this is Salem, a land filled with magic and maladies. It is a place where witches and their elemental familiars gather, a home to legend and
lore that predates time itself. Yet of all the wicked and wonderful stories the past can tell us of, the most magical are the ones yet to happen.
This is Salem - this is the start of your very own journey. Welcome to starfall
Starfall is an animaga witch roleplay set in mostly modern times. Members play as witches in a world plagued by monsters, where the only safe spots are walled cities. Starfall strives to be a character-driven roleplay with expansive lore and a highly interactive plotline. We want to allow members to
create and look back on a magical journey, and mold the site and its plot as their characters grow.
[attr="class","azotar"][googlefont="Iceland:400"]i refuse to being just a footnote in your history
[attr="class","salvatore"]It was loud. Everyone was loud. The voices clashed against each other as each patron completed to out-volume the other, as if the very worth of their existence depended on it. Clangs of glass against glass, and thuds of glass against wood danced along with the voices, and boisterous laughter often burst in like a beat drop in this ear-shattering harmony of sounds. Bell's Bar was as lively as ever, the individuals within a mixture of sailors and regulars, all of which carried the same common intent. To drink the night and their worries away, and only care of the consequences when it came. To the red-head, though, Bell's Bar was something else entirely. If one wanted to simply sit somewhere to drink idly, without having to worry about their mind being riddled with thoughts, this was certainly the place to go. No one bothered him, and the sounds made it hard for his mind to even board any train of thoughts longer than a few seconds.
It was painfully therapeutic, and the alcohol that he consumed was really the key in making the suffering tolerable.
The fire witch slumped against the back rest of his seat, left arm cocked back and resting his armpit at the top of it. Right hand was draped lazily on the wooden circular table in front of him, fingers coiled casually around the handle of the mug of draft beer in his hand. Wedged between his lips was a lit cigarette, though it was simply burning off at the point. The red-head was dazing off, allowing himself simply to settle into the environment and enjoy the very fact that he was there.
Ever since he abandoned his family, he had lived in poverty and hardship. With nothing on him other than the clothes on his back and a few personal possessions, Cain had had to live off his own wits and willpower, off the streets. For a while, he had been homeless, and starving beyond belief. It was only a few lucky breaks, and a position in the witch guild of Silvertongue, did he start making something for himself. He had a small one-room apartment, though in the slums, and he was, at least, able to secure two full meals for himself everyday. It wasn't as extravagant or fulfilling as how he had lived the first eighteen years of his life, but he was making do. Besides, it had been his decision to disown the Godfrey family. He was going to have to live with it, if he really wanted to prove to them that their methods of conforming generations into their ideal perfect witches wasn't the only way to put another Godfrey name in history books.
He'd make his own chapter, one day. Slowly, but surely, one day, he would.
A soft smirk came upon his lips, then, as he brought the mug up to his lips, left hand retrieving the cigarette prior, before he consumed another mouthful of alcoholic piss. It was at this moment of time, then, that another patron would enter the premises, and lest he noticed the empty chair opposite Cain, he'd realize that the bar had been completely filled up.
