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Sage to Oila and the Room

Sage looked up.
It was the shy girl, and she wanted to help out for the night?

In an instant, Sage assessed her. Cute, better ass than she probably gave herself credit for, skittish, and distant. She'd been hurt, was afraid, and that was fine. She needed two gold for the night, and he could provide that. Beyond that, he cared not.
He brought his purple gloved hand up to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully.

"I'll pay you either two gold for the night, or one gold, two silvers, and a room. That's for serving any customers that need anything. If you get any tips, you can keep them."

He glanced around, lingering extra long over at Merideth and the Preacher, then looked back at her. "But I wouldn't expect big money from the cheapskates here."

But even saying that snarky comment put a smile on his face, and he was glad to have a serving wench again. He looked up and brought his finger to his neck. "And show us some cleavage, will ya? No one ever tipped a waitress who wasn't hoping that her tits would just fall right out of her blouse."

But there was a little half wink and she was officially on the job. He poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher and sat back to watch the room now.
There was the Gunslinger and her games with the Preacher (he knew who was the bigger viper in THAT group), there were the wonder twins, there was wonder-twin number two who was trying to fight with the young man at the bar, and there was wonder-twin number two who just happened to catch his eye every few minutes.

The water was sipped.
The barmaid was hired.

Now he could kill anyone bloodlessly before they had the option of destroying his beautiful hardwood floors.        

-to Sage

Oila watched in utter disbelief the exchange between Sidda and Sage. The girl had a spine, and the wheelchair man had a mouth and an attitude. The waif of a woman had lost track of everyone else in the room until Sage suddenly spoke to the room in his demanding voice.

Blinking, Oila looked at everyone in the room. The handsome man who had come in with the beautiful girl was now at the bar, seeming to make conversation with the good-looking rogue of a man. The Preacher had joined the tired and amused looking gunslinger.

She hadn't been served, but she also hadn't tried to get anyone's attention to get served. Her stomach growled loudly, and an arm slapped itself across it. A blush crept up her pale cheeks.

After Sage had gone about his business, Oila did something she hadn't expected to do. Ever.

Slowly, she scooted out of her chair, carrying her bag of few belongings with her. She put it on the bar carefully, and picked up the apron Siddha had been wearing. She played with it in her hands awhile, noticing how clean it still was.

"I will work for you tonight for some food," she said softly, not looking up at anyone, still looking down at the apron.

Sage to Sidda and Ella and the whole room

Interesting how things play out.

Sage watched Sidda storm out. Good for her. There are two types of people in the world and she was one of them. She didn't take his crap, and nor should she have. When she stormed out, she gained further respect in his eyes. Of course, that would do no one any good, since now he had no serving girl, but sometimes life was about respect given and received, and though she'd never know it, he approved of her actions.
But now he'd be serving the drinks himself until someone else came in and demanded to be mistreated for virtually no pay at all.

Hey, some people were into that, you never know.

So Sage rolled back out into the main room and cleared his throat to make an announcement.

"Ladies and gentleman! If I can have your attention for a moment, please. Due to completely predictable circumstances, I now no longer have a lovely, well-endowed serving wench, so you'll be yelling at me for your orders. If any of you know anyone who would like to be a serving wench, I accept applications."

He leaned back in the wheelchair. The Preacher lost his plaything but would no doubt find her halfway down the street if he really wanted her. Otherwise everyone seemed to already have a drink in hand. He rolled his wheelchair around the bar and grabbed a towel, but didn't do anything with it. It was a strange night. The Gunslinger was giving him the evil eye, the waitress wasn't putting up with his shit, the wonder twins were activating their 'mysterious' rings, the chick in the corner was saying nothing, and the strapping young lad at the bar was about to get all roughed up from Power Twin number one.

Hilarity was about to ensue, he was sure of it.

Sage to Sidda and Ella

Things were already starting to get exciting. Sage liked that only insofar as it brought him money. Otherwise tension led to fights, and fights left to scuffed furniture, stained floorboards, and... liability.
And he didn't prefer to have that sort of liability.

He looked up at the serving girl and smiled pleasantly.

"Of course, darling. You've stood up for yourself, and that's a wonderful thing. So far, that's the only thing you've done all night long to earn yourself any respect. Keep earning the respect, and you'll have it."
His eyes searched her for a moment, but instead of the glimmer of laughter that was once there, now they were dull and tired. Finally, he looked back up at her and that sweetness had returned. His voice dropped down low.

"I'll treat you with respect, but if you ever raise your voice to me in front of customers again, I'll be patiently awaiting the endless stream of family and friends who are going to come raging in here with their pitchforks held high, wondering what I've done with their little girl, or confidante, or loved one..."
He cocked his head to one side. "Oh, and I'm sure it will be quite the stream, won't it? Family and friends from ALLLLL over just coming to find out what happened to you or your remains. I wonder if any of them will ever find out?"

