(1311-08-31) Day Drinking by the Numbers
Summary: Noblemen drink and discuss Vespasien's current scientific interest.
RL Date: Sat Aug 31, 1311
Related: none
marco etienne emory vespasien fenris 

Leaping Fish Inn

The Main Room of the Leaping Fish is tidy and well-kept - and warmed by a fire in the hearth to one side on colder days and evenings. An old tapestry depicting a pair of two leaping fish is adorning the opposite wall - a reference to both the ruling House of Mereliot and the name of the inn. The common room has five tables of sturdy oak with chairs and benches, between which two serving maids move to take orders or bring food and beverages. The air is filled with tasty smells of freshly cooked meals, and murmurs of conversation - and occasionally even melodies rippling through the room, when a lute player is around to provide entertainment. The fare is of good quality that even would not disappoint noble tastes. %r%rThere are stairs leading upstairs towards a number of comfortable and well kept rooms the inn has to offer.


A hot summer day with drizzling rain falling from the overcast sky- it seems an odd time to go out drinking, for most, but Vespasien really doesn't follow many conventions when it comes to drinking and living his best life.

The largely empty bottle of port-style wine sitting on his table is certainly testament to that- and the recently opened new bottle only adds to that joie de vivre that the D'Angeline nobleman seems to be going for- despite the largely empty tavern. He hums to himself- lounging on a pair of chairs as he draws on some parchment- eyes twinkling like stars as he goes about his currently lonely drinking.

Étienne strides in, his shoulder lenth hair loos and windswept and his skin heavily tanned. He is grinning still from the delight at having been out on the water. He's in pale blue summer weight doublet and hose with leaf green trim. The quality suggests noblity, but not weath.

Emory comes wandering in out of the rain, his hair damp as his fingers comb through it, brushing it back from his forehead. He must have been out in the weather for some time, enough that it's dampened and darkened the deep red of his shirt, at least across his shoulders and sleeves. The back dips open to show off his marque, his trousers tucked into tall boots with soft soles that make little sound as he makes his way inside and glances about the room, taking in its relative emptiness and drifting in Vespasien's direction, leaning over to look at what he's drawing without so much as a by your leave or an apology for doing so.

<FS3> Vespasien rolls Draw/paint: Good Success. (7 4 1 7 3 6 3 5 6 4 8)

Marco ducks his way in, he seems to have had a staffer holding an umbrella for him keeping him dry. The Vicomte doesn't wreak of upper nobility but he seems to treat that as if it's normal that someone ensures that he doesn't come in somewhat bedraggled with the wetness. His eyes though follow Emory clearly enjoying appreciatively the view of the dampened courtesan. He has an easy smile on his face nodding to the others as he passes towards a booth searching for some quiet and drawing out a small booklet from the inner pocket of his vest. He heads for the booth and gestures at one of the serving staff who seem to have wine on their way to him.

Vespasien's artistic skills are fairly decent- it starts with a single line that spreads like branches of a tree growing ever more 'branches' that seem to be at exacting angles and dimensions- fractal art- mathematically decided and placed onto paper by a most mathematical mind. Vespasien's eyes slide slightly over to notice the man standing near by.

A momentary pause in the drawing as he reaches over to pour new wine into his glass and take a sip. "Good evening." he offers to the watching man.

Étienne leaves wet footprints as he walks. He nods to Marco who he remembers and to the other two who he does not as he mulls where to sit, opting for a table near the artist, but not intruding.

"Good evening," Emory says to Vespasien as he watches those precise lines connect and continue to ever expand in their fractal pattern, one hand resting on the back of a nearby chair as he leans against it comfortably. "Very precise," he comments on the drawing. Glancing up when Marco and Etienne enter, he gives a dip of his head to both men in greeting, with a polite smile even though he hasn't been formally introduced to either of them.