[newclass=.salvatore]padding-top:10px;padding-left:10px;padding-right:10px;font-size:11px;color:#2b2b2b;font-family:calibri;text-align:justify;[/newclass] [newclass=.salvatore b]color:#169199;[/newclass] [newclass=.azotar]font-family:'Iceland';font-style:normal;font-size:22px;font-weight:400;color:#F70D1A;text-align:center;-webkit-transition: all .5s linear;-moz-transition: all .5s linear;-ms-transition: all .5s linear;-o-transition: all .5s linear;transition: all .5s linear;[/newclass] [newclass=.azotar:hover]color: #800517;-webkit-transition: all .5s linear;-moz-transition: all .5s linear;-ms-transition: all .5s linear;-o-transition: all .5s linear;transition: all .5s linear;[/newclass]
[attr="class","jaricesnowlyr"]we come from the land of
[attr="class","jaricesnowlyr2"]ICE AND SNOW
[attr="class","jaricesnowh"]
[attr="class","jaricesnowicon"]
[attr="class","jaricesnownotes"]@cain || rip i tried also just sayin' there's no way rowan will start a conversation he's too shy im sorry
[attr="class","jaricesnowt"]
He....he doesn't actually drink.[break][break] That thought rolls through Rowan's mind as he steps over the threshold of Bell's Bar. He knows it's a lively place - he's passed it so many times - but he's never held much of a desire to go in for pleasure. Ever since he'd first tasted wine, he'd built up a grand dislike for alcohol.[break][break] And so he's here on "business". "Family business". Which means Leviathan business, but he knows well enough to never state such a thing out loud. He's supposed to pass on a message, though whoever it is who would be coming would only tap him on the shoulder, ask for payment for his drink, and leave. Of course, he would slip in that small, fake coin he'd been given, and then he could leave.[break][break] It sucks to not know when he's supposed to pass the message. He half expects someone to come by him now, but as he searches for a seat (because how else is this person supposed to ask for payment if he doesn't buy something?), he notices there's only one empty one - right across from a red-haired male with a harsh expression. Steeling his nerves, he steps towards the seat and slides into it awkwardly.[break][break] He's tense as his eyes gaze around the room. He nearly jumps out of his seat when someone asks what he'd like to drink, and his mind is blank as he fumbles around for an answer. What do they even serve in bars? He stammers, "Um, cognac?"[break][break] The barkeep laughs, mentions something about good taste in liquor (Rowan doesn't even know what cognac is), and stomps off to yell at patrons who've begun to toss their mead at each other.[break][break] He breathes out a sigh of relief. He smells the faint tickle of cigarette smoke, and his eyes gaze upward at the red-head, noting the cigarette in between his lips. His nose wrinkles - he doesn't like cigarettes, either. He contemplates asking him to put it out, but that'll only draw attention to him. Instead, he settles for watching the person silently - there's really not much to do in a bar except drink, is there?
[attr="class","azotar"][googlefont="Iceland:400"]i refuse to just being a footnote in your history
[attr="class","salvatore"]"Hm?" Cain hummed out as a black-haired male sat on the seat opposite him, on the same table. Golden eyes landed to meet Rowan's own, as he cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. Did he have business with him? Instead of a greeting, however, Cain was introduced to a moment of silence between the two, until the man was startled by the barkeep who proceeded to ask what it was he wanted to drink. Cogniac? The Fire Witch was beginning to stare more intently at the man now, as questions poured into his head. What he concluded upon, though, was that the man had simply chosen to sit on the empty chair opposite him, simply due to the fact that it was empty. He blinked. The choice of cogniac as a first drink was peculiar in itself too. Who he hell picked cogniac in a bar like this?
Cain pulled his left arm off the back rest, turning his entire body so that he faced the young male completely. He looked fresh, and by fresh, Cain meant inexperienced. Unseasoned. New. He evidently did not know how to carry himself in a bar. Hell, if anything, he looked scared. Out of place, definitely, but Cain could feel a sense of nervousness radiating from his demeanor. And it only made the red-head even more curious as to why he was there, and what he was doing on his table.
"You know," he began, ensuring that his voice was loud enough for him to at least hear over the surrounding noise, considering the close proximity they now had. If that wasn't enough, Cain would lean towards him, so as to call for his attention.
"When people sit at another person's table, they usually ask for permission first?" he snapped, calling out his first 'mistake' upon entering the bar. "It's, you know, basic manners." He narrowed his eyes. If this man had been trying not to gather attention to himself, he had certainly done it all in the wrong manner, earning himself instead the attention of not only the red-head, but a couple others that sat around them, who had sensed the same thing about this youngling as they had.
[newclass=.salvatore]padding-top:10px;padding-left:10px;padding-right:10px;font-size:11px;color:#2b2b2b;font-family:calibri;text-align:justify;[/newclass] [newclass=.salvatore b]color:#800517;[/newclass] [newclass=.azotar]font-family:'Iceland';font-style:normal;font-size:22px;font-weight:400;color:#F70D1A;text-align:center;-webkit-transition: all .5s linear;-moz-transition: all .5s linear;-ms-transition: all .5s linear;-o-transition: all .5s linear;transition: all .5s linear;[/newclass] [newclass=.azotar:hover]color: #800517;-webkit-transition: all .5s linear;-moz-transition: all .5s linear;-ms-transition: all .5s linear;-o-transition: all .5s linear;transition: all .5s linear;[/newclass]
Rowan starts when the red-haired male's gaze fixes on him and he speaks, loud enough to be heard over the din of the bar. He immediately tenses when the man leans in, and instinctively leans back slightly to give themselves enough room. Inwardly he's praying this isn't the start of a fight - if it is, he's going to lose. He knows it.[break][break] The man snaps out a remark and Rowan shrinks into his seat. He's right, of course - heck, Rowan knows manners and everything, it's been drilled into him since a young age - but he'd been too nervous to be thinking properly. He can feel the eyes of the other patrons on him, and his objective of not drawing attention is very suddenly, and quite obviously, a failure.[break][break] But what is he to do now? He's already taken the seat. Rowan thinks for a second before forcing himself to meet the man's angry gold eyes. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking. "Were you reserving this seat for someone else?"[break][break] It's the only logical conclusion he can think of at this point. Or else why would the male be so angry? Rowan's lack of manners was just another thing to push him over the edge. He doesn't know. Rowan's usually better at reading people, but not when they're angry, and not when he's already frightened and unsure as to what he's doing here. [break][break] He just wants to leave. He wants to get his stupid Leviathan thing done and be gone. He doesn't want trouble, but he's never known what to do if trouble came knocking on his door...
