It seemed not everyone was as excited as Paints was where it concerned the newest arrival to their table. Drevin was stony and cool as ever, offering the Elf a simple and efficient greeting before returning to his drink. A bit stand-offish, perhaps, but leagues more amicable than the ambassador. Allectus' distaste for Jay was easily observable, even as the man did his best to hide his casual contempt behind the practiced, expressionless face of a true politiican. His bodyguard was a little less subtle; the big mute moved back to the table and placed a fresh cup of water before his master, offering Jay a pointed glare that didn't fade even after he had returned to his prior post.
Paints saw it all. He was good at reading people, or at least he liked to think he was. He liked to watch people, see them react, and laugh, and scowl. A performer is nothing without an audience, he thought, and not for the first time. And so far, this audience has done well to put on a very interesting show of their own.
He, unlike his companions, adored Jay. The elf was a spark...no, for a metaphorical spark implies that a fire has not been started. Rather, he was a log, another piece of firewood to be thrown onto the fire burning at their table, a fire built of heat and laughter and drink, a fire that ran down his throat alongside each mouthful of mead and settled warmly in his stomach. Paints matched the elf drink for drink, and did so happily.
The night was coming apart at the seams. The blurring intensified; the beat of the bard's drums became louder, faster. It was getting hard to keep his head still, and even harder to follow the conversation.
He picked up bits and pieces. "I was born and raised on Solstheim," Drevin answered, presumably in response to Paints' own question, " after my family left Morrowind with the eruption of the Red Mountain. When I was rather young, we moved here, to Windhelm, and made a life around the Grey Quarter. I left quite some time ago for my own traveling and work, but I've not left Skyrim since; it's home, even with the war. I lived near Solitude for a while, but I try not to stay still for too long, and now I'm here... I go whereverer my wanderlust beckons. Nothing special."
"A wanderer at heart!" Paints bellowed in return, clapping the dark elf on the back with a hand that perhaps a bit too heavy. "Yes, yes, I can see that in you! An elf with restless feet, even as you sit there, stone-faced and scotch-tongued! But do not sell yourself short, my friend! You are indeed something special...if you were not, you would not be here at this table, yes? You would not preparing to embark on a quest of epic proportions, if you did not have the makings of a hero in you!"
And then, more minutes that seemed somehow too short, too loud. He managed to catch the trail end of something spoken in Allectus' clipped, professional voice. "...a number of important titles in my career, the postion of Ambassador is only one. I was selected for a number of reasons that I'm sure would bore you gentlemen, but rest assured I am the best man for the job." It was like the man was wearing some sort of festivity-resistant armor: somehow, amongst the commotion and thrash of that busy tavern, he insisted on fixing all of them with a gaze that was as icy and and as serious as his tone.
"I'm aware you all have your own reasons for signing up, but I must make the Empire's stance perfectly clear; your charge is to protect myself and the Falmer representative on our journey. Once arriving at our destination, you are to answer only to my command as to how we will resolve whatever problem is faced by these refugees. Upon resolution, you will report to me, and I will make sure all is in order before sending you on your way. Heed my advice, remember that your actions represent the Empire, and act professionally. Do this and I will flex my power to ensure that your reward exceeds the amount initially agreed upon."
Drevin only offered another nod in response, rolling his eyes a bit as he returned to his scotch. Jay's nod was garnished with a smile, and he affirmed his dedication to the cause by finishing his tankard of mead and moving to grab another. Paints fixed the ambassador with a toothy smile, one claw raised in a fist to his chest as a mock salute. "Aye, my lord. The loyalest and most dedicated subordinates are we. I swear to you on my honor as a knight, I will get you, and our elven charge, to our destination without harm." His salute turned into an impromptu toast, and soon more mead was being thrown down his gullet. He waved away Allectus' concerns with one impatient claw when he had finished. "And as for professionalism, you have no cause to fear, I assure you."
Allecuts swept another gaze around the table, somehow looking both disappointed and unsurprised at their responses. Finally he stood, his bodyguard moving to his back immediately. "Other matters call for my attention, I must retire," he stated curtly, bowing slightly. "I look forward to seeing you all at dawn, assemble at the stables and together we shall write history." And then he turned and marched away without a glance back, his back straight and unyielding as his bodyguard cleared a path to the door.
After that, the night truly became hazy. Later, Paints would recall small bits, scraps of conversation or pieces of laughter and light. Drevin and Jay were good drinking companions, the former surprisingly willing to put up with his drunken antics and the latter seemingly enjoying himself as he tried to match them. They talked for what seemed like hours, and drank more than he thought he could stomach, until the crowd had begun to thin sometime in the early morning. Not long after the bards had cased their lutes and drums and left, Drevin made his exit, smirking as he and Camilla, the Imperial woman that had graciously surrendered their table to them (and then returned a short while later, looking for companionship) exchanged sly glances and slipped away towards Drevin's room.
The other Imperial that had joined them, a thin, blond-haired beauty named Justine, seemed to have similar ideas...and that either she had much more exotic tastes than her friend, or her intoxication had made her brave and willing to try something new. She flashed Paints a coy smile as she reached under the table and ran a gentle hand up the inside of his thigh. That certainly was sobering. That probably works on most men, he thought, returning her smile even as he reached down and clasped her hand in one of his claws. A pity I am not most men.
