More FF7 ficcy
So yeah ... here's page two for the FF7 ficcy. Any guesses on who the currently unnamed persons are?
Before anyone could say anything the red-head grinned at him and asked "Have anything for dessert?"
"Not as such, sir. We do have some early strawberries." Crowley had learned a long time ago that a little politeness went a long way to keeping his customers happy. And he could tell that under the well-cared for, if somewhat worn, armor they all wore, these were quality folk and expected a certain amount of courtesy. The outre lewdness of the young brunette notwithstanding.
The red-head's smile widened. “That'll do. I've been wanting something sweet for the longest time!” he exclaimed happily. “Trail rations just don't have much taste to them.”
“True enough,” Crowley agreed, remembering his own days on the road. “Dinner, gentlemen?”
Their requests were decided on quickly, giving him three orders of Shepard's Pie, two of the pork roast, and a stew. They also requested two whole loaves of bread and a pat of butter to go with it. “And to drink?” he asked.
They sort of looked at each other, a moment of silent communication occurring. Then Zack shrugged. “Milk or tea for these two if you've got it,” he said, jerking his thumb at Vincent and the silver haired man. “Ales all around for the rest of us, and if you've got a bottle of Roa'anon Valley wine to go with dinner, we'd welcome it.”
He grunted. “That's some high-class stuff. Hard to get up here. As it happens though, I've got a bottle of '69, a fine white, but it'll cost you.”
A gold piece appeared on the table in front of him. The silver-haired man once again lifted an expressive eyebrow. “I trust that should cover the cost of the wine?” he murmured quietly, a subtle air of threat rising off him. Crowley looked into cold, green eyes and felt the blood draining out of his face. He was no kind of pushover but something told him this man could cut him wide open nose to navel and calmly sit back down to eat his dinner without so much as a hair out of place.
“Aww, Seph, don't go scaring people like that!” exclaimed Zack, shaking his head in resignation. He turned to Crowley. “We've gotten kicked out of more places than I care to count just because he can't talk to people without being all imposing,” he whined plaintively, waving his hands about and looking up at the Inn's owner with an odd sort of pathetic entreaty in his violet eyes. “You'll have to forgive him his dragonistic tendencies. His ma was a monster.”
“Zackary!” That sharp command came from the other brunette, who looked like he was considering dragging the younger man outside to knock him senseless.
“Alright, alright!” he yelped at the dark look, holding up his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry Seph. I know I shouldn't tease you about your mother.”
Backing away from the table, Crowley left the group of six to get their food. A dragon huh, he thought, glancing back at the silver haired man. Which kind would be the real question. Dragonborn could be a real pain to deal with. Shoving the door to the kitchen open, he bellowed the order to the cook and went back to tending his bar. Directing one of his girls to gather the requested drinks, he gave her shove toward the table in question and a short warning to keep her hands off.
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Hopefully I'll have some more very soon. These little one-page teasers won't help me pull the story together.
Before anyone could say anything the red-head grinned at him and asked "Have anything for dessert?"
"Not as such, sir. We do have some early strawberries." Crowley had learned a long time ago that a little politeness went a long way to keeping his customers happy. And he could tell that under the well-cared for, if somewhat worn, armor they all wore, these were quality folk and expected a certain amount of courtesy. The outre lewdness of the young brunette notwithstanding.
The red-head's smile widened. “That'll do. I've been wanting something sweet for the longest time!” he exclaimed happily. “Trail rations just don't have much taste to them.”
“True enough,” Crowley agreed, remembering his own days on the road. “Dinner, gentlemen?”
Their requests were decided on quickly, giving him three orders of Shepard's Pie, two of the pork roast, and a stew. They also requested two whole loaves of bread and a pat of butter to go with it. “And to drink?” he asked.
They sort of looked at each other, a moment of silent communication occurring. Then Zack shrugged. “Milk or tea for these two if you've got it,” he said, jerking his thumb at Vincent and the silver haired man. “Ales all around for the rest of us, and if you've got a bottle of Roa'anon Valley wine to go with dinner, we'd welcome it.”
He grunted. “That's some high-class stuff. Hard to get up here. As it happens though, I've got a bottle of '69, a fine white, but it'll cost you.”
A gold piece appeared on the table in front of him. The silver-haired man once again lifted an expressive eyebrow. “I trust that should cover the cost of the wine?” he murmured quietly, a subtle air of threat rising off him. Crowley looked into cold, green eyes and felt the blood draining out of his face. He was no kind of pushover but something told him this man could cut him wide open nose to navel and calmly sit back down to eat his dinner without so much as a hair out of place.
“Aww, Seph, don't go scaring people like that!” exclaimed Zack, shaking his head in resignation. He turned to Crowley. “We've gotten kicked out of more places than I care to count just because he can't talk to people without being all imposing,” he whined plaintively, waving his hands about and looking up at the Inn's owner with an odd sort of pathetic entreaty in his violet eyes. “You'll have to forgive him his dragonistic tendencies. His ma was a monster.”
“Zackary!” That sharp command came from the other brunette, who looked like he was considering dragging the younger man outside to knock him senseless.
“Alright, alright!” he yelped at the dark look, holding up his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry Seph. I know I shouldn't tease you about your mother.”
Backing away from the table, Crowley left the group of six to get their food. A dragon huh, he thought, glancing back at the silver haired man. Which kind would be the real question. Dragonborn could be a real pain to deal with. Shoving the door to the kitchen open, he bellowed the order to the cook and went back to tending his bar. Directing one of his girls to gather the requested drinks, he gave her shove toward the table in question and a short warning to keep her hands off.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><
Hopefully I'll have some more very soon. These little one-page teasers won't help me pull the story together.