[attr="class","azotar"][googlefont="Iceland:400"]i refuse to just being a footnote in your history
[attr="class","salvatore"]The man apologized, and Cain blinked. Seriously, what was up with this male? First, a clear violation of table etiquette, and when called out upon it, he looked so vulnerable in his apology, as if already expecting himself to be berated and he'd accept it fully. He cocked his eyebrows once more, before releasing a sigh. Well, shit, if he was going to be so naive and innocent, Cain couldn't bring himself to push the issue anymore than he already had. At that, he released a soft teasing grin.
"There," he started, before pulling himself back, half-slouching against his seat once more. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"
He chuckled, lightening the mood as easily as he had turned it up, as he brought his drink to his lips, allowing himself another intake of alcohol to soothe his nerves. He wasn't normally this volatile, and he knew it. At that point, though, he'd just blame it on the drink, and the fact that the past few weeks had been exhausting for him. Now that he had secured a place to stay, and a steady flow of income to keep his food on the table, he knew his next step in progression was going to be much harder. And that step, itself, was becoming stronger as a witch.
That meant studying, training, purchasing scrolls, tomes, whatnot. All the gritty parts of becoming a witch, really. And all the expensive ones too. That meant that he'd have to take more than his usual rate of jobs, if he wanted to kick his pace up a notch.
Yeah, the stress of it all was probably just getting to him.
"You don't go here often, do you?" he pointed out the elephant in the room, as he lowered his glass back down onto the table, before bringing his cigarette back up to his lips. Taking a deep inhale of it, the young red-head would blow the fumes out to the side, directing it so that it steered and danced away from the male's direction. The reaction earlier from the proximity of smoke hadn't escaped Cain's eyes, no. That, and he knew it was a rude thing to do to someone, unless they were a smoker as well. And even then, it was still insulting to blow it directly towards them.
He had come here to clear his thoughts in silence, and to ease his nerves with the touch of alcohol, but a conversation wouldn't be so bad, he figured.
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[attr="class","jaricesnowlyr"]we come from the land of
[attr="class","jaricesnowlyr2"]ICE AND SNOW
[attr="class","jaricesnowh"]
[attr="class","jaricesnowicon"]
[attr="class","jaricesnownotes"]@cain|| rowan is befuddled
[attr="class","jaricesnowt"]
Rowan blinks, completely bewildered by the sudden change in the man's expression. One moment, he'd been angry as a storm, and now - grinning? He sits there, stunned, barely registering the male's words before he gives a curt nod, folding his hands in his lap.[break][break] He squirms a little in his seat - the barstool isn't exactly comfortable. It's a slab of wood, flat and hard, and unshaped in any way. It feels awkward. Subconsciously, he tugs down the sleeves of his shirt - another nervous habit, one of many that he's picked up over the years. His dark hair falls over his face before he brushes it aside with a finger. He really should trim it, he thinks, making a mental note to himself.[break][break] He blinks once before he answers the man's question. "No," he admits. He's been here before - once. But that was so long ago, and it was when he was naught but a child. He doesn't remember the details, save that he was with his stepfather and that he didn't want any part in being there. He can't remember what his stepfather was talking about, but he can vaguely recall it was some sort of business transaction. An unimportant detail, he thinks, mentally waving the thought aside.[break][break] He's noticed that the man doesn't recognize him. Good - he doesn't want to be recognised. He knows the family doesn't do much to make Rowan known, him being the black sheep and all, but there's that slight resemblance to his grandparents that remains. He sighs, hoping the lack of recognition lasts.[break][break] He realizes a little belatedly that the man's opened himself up to a conversation. He's blowing the smoke away from him, and Rowan's grateful for that. He searches for a question to pose back. "And you?" he says finally, unable to come up with a better response. "You come here often?"