His eyes stared her down a moment, then he reached into his coat pocket and produced a gold piece, reaching forward and tucking it into her apron pocket. "Do be a good girl and wipe the tables down too, Hm? Thank you, love."

He watched her for one moment longer and then rolled into the back. He absolutely expected the girl to simply walk out. After all, you don't threaten a girl's life and then mock the knowledge that she has very few if any acquaintances in the area and then expect her to stick around and be your most valued employee.
He hadn't lied, though. She had earned a little respect this evening, and he liked that in her. It was also very possible that if she disrespected him, in his current mood, that she wouldn't last long.

He closed his eyes.
And all that in front of the gunslinger too? What a night.
When he opened them he saw Ella looking around for a bathroom. He reached into his pocket and fished out a box of toothpicks. He pulled one out and put it between his lips.

"Bathroom's downstairs, Miss. Help yourself."
Blinking slowly, he looked up at her. "I don't know your situation, and I don't rightly expect you to tell me anything, or if you do, I don't imagine that it will be the truth, since you don't rightly look like the type of lass that's able to speak the truth. But it's fine. What I want is for you to look me in the eyes and tell me that everything is fine..."

His eyes searched her a moment. "And I want to know if your brother is going to be a problem."

Oila watching the room....

Trying not to flinch every time someone made eye contact with her, Oila watched the room curiously. She was also careful not to stare too long at anyone.

The serving girl was brazen and had a confidence that Oila somewhat wished she had. Though, she didn't think that the girl's behavior was exactly appropriate for such a place, especially with a man who looked to be of a religion...even if he was caring a gun.

The woman gunslinger was also someone Oila sort of wished she could be. She looked confident without seeming snobbish about it. And able to take care of herself without a care of a man's need to care for her.

The young couple, when she heard the man talked, reminded her briefly of what had happened some nights ago. A violent shudder hit her and she wrapped her thin arms around her lithe body as if warding against cold. No one would find out...and if they did, would they really miss such a bad man?

She jumped slightly when the man in the wheelchair went about setting the serving girl straight. Inwardly, Oila admitted that the man frightened her, even if he was in a wheelchair. He looked like he could snap at any moment. She worried her lip a bit, and watched a man walk into the building and settled himself at the bar. And she relaxed slightly when the wheelchaired man had seemingly forgotten about her at the moment when he went to tend to the young man.

She was hungry, but she was also used to waiting.....

Sage to Baron and Sidda

Sage quirked an eyebrow. Interesting development indeed.

He leaned back in his chair and settled back. So the girl wanted to exert herself, did she? Fine. We can play that game.

His eyebrow twitched slightly.
"Ah. Yes. Sidda is your name, of course. And the girl last season had a name, that her mother had given her, that her little childhood friends had given her, that her first boyfriend, when he came in his pants and claimed he had lost his virginity, had also spoken to her. SIDA is also the French version of AIDS and Sidda is also remarkably close to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Sidda is a collection of sounds that's no different than 'Sammy' or "franky" or "Frogmunster Toastermunch"

He cracked his neck and wrinkled his nose.

"Earn your name. If you want to be called something special, then prove to me that you're special. Until you do that, you're just some broad who's whoring herself out for tips, and you're welcome to walk so that I can get any number of a hundred and forty seven chicks who will do the same fucking job."

His eyes were dim and unfeeling. His purple leather glove scratched his cheek.

"Earn your name, toots. Until you prove that you're better than a pair of whorish tits, you're gonna be whatever I decide at the moment is your name. If you don't like it, then come over here, look in my delicious green eyes, and tell me you quit, but I know for a fact that there's no waitressing jobs anywhere within twenty miles of here. So unless you know how to shoe horses or can make a living just on the rental ability of your pussy, I'd advise you to stop demanding things you haven't earned yet from a boss that you don't know or understand."

He smiled sweetly.

"And grab a rag, those tables aren't gonna clean themselves. Toodles!"

He winked at her then turned his attention to Baron at the bar. "And you sir, what can I get for you? We have no specials, we have no running  deals to get you additional booze or food for cash. You can order, pay your gold or silver, and then enjoy yourself."        
Sage's cheek twitched a little  as he took the order down from the siblings. His lips paled a moment as they pressed against each other, then he nodded softly.
"Red Wine for the man, a soda water for the lady. Of course."

He turned his wheelchair, his purple gloved hands easily maneuvering him around. He rolled away to what amounted to a few paces and then he winced, closed his eyes, took one inspiration of air, and then turned his wheelchair back around. His face was the same pleasant mask of anonymity and his eyes still sparkled, although now there was a telltale darkness lurking just beneath the surface.
He paused.
And rubbed his chin.

