"A Voice Like Ambrosia" Log Date: 6/22/00 Log Cast: Sol, David Log Intro: Happily for the young Mongrel David, recently come to Haven and given a job at the Pantheon thanks to his new friend Sebastienne, not every day on the job proves an adventure for him. There's only so many encounters with the wingers that a boy's nerves can take--even if he's as adept as any Mongrel at working to avoid too much Empyrean notice. Sometimes, though, a boy just can't help but notice when a given Empyrean is ever so slightly weird.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Afternoon Date on Aether: Wednesday, September 3, 3906. Year on Earth: 1506 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waxing Crescent Season: Late Summer Weather: Clear Skies Temperature: Hot *==========================================================================* Sol enters the tavern, and the carved door shuts behind him. Sol has arrived. Sol sits at a shadowed table. The Pantheon - Haven(#350RDJM$) Bright frescoes decorate the walls of this large, pentagonal room, depicting the rise of the city of Haven with Delphi at its heart. The domed ceiling is supported by four marble "atlantes"--statues carved to resemble youths from each race. The figures are expertly rendered and painted, if somewhat stylized, and they hint that this establishment caters to clientele from each. A long, marble-topped bar runs along the last wall where refreshment may be ordered. The air is laden with the smell of richly prepared foods and ambrosia, suiting the exclusive nature of the tavern. Rose marble tiles decorate the floor, which sinks toward the center of the room in a series of three pentagonal terraces. Situated at the two higher terraces are fine tables of polished oak--those on the outermost terrace long enough to seat larger parties. The lowest terrace features a shallow pool, lined with greenery and replenished by small fountains. (See 'places'). Contents: Sol, sitting at a shadowed table. Obvious Exits: Arch Out The doors open and a pale Empyrean male walks in, his silver hair glinting slightly from the sunlight outside. He takes a step then inhales deeply, a look of pleasure sweeping his face as the aromas of food invade his nostrils. He spies an empty table and makes his way over to it. At this comfortable hour of the afternoon the Pantheon oft serves as a respite from the busy streets of Haven around it -- and at least in the case of the Empyrean quarter, the busy air as well. Not quite late enough for the dinner hour, too late for the mid-day meal, this particular time of the day insures relative peace and quiet where a person might eat and drink in comfort... At least, if there didn't appear to be a commotion brewing back in the kitchen. What sounds like, of all things, a burst of applause and several voices... cheering?... might be heard before they are drowned out by someone bellowing orders. One server lad already out and about in the tavern at large might be seen to blink as a tall, rangy form is abruptly shoved out of the kitchen, the words "Stop lollygaggin' around, boy, and do your job!" David, flushing crimson, blurts out towards the kitchen, "Yes'r, Ah-Ah'm on it... yes'r..." With that, flustered, the young man swivels nervously around and surveys the scene before him. The server lad with a stack of empty mugs on a tray, already en route to the kitchen himself, hastily nods David off towards the winged fellow who's just come in, hissing, "Get 'is order, then!" Sol frowns slightly, one of his eyebrows arching at the hubub in the kitchen. He pulls something out of his robes and toys with it, all the while waiting for service. There, at last. The young Mongrel who'd just been shoved out of the kitchen approaches Sol's table, tentatively and awkwardly dropping a bow in the fellow's direction. "C'n Ah git y'somethin', dom'nus?" he asks earnestly, a thick country drawl softening his words. Lazily, the Empyrean turns his head to look at the young Mongrel. He studies him for a minute or so, before his voice leaves his lips, fluid and slick, smooth and calm. "What is it that you have, young sir?" His eyebrow is arched again, his face wearing a querying look. Wait a minute, is he _supposed_ to get asked that kind of question in reply to asking to take an order? David's brow crinkles in consternation for a moment under his forelock, and only after a moment or two's thought does it appear to occur to him that perhaps this particular dominus isn't actually familiar with the Pantheon's bill of fare. He pulls himself unconsciously, like a small boy about to recite a lesson, and proceeds to rattle off, "Uh, well, dom'nus, f'r drinks... we got ambrosia" -- this, in his drawl, gets rendered as 'amberozya' -- "an' a few kinds o' wine and juices an' water... f'r food, we got some fresh bread, an' spiced stew, an' some fresh fish come in from the market this mornin'!" There. David almost beams, pleased he was able to get out today's menu more or less from memory, before it further occurs to him that the dominus probably won't think that's much of an accomplishment. The lad's guileless face settles into a bit less delighted an expression -- perhaps this is his way of trying to look as straight-faced as possible. The Empyrean furrows his brow slightly, mulling over the list of food and drink. His lips purse, his hands clasp in front of him, forming an arch shape, as takes his time to think. Finally, he looks up into the young man's face and smiles politely. "Hmm, well, that's a bit of a tough decision ... Perhaps ... perhaps you could tell me what you recommend?" Enough oil to cook bacon ... An astute gaze might note... sunbrowned skin. This boy's clearly been outdoors a great deal lately, though he is not so dark as your average Varati. He is a little too large and filled out to still be an adolescent -- but there's still much fresh-faced youth about him, so he can't be too old. Nor, if the slightly confused look in those big blue eyes is any indication, is he particularly accustomed to being politely addressed by someone with wings. "Uh... shore, dom'nus... uh, well..." And he scratches his dark head, thinking hard for a moment. Then he pronounces, with enough weight that you'd think he'd just issued an announcement from Delphi itself, "Ah'd do th' white fish." A beaming smile pounces onto the Empyrean's features, lighting his face and eyes. His voice is like ambrosia, sickly sweet. "Excellent! I shall have the white fish then! And for beverages, I think I shall have..." He purses his lips once more. "I think I shall have a nice white wine, thankyou very much." Perhaps David is new enough to Haven that you could almost still count the figurative strands of hay in his hair -- but still, something about this particular Empyrean's voice seems to strike him oddly. Sensitive to the quality of voices, is he, perhaps? His dark brows knit a bit over his eyes, but he bobs his head readily enough. "Raht away, dom'nus, it'll take a bit to git it cooked up, Ah'll gitcha th' wine while yer waitin'... c'n Ah gitcha anythin' else?" Shaking his head gently, the Empyrean frowns. "No, no, that will do fine thankyou." He smiles again, reassuringly. "Yes, that will do fine, thankyou." He bows his head graciously, then goes back to toying with the object he got from within his robes, which turns out to be a small necklace with a symbol attached. [This scene was never finished, but kept for posterity. End log.]