[attr="class","azotar"][googlefont="Iceland:400"]i refuse to just being a footnote in your history
[attr="class","salvatore"]"No?" Cain repeated, though the reaction in itself was a question, prompting for more information on that. It was odd. If he had been here before, then he'd have gotten use to the mood of it. After all, he was nervous. He reeked of it. Anyone in the vicinity who was any good of a hunter would have smelled the vulnerability in the air, and it all sourced from him. It was understandable, really. Anyone who was new here probably would not be accustomed to the level of energy and testosterone in the air. And for a numbered few, that kind of fresh meat was easy pickings for any cons or hustles they had in their pockets. Cain had seen them in the act before, and he had to meet, this little kid had been rather fortunate he had come to Cain's table.
He didn't really enjoy the act of tricking the naive for their own benefit, at the demise of the other.
Of course, if the manipulation brought upon a benefit for either parties, which could be done in some situations, albeit rare ones, then Cain would have been open to it, but no, these were just thieves looking to make a quick buck out of the innocent. That didn't sit right well with Cain, even if he wasn't entirely that virtuous himself. At least, though, he chose to act upon those who deserved it, not blue-eyed victims like the one that set before him then. However, Cain was starting to think that there was more than met the eye here. If he had been here before, Cain presumed then that it would be to drink.
Yet everything he had done so, and said, argued strongly against it. So, either he was lying to perhaps save a bit of face, or he was nervous about something else. Either way, Cain saw no reason to pry into it. It didn't involve him, really.
Whatever the case, the conversation had started, and Cain saw no reason to continue going with the flou of it. He smirked at the throw back of a question, before giving a shrug of his head. "Sometimes more than I need to," he replied, and it was sorta true. Over the past years, he had become somewhat a bit of a regular here in Bell's Bar. It wasn't an everyday sort of thing, or even weekly, but he did come here every now and then - especially whenever he found himself being rewarded extra from his missions under the Silvertongue - to do as he was doing just a few minutes earlier.
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[attr="class","jaricesnowlyr"]we come from the land of
[attr="class","jaricesnowlyr2"]ICE AND SNOW
[attr="class","jaricesnowh"]
[attr="class","jaricesnowicon"]
[attr="class","jaricesnownotes"]@cain || notes
[attr="class","jaricesnowt"]
The echoed "no" sounds like a prompt. But Rowan isn't sure what to say, save the truth. He glances around nervously before giving a sigh. He's still not comfortable here, and he can still swear there are eyes on his back, though admittedly, there are fewer than before. The sharp switch in the atmosphere before had been enough to deter their attentions. Whoever this man is, Rowan admires his ability to control the room in such a way. There's no way Rowan has that sort of power, that sort of confidence. And he couldn't even imagine what it took to carry oneself in such a manner - there was this sort of "do what you will" attitude to the male. A sort of casualness to his actions, but also that caution. Sort of like a predator, ready to pounce at any moment.[break][break] Then again, Rowan had always been in that sort of atmosphere - his grandmother had the same feeling to her. So did many in Leviathan. And he always felt like a rabbit. Or a mouse. Maybe that was why he'd gotten an armadillo for a familiar - he was just so guarded all the time...[break][break] "I've been here, once, but it was for my stepfather's business," Rowan says, choosing his words carefully. "But that was when I was a child. I don't remember much."[break][break] His cognac arrives in a crystal clear glass, and he stares at the watery brown drink for a long time. He has an idea of what to expect, but when he raises the drink to his lips to take a sip, the taste is almost enough to make him splutter. He's glad he only took enough to wet his lips - he hates it. It's an acrid thing that burns his throat as it travels downward. [break][break] He tries to keep his face neutral and fails spectacularly. His lips are twisted and his brows knotted as he tries to imagine the taste away. He wonders if there's more to the man's words - why would he come here more often than he needs to? Either pleasure, or for business, like Rowan was doing. He'd never seen this male in Leviathan, though. Of course, he didn't know too many in Leviathan, but...[break][break] "Do you come here for business?" he asks innocently. He's genuinely curious, but at the same time, he's just waiting for whoever it is to come by so he can pay for his drink and begone.[break][break] He hopes they won't come by only when he's finished his drink...