"You know," he said, and then he paused again. Collecting his thoughts, he revisited the thought and looked back up at Jacob. "You know, I appreciate that you may know her very well, but in my tavern, I prefer folks to make their own orders in general. I'll be back in a few minutes with the soda water and the wine, but perhaps in the future, should the lady feel like she would like to order something differently, she can feel welcomed, in my tavern, to do so."

It was trouble.
He knew it.
He should have rolled away, collected the wine, the water, and the silver piece that would be owed, but he couldn't help it. In spite of what the Gunslinger thought she knew about him, there was still something that was rubbing him wrong about this situation.

"Be back in a few, Mmmkay?"
He smiled sweetly and rolled back. He was already tired and the night hadn't even begun yet.

He grabbed a whiskey for the Preacher, saw that Oila had entered, and for the time being left Merideth alone. He grabbed a glass, poured some of the house red into it, then set a soda water on the tray. He cleared his throat loudly for Sidda.

"Hey.... barmaid girl! Whiskey to the preacher, soda and wine to the table in the corner, don't forget that girl that just came in and make sure the Gunslinger has what she needs. I don't want to be doing your job all night."

He drummed his fingers on the bartop now, instead of his wheelchair arm. "Don't make me fuckin' do your job for you tonight. You better be showing every single one of these bastards in my bar the same attention that your tits are giving to the Father or we're gonna have some issues."

But there were already issues, weren't there? As the barmaid scampered off to do her job, his gaze landed on Ella, whom he studied. His gaze was not intentionally unfriendly, but there was an intensity there that was usually not given to a young lady. She was just something to focus on, however. Oila was someone who needed tending to, and the barmaid was also a problem. Didn't he have a different barmaid last year? Yes, he certainly did. Older girl, maybe a little more mature. More subdued, definitely. And she just came in and started working and hitting on, of all people, the Preacher?
Yes... there were most certainly issues to be dealt with.

Oh, how he didn't want to have to polish more blood out of his nice hardwood floors again...
The Wheelchaired man stopped.
There was much to do.
Much to care for.

His purple gloved hands reached down and pulled a toothpick down off the table, flipped it once, and then put it between his lips. He chewed on the end thoughtfully and glanced up at the woman, the Gunslinger, his brilliant green eyes dull and numb.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I, and my mother before me, always believed that I was a delicate little individual and singular petal. Clearly such a thing is an error, because you've wandered in here, caught your eyes on a dashing wheelchaired fellow, and just assumed that you knew who in the blue fuck he was."
He pulled the toothpick out, examined it, tapped it once against his lips, and then turned to Sidda.
"Remember, only the first drink."

His brilliant green eyes sparkled once.

"Enjoy your time here, Miss. Please don't harass the help, or I may end up asking you to find a different bar."

He smiled kindly and falsely, and then turned his attention to the rest of the room. A man had come in with his sister, and an old preacher had wandered in. Interesting group, but they would be serviced nonetheless.

First he rolled his wheelchair up to the Preacher.

"Good Afternoon to you, father. You're welcome here, I serve anything you need... but if you pull that gun for any reason I don't approve of, you're gonna regret it, man of god or not, y'hear?"
He nodded, then looked over the man in assessment once again. Not a man to be messed with, whether or not god was his tag team partner. Sage paused then looked back up at him.
"Otherwise, it's good to have you."

And then he turned his attention to the siblings. Sage rolled his wheelchair over to the corner where the two had placed, and for some reason, he also felt like he needed his attention at its highest level, even though he didn't know why. This was a situation to be watched, but he wasn't sure why yet.
And that bothered him on a deeper level.

He slid his finger down along the arm rest of his wheelchair, then settled back and looked over at them both.


He paused.

"My name is Sage. I'm the owner of this tavern, the proprietor. How can I help you two?"  
Sage listened to the exchange with a bit of a grin on his face, then shrugged one shoulder, almost imperceptibly, before leaning back in his chair and turning his attention to the serving girl, who was apparently named Sidda. Good to know.

"That'll do," Sage said, when the serving girl looked to him for approval, and he scratched his chin almost imperceptibly. "I'm hoping that this place starts hopping tonight, so you need to make sure that we have plenty of glasses and food. I Don't mind being back there to cook more, but if we're out of key ingredients, I'm not gonna be thrilled."

The gloved fingertip traced the arm of the wheelchair as he looked up at the Gunslinger.

"She, uh... she's not gonna pay for her drinks tonight."

His brilliant green eyes dimmed just slightly as his memories threatened to become too real. He came to after a moment and looked back up at Sidda. "Scratch that. She doesn't pay for her first drink tonight. Everything else, she's responsible for."

One last glance to Merideth, then he was back behind the bar, grabbing a towel and beginning to wipe the tables down.

"And flash some cleavage. We need some hungry, drunken men in here tonight."