A Captain, a Dentist, and a Nun walk into a bar... (Day 3 - Night)

The trek to the CrossCut Saloon was colder than their first foray through town, only decidedly less mud-covered this time around. Dorian and Lyen made their way past festive carts and throngs of locals sipping hot beverages. A few lyrics of drinking songs spilled from a tavern or two they passed on their way in their quest for bourbon and a continuation of their own festival merriment.

“Marisol was really something up there.” She regarded Dorian a moment as they walked, “How did you two meet?”

“She was,” the medic agreed. “Ah first met Marisol right at tha war’s end. Mah family home had become a field hospital of sorts,” he confided. “Her men brought her in.” They stepped onto the plank decking before the saloon. After stamping feet to dislodge the persistent snow, Dorian threw the door open for Lyen.

“Close that gorram door!” someone shouted from within.

“Sorry,” Adler waved as he pulled the big door shut behind him. He hadn’t really considered the CrossCut Saloon to be a particularly seedy establishment, but now, with Marisol’s rebuke in his ear and Sister Lyen on his arm, the thought occurred that surely there were other, more suitable places to sip a glass of bourbon. “So, Sistah, would yah like a table, or do yah prefer tha whole ‘bar room’ experience?” he pointed toward some unoccupied stools. “Belly up?”

“When in Rome,” Lyen contributed. “The bar suits me just fine.” She’d followed Dorian into the CrossCut, and a quick survey of the place brought memories of Santo back to her. The wood was well-worn in an almost charming way. It was not unlike the bar she’d found Keller in those moons ago, before she’d booked passage on the Veil.

Keller was mindlessly nodding along to whatever the gent in the dark shirt was saying. His eyes and thoughts were elsewhere, in specific, focused on the blouse of the woman seated to his left. The other patrons may have complained, but Keller was a pretty happy camper each time to cold air blew their way.

This time though, something else caught his attention, a familiar drawl he heard often on the ship, he couldn’t place it at first until he saw the smaller man approaching the bar. A scowl crossed his face and he removed himself even further from what his compatriot was saying. “Pardon me a minute,” he said, tipping his hat as he made his way over to the bar.

“Bourbon,” Dorian ordered. “Two fingahs, two glasses. Neat, please.” He turned toward Lyen again. “Oh...Marisol,” he apologized. “She’d been injured. Ah operated an’...as yah can see, full recovery,” he concluded. “Didn’t see her fah a couple years, til she recognized me on Santo. That’s where our friendship began.” As the drinks arrived, he offered a brief coaching on the best way to sample bourbon, before lifting his glass. “Best of friends,” he toasted.

“Doctor, Sister. I hope you don’t mind, I’m conducting a bit of business, and I’d rather none of my crew be present ‘til it’s concluded.” Keller said, offering up enough to the bartender to pay for the two drinks.

Glass mid-air, the nun regarded Keller, “Well hello Captain!” Still bubbly from their time at the Montagne, Ly could smell that Keller was already a few drinks in. Setting her glass on the bar, she regarded the drink and then Keller. With a slow scoot of the glass, she replied, “We won’t bother you--just came from seeing Marisol sing in the cabaret. When you’re set, would you have a drink with us? You can be foil to Dorian’s bourbon-boasting.”

“The cabaret sounds like a fine place to get yourselves a drink. If’n you don’t mind, I have captaining to do here, my crew need not be present for it.” He could have sworn he’d said that last bit already, but being a few drinks in, it was possible he was just thinking it in his head.

Actually, Dorian did mind being ejected, but given yesterday’s fireworks between the two men, decided that this was not a moment to stand on principle. “Very well then,” he set the untouched glass upon the bar.

“Hold on Dorian, I’m sure the bar’s big enough for his Captaining and our quiet drink. What, pray tell, is such important business, if you don’t mind my asking? Say,” Ly turned to face him proper, craning her neck to look behind him, “I don’t see the Drogg Kryi with you, how’d that go?”