Marco smiles at Etienne's nod and he gestures at the table in case the other man wants. HIs eyes flickering to Vespasien's art and Emory's discussion. He watches curiously as he waits for his wine to be delivered with the bottle ending up at his booth. He swirls absently looking curiously and he smiles warmly when Emory glances over. "I hope everyone's having a good evening?"

"Mathematically it goes on forever. Repeating and expanding and forever spreading." Vespasien says, "I've been exploring mathematical formulae as forms of art if put onto paper." he explains, as he turns the page back to show another filled with formulae, numbers, and notes. "This is the aim, but I haven't figured out how to properly place this into an image." he continues, "So, we're starting smaller." Another page flip- a much simpler bit of math to be seen on the page.

"It's my hope that through this I'll figure out a better map-making method for our navies, at least when it comes to line drawing. Star charts are a different matter, but also being worked on."

Vespasien puts the notebook aside, "Vespasien Trevalion." he offers, "A pleasure. Would you like some wine?" he wonders, nodding towards the bottle. "Help yourself."

Étienne looks like he's just about to join Marco, and intrigued expression on his face at Vespasian's overheard explanation, navigation being an interest of his, when a servant turns up with a note, which he reads wih some confusion. He tips the servant, and with a wave murmurs his apologies and hurries back out into the rain

Marco waves at Etienne and watches him go looking curious but shrugs his shoulders. He glances to Vespasien and Emory with interest, "Oh?" He leans forward, "I'd be interested in earing about how you expect that to change mapmaking." He says leaving his little book closed.

"Indeed," Emory says to Marco, with a smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. Then his attention shifts back to the drawing and he says, "Beauty in science, as it were." His gaze flickers over the page covered in forumlae and he says, "I wouldn't have the first idea how to translate that into an image, so you are far ahead of me on that count, my lord." Though when introductions are made, he introduces himself as "Emory nó Lis d'Or" then he lowers himself gracefully into a seat at the table, accepting a glass as it is delivered to him, before helping himself to a glass of wine. He nods in agreement with Marco and says, "As would I."

"This world is built on mathematics." Vespasien says, "Certain forms and functions exist in nature, how the wind blows and interacts with sails or a hill or how the water's currents flow. I'm not certain, yet, how they all interact but with knowledge of that interaction we should be able to reasonably update known topologies in underwater features without time consuming sounding or unfortunate accidents." The nobleman continues.

"However, for now, it remains firmly theory, and while experiments on the small scale are interesting I'm beginning to believe that on a larger scale the elements involved act differently. More experimentation is required, but, it does fill the daylight hours until the stars come out."

"The theory is seen easier in sand dunes and how they move. It first requires an anchor point- some plants, a rock- the sand then piles up behind it. More sand, the dune grows. Wind shifts, the dune changes shape and orientation." A pause for another long drink from his cup.

Marco ahs and belatedly introducing himself, "Marco de Mereliot." He says with a casualness that he feels comfortable not being overly concerned over titles." He says as he leans forwards with interest as Vespasien explains his theory. "Built upon Mathematics? That's a strange way of looking at things. Well it's certainly an aesthetically pleasing approach to thing. We don't really have that many dunes in terre d'ange…"

The rain outside doesn't seem to phase the hulking man that walks in. He's wearing a leather cloak which has rain rolling down it. His hair is dripping but not moving from it's short cut. His beard dripping wet. Once inside the Leaping Fish, he looks around and interrupts by calling out. "My betrothed has asked that I make friends. Who of you are willing to make friends?" He grumps as he puts his hands on his hips.

"And what do you do in order to test these theories? What are the experiments that you are interested in performing?" Emory asks as he settles back in his chair with a glass of wine in hand, lifting it to his lips to take a sip from its contents. Then he looks over toward Marco and says, "You can see it in the dunes of Menekhet." Which means he's either seen them himself or has some knowledge of them from somewhere, one might be given to surmise. The entrance and declaration made by Fenris causes Emory to chuckle a little bit and he says, "Come, join us. Make friends."