[attr="class","azotar"][googlefont="Iceland:400"]i refuse to just being a footnote in your history
[attr="class","salvatore"]Well, that explained quite a bit, didn't it? If he had come here as a child, of course he wouldn't have learned the etiquette one was expected to have, even in a rowdy premise such as this. Still, it was amusing to think of, seeing a child here, even if it was in the company of an adult. What kind of father did he have to be to have dared doing such a thing to his own kid, letting him witness the potential rowdiness and violence men were capable of when intoxicated? Then, he realized, he couldn't say anything better about his own father as well. The man was a drill sergeant, insisting himself and his older brother to fit into his ideal of a perfect witch, down to the very mindset. His older brother had conformed to it, but he rebelled. And that only made his father go harder on him. It went to the point that the house felt more like a cage than a home, and it was only after he turned eighteen did he free himself from that restriction.
He never did have much love for cages.
He brought his beer back up to his lips and took another swig. The alcohol wasn't exactly the best around. It had an oaky and salty taste to it, and Cain had been around long enough to understand why, really. The beer was often kept in kegs, stored in a warehouse in the port. Sometimes, it'd stay there long enough for the taste of the wood, and the salt in the sea breeze, to seep into the beverage, giving it the unique taste that despite tasting like shit, always brought upon a sense of nostalgia and homey feeling to the bar's patrons. Cain was one of those men, though it did not hit him as hard as it did to the sailors, who often departed from Salem Town for months at a time.
The black-haired male's drink soon arrived, and Cain found himself watching as he brought it up to his lips. He was new to the environment, but was he new to what it offered? Curious, he waited for that reaction, and there it was. A scrunch of the face. It had been stronger than what he had expected. Cain could not help but release a light laugh, grinning as he raised his own mug towards his direction.
"Congratulations, bud. You're now a man," he teased, putting into play the cliche ideal that one never really grew up into adulthood until they had experienced their first taste of alcohol. As if to celebrate his mock coming-of-age, Cain brought his drink to his mouth once more, downing what remained within, before slamming it down on the wooden table. Then came the question of his presence in the bar, and he cocked his eyebrows. Hadn't it been made obvious enough? Or was he inquiring on something else entirely? He chuckled.
"Rarely. I come here to unwind, but from that question, I'm guessing that's what you're here for? It'll explain a bit, wouldn't it?" he grinned, as if discovering a gold mine right before him. It wasn't, of course, of anything important to him, but the vulnerable man was just so easy to tease that even Cain couldn't help doing so, especially with the alcohol already starting to have an effect on his rationale. Besides, it wasn't as if he was trying to con a bit of money out of him now, was he? He was just curious, as to why such a fresh blood would come to start a drinking addiction here in Bell's Bar, where only the experienced and seasoned were.
[newclass=.salvatore]padding-top:10px;padding-left:10px;padding-right:10px;font-size:11px;color:#2b2b2b;font-family:calibri;text-align:justify;[/newclass] [newclass=.salvatore b]color:#800517;[/newclass] [newclass=.azotar]font-family:'Iceland';font-style:normal;font-size:22px;font-weight:400;color:#F70D1A;text-align:center;-webkit-transition: all .5s linear;-moz-transition: all .5s linear;-ms-transition: all .5s linear;-o-transition: all .5s linear;transition: all .5s linear;[/newclass] [newclass=.azotar:hover]color: #800517;-webkit-transition: all .5s linear;-moz-transition: all .5s linear;-ms-transition: all .5s linear;-o-transition: all .5s linear;transition: all .5s linear;[/newclass]
[attr="class","jaricesnowlyr"]we come from the land of
[attr="class","jaricesnowlyr2"]ICE AND SNOW
[attr="class","jaricesnowh"]
[attr="class","jaricesnowicon"]
[attr="class","jaricesnownotes"]@cain || notes
[attr="class","jaricesnowt"]
Rowan manages a small smile at Cain's congratulations. He's had drinks before, and been forced to partake in more than his fair share of wine at social events, but he's never gotten over the bitter taste. He remebers his first time taking a sip of alcohol - he'd been curious, he was twelve, and he'd disliked it from that first sample.[break][break] The man comes here to unwind, he says. Rowan's a little astonished - how can anyone relax in such a loud, crowded atmosphere? For himself, at least, he prefers the quiet of the library, or even just a walk in the park. Anything to get away from the mansion, really...[break][break] He realizes that the bar is another place he can escape from the mansion. Not necessarily the best choice, but he can come here to get away. A very strange change in his usual attitude, though. A smile tugs at his lips - wouldn't it be fun to surprise his grandmother for once, he thinks.[break][break] But his train of thought provides him with a perfect escape for an otherwise rather unprepared question. He hasn't really thought too much about what he'd say to people if they ask why he's there. Fumbling just a little, he gives a sigh and stares at his glass. "Mmm less to unwind and more to get away? I guess," he admits, his hand moving the glass in a circle, making the amber liquid swirl. A forefinger taps on the glass - Rowan doesn't realize it, but that's his telltale sign, the one that shows he's lying, even if a little. Because that's not the real reason he's here, and he feels guilty for even switching around the truth. Mainly because this man, at least, seems rather nice. Or at least, nicer than others he's met.[break][break] Rowan hesitates. "I never did get your name," he starts tentatively. He feels he should at least stop thinking of the male as "the red-haired male from the bar" and have a definitive name to label on him.
