar staff don't kick us out and we all have to walk home."
There's a growl as Norman tries to see where the alcohol angel has gone, but he can't see Trixie amid the gaggle of women heading for the powder room. "He will NOT shut up. Trust us." They all laugh, having been on the receiving end of one of the boss' soliloquies before.