"True, but the northern shores of The Umaiy….." Vespasien is cut off by the approaching of the hulking man. He blinks once, taking him in a long moment. "Have some wine." he offers to Fenris, "You have the look of a well traveled man." he says next as he shifts out of his recumbent position, and turns on his chair to face the table.

"Yes, or Menekhet. It's been some time since I was in that region, but the point is the same. The dunes are shaped by natural forces. The same must be true of underwater topology. As for experiments- I've been taking sand from beaches, dying it with a water-resistant dye, and pouring quite large amounts of it into the water where there are forces I'm trying to test. I wait a day or two, and check to see where I can find the dyed sand."

Marco looks on with interest and admits, "Sounds like I should go visit Menekht. I wonder if Farah has been." He admuts and he blinks, "You're saying dunes are similar to that under the water?" He asks looking dubious at this, "Water and air are completely different." HE says simply and he glances over to Fenris and he laughs, "Well the words of a betrothed must be taken seriously. Or so my wife told me."

The large man grumbles and walks over to the table. He removes his cloak and lays it over the back of his chair before taking a seat. He sits heavily, seat creaking. He hears about places as he arrives and he grumbles. "I don't drink…wine." His accent is an odd mix of D'Angeline and Skaldic. More Skaldic though. His tunic is rather tight on his arms and it's rolled up to his elbows showing clear skaldic tattoos. He glances over to the man talking about sand. "Sand will follow the currents as boats do." He points out. Then he looks at Emory and his eyes narrow a little as he tries to understand him. Those same blue eyes look at Marco. "She says many words." He grumps.

"And what have you determined from observing the dyed sand?" Emory asks with curiosity as he runs his fingertips along the stem of his wine glass, listening to Vespasien as he speaks of his experiments. Then he says to Marco, "Different in some ways but similar in others. There are currents in air as there are in water, that which is in air is merely lighter." He has no comment on the words of a betrothed, as he has no experience with such things.

"In viscosity, yes, very different- but underwater features seem to follow the same.. " Vespasien looks up to nod to the apparently Skaldic man, "Quite true- but as Emory has said- if you think of currents in water like the wind in the air, the two are very similar in action when it comes to building and creating these features. Case in point- If you place a broad plank in a flowing river sand will begin to collect against it- while on the opposite side, water will pull away from the shore. Given time the form it makes is not unlike those of a sand-dune- one side quite fat, the other very much so leaner. Again, I am unsure though if this can be replicated on the larger scale. So far, I've found that the sand is deposited, largely, back on the beach along the line of the current with more being deposited on obstructions such as rocks, as expected. Interestingly, when a rather nasty storm blew through most of that sand was lost and deposited on a sandbar a bit further out. It is showing itself to be a very, very complex system- and only grows more complex the more I study it. Very interesting, though, despite my lack of greater understanding."

Marco shrugs, "I'm pretty sure we can arrange for whiskey." He says to Fenris and he grins, "They'll do that. But you just have to figure out what they mean not what they say. Who is your betrothed?" He asks curiously and then he listens to Vespasien studying. He looks a little dubious at the discussion of similarity of air and water. "Obviously the ocean is a complicated thing." He says in a tone that indicates that trying to study it is wasted effort.

There is a deep grumbling from the massive man. "The ocean has currents. She also has grip. Will pull you down to the depths if you are not careful." He shakes his head. "Too smart for me." He sighs. Then he looks at Marco. "Ale or mead." He grumps a little. "I do not understand." He tilts his head. "Her name is Lady Seline Somerville." The large man grins proudly more to himself. Then he turns a little to Vespasien. "What is the purpose of your… " He waves his hand a little. "Colors."

Emory crosses one leg over the other comfortably and takes another sip from his glass of wine, watching those around him over the edge of his glass. There's a little quirk of a smile that touches his lips as he listens to the back and forth between the other men. For the moment, though, he falls quiet, content to observe rather than comment.