[attr="class","azotar"][googlefont="Iceland:400"]i refuse to just being a footnote in your history
[attr="class","salvatore"]Oh? Did he just dodge the question there by passing it off as a misunderstanding? Cain had been referring to business when he had inquired about his purpose there, but it seemed that he had thought him to be talking about, well, unwinding. He gave him a brief stare, before scoffing with a smirk as he lowered his gaze, towards his drink, before shaking his head. Whatever he was here for, it wasn't entirely his business, and what he had learned in the slums was that sometimes, minding your own business was a good way to stay alive. Trouble was always afoot, and stepping into it without knowing fully what the circumstances were was a good way to get got. The red-head wasn't too keen in meeting his end just yet. He could probably be overreacting in judging the man's business - if it really were - to be trouble, but Cain would rather not risk it, to be honest. "Get away, huh?" he repeated once more, though this time it was more rhetorical.
He had been wanting to 'get away' his entire childhood. The heavy burden of carrying on the Godfrey's legacy had been a painful experience for him. It wasn't that it physically hurt, but it was mentally exhausting. The young red-head lived with the ideal that a free crow, though unloved and avoided, still lived a more purposeful life than a caged songbird. That very ideal drove him to go against his parents, and it took them a while to realize that he was a lost cause, and had disregarded his existence entirely. A teenager should never be allowed to live in a household, where his own parents and older brother acted as if he was never even there, keeping him cooped up in his room and hoping he stayed there, so as to not give more shame to the family honor.
It was only when he turned eighteen that he was able to get away. A freer life, but not necessarily a better one. Whatever the case, it was all history now, and Cain was finally getting a foothold of what would count as a life in Sundial City. He was only getting started, and it was only going to get steeper from here.
Name? Cain blinked, looking up at him. Well, this was always an interesting interaction for the red-head. The name Godfrey was almost a household name, known by many as a prestigious bloodline consisting of many powerful and remarkable mages, going back six generations of witches. Some reacted in wonder, others in fear, and a numbered few would display confusion. After all, what was a Godfrey doing in a place like this, dirtied and stained?
"Cain Godfrey," he replied, golden eyes never leaving the other male's, curios to see what kind of reaction he would receive this time round.
