Cadmus entered the dimly lit tavern. Old Hob was at station manning the bar. The den was scarcely populated. A few locals and some of his crew huddled close to their drinks.
“Where is the crew of the Rasputina?” The Captain looked at Hob and hissed through clenched teeth. His pipe wreathed his head in smoke.
“The Bucket” The weathered head gave a jerk in the direction of the part of Iron Bay known as The Gut.
The Captains eyes flashed with anger.
“The Goat, the Tin Knight across town, The Couple, even an urchin, but worst of all is the Albino down the street.” His slow, soft tone unnerved his crew nearby. They knew a storm was on the horizon.
Cadmus strode over to the wall and picked up the implement of death. The sharp steel of the harpoon reflected the candle light.
“I will not have a ship dock here and drink there. THIS IS WAR!”
Looking at the Captain, the old tattooed sailor picked up a flensing knife and spoke. “The shroud of the darkness has fallen. Begun the Bar Wars has.”
…did someone say Bar Wars?
My money is on the Cap’n
I would have guessed your money was on ‘The Goat’. *grins*
Sky tries to shake the sawdust from renovations out of her hair and reaches to wipe off Scottie’s shoulder as he continues to work, “Did someone say ‘war’ in the distance? That sounds like fun.”
quick! Hide the Wager book
*flips open the wager book and starts a fresh page*
The Captain had put the men to action. Some were sent to
Port Babbage others to the Gut. A ship patrolled the Bay another to the
Vernian. Hob was given instructions as well.
“Go speak to them. See what they have to say.”
Hob climbed up into the hidden room and opened the iron
strapped chest. His ancient inked hands carefully removed the necessary items. The
cloth was laid out. The candles were
lit. The bones were cast. He examined
where in the lines they fell, the groupings and what direction they pointed.
After everything was stowed in its place he returned to the
bar.
Cadmus saw the odd expression on Hob’s face.
“We must see this ter the end.” Hob said with a crooked smile.
Scald.. Go find out if Hono’s in town this week. I’ll need his help boarding up those front windows. I have a feeling something’s about to stir up in the neighborhood. ::he set his book aside and got up from his chair as he heard the boy’s footsteps scurrying down the stairs:: There should still be some planks and nails left in the basement…
wait a second….has he declared war on all the bars?
o.O
*puts in an order for new windows*
He seems somewhat unstable…I’m not sure I’d put much past him.
*considers installing a cannon or two*
*hands Bert a stack of books*
Nothing to see at The Gangplank Library. Move along.
[img_assist|nid=5603|title=BAR WARS: Civic Duty|desc=Yer do not want ter drink in there. They water dahn their drinks wiv canal water. There is a place near by … |link=popup|align=middle|width=640|height=409]
Tepic carefully polished an old jam jar, pressed into service as a glass, with a cloth that might, in the far distant past of a different life, have been clean. The Vole was busy, with cabin boys, powder monkeys and other youngsters from the boats in one group, a group of local urchins in one corner drinking through hay straws and occasionally whinnying to each other, and in the farthest corner from them another group who had all ordered the lemonaide with the picture of the dinosaur on it for some reason. The ship folk were as boystrous as usual, but the locals were behaving strangely, looking daggers at each other, more than the ever present gang rivalry. Maybe it was time to think of packing up and setting up somewhere less open, the biguns were begining to notice……..