"Very complicated- but not wholly alien. I served many years in the navy, and I know in my heart that the Ocean calls to us with a desire for us to know her better- fickle though she is- she is not unkind. Freely she gives of her bounty to us, and I am almost certain that between the stars in the skies and the waves of the oceans we will discover more about what it means to be us. To be breathing, thinking beings who know both pain and pleasure. Anyways, it will save me time correcting the maps for my friends at the base. Give me more time to chart the stars."

Vespasien pauses, a moment, looking to the Skaldi man. "Ale they should be able to do. Mead might be a little bit harder to find. I tend to keep to fortified wines myself, when I can't get Naval Brandy." Another pause, looking down at himself. "My… colors?"

Marco watches the group and leans back as he waves for whiskey to be braught. He looks curiously at Felix, "Ah Lady Seline? How interesting well congratulations to you both." He offers warmly and then he looks thoughtfully at Vespasien's responses looking amused at the large man's response.

Fenris lifts a brow and grumbles. "Sand colors." He corrects himself. "You already explained." He seems a little confused. "We know pain so we understand pleasure. Pleasure allows us to understand the bite of pain." He eyes Emory and grumbles slightly. "Why don't you speak?" Then back to Marco. "Congratulations for me. For her…" He shakes his head. "…short stick."

Emory lifts his glass and takes another small sip from it. His gaze flickers over to Marco, studying him for a moment or two, and a little smile causes his lips to twitch, but he doesn't move from where he is. Instead he answers Fenris, "I was just enjoying listening to you all converse. I'm afraid my experience with the tides and the winds are largely due to my travels to foreign lands on ships that I was not sailing, myself. So I can't truly speak to how they work, only appreciate that they do." He then gestures to himself and says, "Congratulations, however, on your betrothal."

Marco manages a pout at Emory's reluctance to leave his seat but he doesn't complain verbally His amusement is evident as he glances, "I've only been to Tiberium, I should travel more." He admits and he glances to Fenirs and chuckles, "Well.. I will avoid comments on the length of the stick. But I hope that when you've grown together it's fully satisfying." He offers wryly and then he looks to Vespasien again thoughtfully, "An intriguing research though if you come to some theories I'm sure the Duchess would be willing to fund more research."

"Quite." Vespasien replies, as he refills his cup with the almost blood red liquid. The fortified wine- likely a local sort- drank freely. "Gentleman, I am afraid I do not have much longer this afternoon. I am required at a meeting elsewhere in the city." he says, as he finishes his glass- and then a second in short matter. "It has, however, been a unique pleasure in meeting all of you." he assures the group of men.

"And, I hope to see you again soon. Have a wonderful afternoon." Vespasien collects his various goods- leaving the bottle of port behind as he heads out the door- not seeming to mind the drizzles at all as he goes.

Fen grumbles. "Mine is almost drowning and cleaning a ship while it sails. You have similar experiences to myself." He grumps a little. His blue eyes turn to Marco and he's about to speak before Vespasien leaves and he frowns. He lifts his hand and lets it fall back to the table. His eyes turn to Marco. "Stick." He corrects the man. "She is unlucky. She received the short stick." He seems a little confused with Marco. "What are you speaking of?"

Emory doesn't seem particularly affected by Marco's pout, a little smile on his lips as he lifts his glass in salute to Vespasien as the man heads out. He then nods to Fenris and says, "It would seem so. Have you spent much time on ships?" he asks the man. Then he glances between he and Marco but makes no comment on the topic of sticks, short or otherwise.

Marco assures Fenris, "I'm making a joke. Apparently not a very good one, but /I/ think it's amusing so I'm okay with it. Why is she betrothed to you if it's so unlucky?" He asks curiously though quieting as Emory asks his own question.

Fen nods to Emory. "Each spring season and returned each autumn season." He shakes his head. Then to Marco. "What joke did you make?" He is so utterly confused. "My uncle wished me to be…more D'Angeline. Less … me." He shrugs his shoulders. "I was matched with someone who tames horses. He found this appropriate."