"Justine, my dear," he said, smiling sweet and sincere as he dragged her hand up into sight, "you have met my friend Jay, yes? A dashing fellow, very full of heroics...and mead. I'm sure the two of you would like to talk-" he turned, meaning to gesture towards the elf, but stopped short when he was greeted by the sight of an empty street. Jay had apparently slipped away while he wasn't paying attention, off to get more mead or to mingle with someone in the dwindling crowd. Paints thought to himself, Perhaps he went looking for someone to warm his bed,scowling internally, and he thought the situation here was hopeless. If the damned fool had been only a little bit more patient, he'd have realized that I was trying to set this buxom young lass straight into his lap. Still smiling, he stood, pulling Justine to her feet as well. "Shall we go for a walk, my lady?" Well, there goes my easy solution.
Outside, the air was cold in the way that only a true Skyrim night could be. It sent a chill through Paints as soon as he passed through the door, the last warmth of the alcohol in him being sapped away as he continued to sober. Perhaps it would've been easier simply to cut things off back in the tavern. Certainly would have been less annoying. Still, that would have been rude, and besides the fact that this innocent lass didn't deserve to be so easily and cruelly dismissed, it would've cast a very unfavorable pall over his reputation. He did have a part to play, after all.
"Ah, I don't think I could ever get used to this cold," Justine said, shivering as she pressed herself against his side. "I do hope what they say about your kind isn't true...that you're always cold to the touch?" She smiled up at him, her hand straying again in a downwards direction. "I'd hate to have cold sheets tonight..."
Paints chuckled, gently clasping her hand again and bringing it up to chest height. "You shouldn't believe every rumor you hear, my lady." Though I do wish you had heard, and believed, some specific rumors about me before tonight. It would have made this all much easier.
The Imperial giggled drunkenly before continuing. "Are we walking somewhere? I'm staying with my cousin here during the festival...but he's always out enjoying himself...and if he is at home, I'm sure he'll be passed out. He won't notice a little bit of noise between two people..."
Paints smiled sadly, one claw reaching out to place itself delicately on her shoulder. And now, the night's true performance. "My dear," he began, sighing deeply, "I fear I may have misled you with my actions tonight, and for that I apologize with every ounce of sincerity in my heart. I'm afraid I have made a fool of myself, and put you in a most uncomfortable position."
Justine looked up at him blankly, obviously not comprehending. "I don't-"
"I have made you trespass upon your own honor, and for that I hope you can forgive me. You see, I cannot accompany you tonight." He shook his head sorrowfully, his brow furrowed deeply. Careful now, don't oversell it.
The Imperial still wasn't quite sure what was going on. "Why-"
Paints cut her off, hoping his impatience (it was damn cold out there) would come off as hasty concern. "The problem lies with me, I assure you. You see, I am sworn...to another. We are separated now: by distance, and by fate, and by things too horrible to mention, but she is my one true love, and I am sworn to her." He made himself appear resolute. "And a knight never breaks his vows.
"I am haunted by my desire for her, in every hour of every day. I was foolish, to think I could distract myself with drink, and with a smile as lovely as yours. But here, looking up at the stars-" he glanced upwards, gesturing grandly towards the heavens, "I'm struck with the thought that perhaps, wherever she is now, she too looks up at those same stars, and thinks of me. And I realize that distraction is impossible. My love waits for me, and so I will wait for her, with bated breath and arms that ache for lack of embrace. Such is the burden I bear, and I hope I have not committed a crime so heinous upon you that you would not begrudge a poor star-crossed lover his vain attempts at finding solace."
He closed his eyes for a long moment then, sighing, the perfect picture of remorse and guilt. Truly, he was just curious. Would that really work? Was it too sappy, too overwrought? He was afraid that, in his drunkenenss, he'd laid it on a bit too thick. He always did take a turn for the dramatic (well, moreso than usual, anyway) when he'd been in his cups.
But when he opened his eyes, he saw the tears gathering in Justine's. "Oh, knight. You have nothing to apologize for." Paints allowed himself a small smile, passing it off as relief. Drunken woman: they were always taken by the tortured-romantic angle.
They talked for another brief moment in the cold, before Justine moved from his side. "Find my companion," he advised her as she paused in the doorway to the inn, "the elf named Jay. Handsome lad, smart and charming. A lady so bright as yourself will have much to talk about with him, I'm sure of it." And then she was gone, and the problem was truly resolved.
He sighed, a true sigh this time that clouded white and wispy around his muzzle. It had been a tedious affair, but not one he was completely unfamiliar with. Just a slave to the story, he thought to himself again. And whatever stories Justine is going to go spreading about me tomorrow, I'd rather they be good ones. Hopeless, love-struck hero...always a crowd pleaser. He stayed there for a few moments longer, watching the stars swing in great slow arcs above his head, feeling the cold creep up his legs and into his chest. He swayed slightly, still half-drunk, and he thought about things. He thought about the quest ahead, gave some thought to their destination, and to the meaning of the whole thing. He thought about his new companions, stoic Devin, stiff Allectus and Jay, the elf that was probably twice his age and yet somehow seemed even younger than he was. He thought about the stories he'd told, and the tale he'd spun to the hapless young lady. He allowed himself to wonder, for just a brief second, what it would be like if that story was true. And for a moment, he swore he could hear laughter from far away, and the taste of oranges on his tongue.
He stood there in the cold, colorless night for longer than he meant to. And then he turned around, returned to the warmth and the color and the noise of the inn, and he went to bed.