“Sister, I don’t mean no disrespect but if I wanted you to know, I wouldn’t be asking you to leave. The drogg kryi went just fine, but I’m looking to line up our next job, which might be hindered if my associates get wind of the crew I’m running with, rather than the crew I’m telling them I got. So if you don’t mind…” He jerked his head towards the door.

“Oh I see. Well, yes, I do mind. Thank you.” Lyen gave Keller a slight nod before angling toward the bar. Her hand found the abandoned glass and she pulled it closer. “You know, they might figure out we’re associated and it could blow your cover if we--what’s the word--*fraternize* over here by the bar much longer.” She shot a glance over her shoulder, “We won’t breathe a word, Captain.” It was all she could do to restrain a salute. She was feeling a might protective of their evening being cut short by a Captain too far in his drink. Perhaps she was feeling stubborn, perhaps she was a little worried he was into something he oughtn’t be. The glass tilted in her hand, amber liquid inviting.

“Guess Ah’m havin’ that drink, aftah all,” Dorian chuckled under his breath.

“Sistah’s callin’ this one correctly, captain,” he said as he turned on the barstool. “Only person makin’ yah associates nervy is you.” He lifted his glass, sending it over to clink against the nun’s. “Testify.”

“I remember when we used to fire entire crews,” he said less than under his breath. “They ain’t the sort you two should be consorting with. So I’m askin’ you both kindly to go be stubborn somewhere’s else.”

“And kindly I must decline. Aw Captain, it’s nice to see this side of you, so concerned for the crew. You needn’t worry, though, Adler here’s giving me shooting lessons.” She raised her eyebrows toward Keller, taking that first sip of bourbon, just how Dorian had instructed. Well, except she almost inhaled when she should of sipped. The resulting coughing fit was less than nunly and was just loud enough to catch eyes from most of the patrons of the CrossCut. Lyen shot an arm out to steady on Keller’s shoulder as the color returned to her cheeks, the burning in her throat lingering.

“I did ask kindly, and now I’m asking less than kindly. In order to get off this rock, I’m gonna need their credits. If you want to explain to the rest of the crew how you rutt’d it up, by all means, continue.” He shot back, giving a small wave to the party at his table.

The bourbon burned, and with a slightly distressed look on her face, the nun did as she was bade. Stepping down from her stool she replied, “I appreciate your kindness, Captain. Is that them?” She motioned to the table. “If you like I can exclaim something about how dastardly you are, you know, to make up for the…” she made a motion with her hand as she broke into another coughing fit. On queue, Dorian was there with a glass of water which she accepted graciously.

“Not necessary.” The captain replied, noticing the blonde giving Dorian an eye. “Just nice to know if this falls through, for once it ain’t my doing.” The captain paid for another round, ordering a blue whisky label for himself before returning to his table.

Lyen turned to her companion, “Well, so much for a quiet drink. I don’t think the bourbon agreed with me. Or me with the bourbon.”

He responded with a quiet laugh. “It’s an acquired taste, Sistah...rathah like pickin’ fights in saloons. Ah nevah want tah go inta anothah without you at mah side,” he grinned with a salutory lift of his glass. “Ah am in awe of you...right now.”

“To the best of friends,” the nun held her glass aloft. “Captain said he was buying, right? Maybe I’ll give it another shot.” Lyen cheersed toward Keller’s table with a wink, and set off at a mosey toward the front door, glass in hand.

Dorian gestured for a refill of his own glass. “Where Ah come from, it’s considered rude tah make a lady drink alone.” Once the fresh pour landed in his glass, he hoisted it in her direction. “Tah mah friend, Lyen Giu,” he said loudly enough to be overheard by others in the bar.

Lyen stifled a mischievous giggle as she and Dorian made their way out of the saloon, arm in arm. “Uh-huh, and we wouldn’t want to be rude, now would we?” As the door swung open another cry of ‘I said close that gorram door!’ echoed after the pair into the night.