"So your uncle likens you to a horse?" Emory asks Fenris, before glancing over toward Marco and saying, "I've never known a horse to be a short stick." It's delivered perfectly deadpan before he lifts his glass of wine to his lips and takes another sip from it, finishing the last of it and then reaching for the bottle for more.

Marco chuckles softly, "Ah… well I'm sure we all look forward to the taming." He smirks at Fenris, "I was making a joke about how even if you weren't short that you'll learn to be a pleasant companion for your wife I'm sure." He says and he glances to Emory, "I mean… I'm sure there must be short stick horses… mustn't there.. . but I suppose you're right it's research I have not conducted." He leans forward and begins to refill Emory's glass.

The giant man frowns. "You do not understand. Short stick. It is a game of choosing. You cut five sticks. Make one shorter than the others. Whomever pulls said short stick is the one that must do what no one else wishes to do." He points between them both. "What stick are you speaking?" He is getting more confused. "All of you are tiny." He grumbles. "Short stick horses?" He growls a little. He grips the edge of the table and lifts it before putting it back. He remembers the no table flipping. "No taming."

Emory lets Marco refill his glass, and lifts it to his lips to take another sip. But once more he falls quiet when Fenris lifts the table. He lifts his glass back and out of the way, just in case the table does go hurtling over itself. When it does not, he takes another sip before rising from his chair, glass in hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you both, but if you'll excuse me. I had only meant to stop in for a short time." He gives then both a respectful inclination of his head, and then finishes his wine, carrying the glass over to the bar to deposit it there on his way out.

Marco glances after Emory watching and he waves his hands watching thoughtfully. He glances towards Fenris and he grins waving a hand, "Calm down. I'm referring to what's in your trouser." He assures him brightly though he does retrieve his bottle as well when the table is gripped, "Oh come now it can't be the first time you've heard a dirty joke." He says sounding a little dubious.

He sees Emory escape and he growls. He waves to the man and then crosses his arms. Fen turns to stare at Marco. "No." He shakes his head. "I was never involved with the jokes." He just glares at Marco. "Jokes were for fun and I was a slave. I had work to do. Things to fix." He shrugs his shoulders again. "You mean my cock? It's sufficient."

Marco grins at that, "THERE we go. Much better. Next time someone starts talking about short sticks just say it's sufficient." He shrugs his shoulders, "Well you seem to be doing very well for a slave." He opines though he tilts his head as he looks thoughtful, "Where were you a slave? Up north?"

The large man grumbles. "Not quite." He rubs his forehead. "I am not a slave anymore…or should never have been. I was far north. So if you were to go to Norstock and follow the line of water North. The village I grew up in was just past the last port town. We were almost in Vralia. Another way… if you were to find yourself in Tarkov in Vralia go straight west and the village is 5 miles from the coast." Those are Skaldic cities. "My parents though…are Lord and Lady Valliers."

Marco listens with interest as Fenris describes the area, "Are you? Fascinating I didn't realise they had such… large stock." His head tilts as if trying to place where on the map and then he shrugs, "I'll admit I don't know the regions so well but that gives me a rough idea. Sounds like you've had quite the fascianting story."

Fenris watches Marco. "Duc Valliers brother was my build. My father. I just gained more from hard work." He grumps. He lifts a brow and shakes his head. "Not fascinating. Filled with blood, pain, murder, and rape. It's not a tale I enjoy reliving." He speaks softly. "I am supposed to… get better at this culture. I am to marry in front of your companions and yet I wish to perform the rites of the skaldic as I was raised to."

Marco ahs at that, "That explains it. Well it's fascinating to ME. I can see why it might not be so pleasant for you. But many tales start in such things. The question is whether it's a redemption tale or one of continued blood and pain. The priests can help. It's not so bad… if you wish you could speak to Farah, my wife. She was raised in Khebbel-Im-Akkad but she is half d'angeline. She is still learning at times it catches her but she's settling into things well and I cannot imagine I am the easiest to learn with or live with."