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Post by Rowan Ashworth on May 17, 2017 21:14:41 GMT
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Cain gives a scoff before smirking and lowering his gaze. The action confuses Rowan - he'd responded perfectly well, hadn't he? Or had he misunderstood something?[break][break] His brows are furrowed as he watches the crimson-haired male, slightly anxious, partly curious, and mostly concerned. But he doesn't pry - it's not in him to take that step. Especially with someone he's just met. With his sister, perhaps, if he thought she was troubled, but never a stranger. Or an acquaintance. Better to keep to oneself and avoid trouble if you could.[break][break] At the echo of 'get away', all Rowan does is give a simple, small nod in confirmation. The man doesn't elaborate further, seeming lost in his own thoughts for a moment. Rowan allows him the silence - a strange thing in the rowdiness of the bar - and lets him simmer. He thinks to his mission, wondering when the barkeep or whoever will ask him to pay up. No one comes by, and he's forced to take a sip of his cognac for appearances. His brow knits as the taste wets his lips, and he fights down a shudder. Blech.[break][break] He watches the male, waiting for a response to his question. He sees the blink of surprise, then the momentary hesitation before the man gives him the name of Cain Godfrey.[break][break] Godfrey. Rowan's eyes widen as he recognizes the name - a prestigious one, as prestigious as the Ashworths. What's a man from such a family doing here? His mind is a blank slate; part of him is afraid, afraid that this man is going to try to bully him, as so many others have done. The other part forms a ludicrous idea, an idea that perhaps this man knows who he is and why he's here and that Cain is only here to make 'friends'.[break][break] But no, both of those assumptions don't seem right. There'd be no need to curry up to someone from a family as famous as yours. And what is a Godfrey doing in this lower end of town? Rowan doesn't know, and frankly, he's not going to ask. After all, he thinks bitterly, what is an Ashworth doing in the lower end of town, other than something notorious?[break][break] He gives a curt nod and settles for the mystery, leaving it as such. If the male wants to, he can divulge. Rowan's not going to dig up the information. But there remains a slight spark of hope: perhaps the male is the same as him. Why else is he such a distance from his family, doing seemingly as he pleases?[break][break] "I'm Rowan," he says belatedly, quickly extending a hand on instinct. He's so used to not saying his last name in an introduction that he hesitates for a long moment before quickly adding under his breath, "Ashworth. Rowan Ashworth."[break][break] His eyes dart around, hoping that no one has heard. Though through the noisy din, he's not even sure Cain heard his name. But he doesn't want to repeat it unless asked, and so he gives a small cough. "Nice to meet you, Cain."
[attr="class","azotar"][googlefont="Iceland:400"]i refuse to just being a footnote in your history
[attr="class","salvatore"]Cain wasn't always this sociable, of course. No, it wasn't that he was shy. The man simply valued efficiency above most things, relations being one of them. If someone was efficient in their jobs, then they'd earn Cain's respect and thus, earn a place within his social circle. For that reason, Cain preferred to speak less of pointless topics, much like what was going on at that moment, and more on things that would be of benefit to him and the other party, if not himself only. However, the alcohol that he had consumed thus far was slowly removing that part of him, and bringing back the kid that had yearned for attention, for connections, for support. Having grown up as lonely as he had, it was understandable that the red-head had a hidden desire for company, though he would never realize it, and even if he did, he would never admit it. Hardened by his time in the slums, he would only see it as a form of weakness.
But alas, alcohol.
He finished what remained in the mug in his hand, before releasing an exasperated audible sigh. Then, turning his attention away briefly from the male for a moment, he raised his glass towards the bartender. "Oi, barkeep!" he called out, succeeding in catching the man's attention despite the noise he had had to compete with. The man turned towards Cain, and upon seeing the raised empty glass, gave a grin and a nod of his head. He knew what it was that the man was looking for. Lowering his glass back down, then, the fire witch returned his attention to his newfound companion.
Rowan, hm? Cain allowed a soft smile to come upon his face, as he nodded his head. Reaching forward, he allowed his own hand to wrap around Rowan's, giving it a steady firm shake. However, his entire demeanor changed as the man gave his surname. Ashworth. His smile faded into a thin line, as he stared hard at the man before him. What were the chances that the man that had happened to take the seat in front of him randomly ended up being a white horse just like he was. Of course, 'was' was the keyword there. Cain had dropped that privilege of his a long time ago. "Ashworth, hm?" he mused. What was it he said earlier? To get away? He cocked an eyebrow.
Intoxicated thoughts ran, and Cain found himself wondering on the slim chance that it could be...
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It was loud. Everyone was loud. The voices clashed against each other as each patron completed to out-volume the other, as if the very worth of their existence depended on it. Clangs of glass against glass, and thuds of glass against wood danced along with the voices, and boisterous laughter often burst in like a beat drop in this ear-shattering harmony of sounds. Bell's Bar was as lively as ever, the individuals within a mixture of sailors and regulars, all of which carried the same common intent. To drink the night and their worries away, and only care of the consequences when it came. To the red-head, though, Bell's Bar was something else entirely. If one wanted to simply sit somewhere to drink idly, without having to worry about their mind being riddled with thoughts, this was certainly the place to go. No one bothered him, and the sounds made it hard for his mind to even board any train of thoughts longer than a few seconds.