Fen shakes his head. "If you saw under these clothes the damage my skin shows, you'd not be so fascinated. What he did to me was horrible. Though that is still the only home I knew." He nods his head to Marco. "If you feel you are not easy you are not." He leans over the table slightly. "My story is not a redemption story as I have no need to redeem myself. My story is one of letting them watch me get up so they know I do not stay down."

Marco smiles ruefully to Fenris, "Do you think I'd really not be? I think you misunderstand my interest. People are fascinating to me and their stories are all very unique and intriguing. Your story is different than many here if perhaps more common up north. Well with the exception of your bloodline." He shrugs, "As for WHAT your story is… it is not yet done. Who knows what it will be and being a story of resilience does not mean it cannot be a redemption story."

Fen shakes his head. "Redemption implies that I must redeem myself. I speak my mind, so I cannot be redeemed from a lie. I do not lie or hide intentions. I have never killed anyone that I did not mean to kill. I have never hurt another that I was not at war with. I have never raped. I have pillaged but I wanted the steal for my swords." His eyes narrow. "Unless someone needs redemption from me."

Marco shrugs his shoulders, "Perhaps they do. A d'angeline noble born in the bloody cold north?" He shrugs his shoulders, "Well I suppose we'll see what the histories end up saying of it. I'm not here to dictate only I'm curious to see how it goes."

Fen sits back and shakes his head. "I will be only a name in a history book. No one will speak of me. My twins though. I do not know how to write but I will write their very lives down." He grins. The giant actually grins. "Theirs will be tales to tell."

Marco chuckles softly, "Maybe… and who are these twins?" He asks with interest looking amused.

Fen puffs up with pride. "My children." He grins. "Octavia and Roan. They are almost a year old now." He rubs his hands over the edge of the table as he just radiates absolute pride and happiness.

Marco ahs at that and considers that for a moment. He nods slowly, "Well if you say so. I'm sure they are." He looks bemused, "That's quite a turn but children I'm sure do that. Are they here in the city? You seem quite pleased by them."

"I am their only direct parent. Seline and Gregoire have taken a shine to both." He looks at Marco. "I fought for them. Almost died for them." He points to the scar slightly hidden by his hairline. A deep scar. "When I won them I asked their mother to join and she refused and left them with me. They were abandoned by her." He frowns now.

Marco raises a brow, "Won them?" He asks curiously and he shrugs, "Perhaps she thought it would be best for them to go with you away from that place." He says looking to the scar looking intrigued, "You should have someone write the story I'm sure the children will like it later."

Fen nods his head. "My life or theirs. So I removed the head of the man who stole me from this place and took my children back. Children he forced into being but children I love since I saw them. They are my children and I will be around to tell them the story."

Marco shrugs his shoulders, "Memories fade, but it's all your decision."

Fenris frowns. "My memories have never faded. I remember the weather on my thirteenth year and how many drinks of red wine I was given. I remember the day I was called out to the field because a horse broke it's leg only to be blamed and have my skin torn open and my ribs broken. I remember the scent of fresh hog the last time I felt steal part my skin. I wish I could forget but I cannot."

Marco raises a brow and then simply lifts his hand, "Odd, but if you say so. I hope it remains then for the little ones."

Fenris looks over Marco slowly. "Ask me questions about my life and I will answer them honestly." He crosses his arms as he waits.

Marco smiles, "Well for the moment I think I have finished my questions. But this has certainly been the start of a tale. I wish you the best of luck and I hope your quest of friends continues." He offers with a grin as he pops up and tucks his little notebook into a pocket.

Fenris nods his head and stays seated. "I see." He grumbles quietly. He watches the man pop up and he shakes his head. "Safe travels. Do not get too wet." He points at the door as he relaxes back.

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