Toy Soldiers

Title: Toy Soldiers
Time Period: March 27, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Sometimes hard working men need to play. The Dovetail is where they go.

While the Dovetail may be a fixture for the lives of some of the men in Dornie, especially from the militia, Jorn often finds himself either too mentally busy or too tired to bother. Once in a while, perhaps, he will show up at the end of the drive off of River Road when a few variables line up; a gentle reminder from one of the girls, a bad day being wingman, the realization that both his beds are empty, posturing with the guys at the pub- the list is much longer, but the examples remain.

Jorn is not particularly plastered right now, but he has drunk enough that a group effort to get to the Dovetail seemed like a good idea as any, despite it being down a dark, forested road, and despite Jorn's company being only half as nice as he might want it to be, as they finally find themselves within stumbling range of the Dovetail. The Nord's white cloak marks him even from here, and no doubt at least one person has looked out the window to see where the bootfalls are coming from.

"Jeg vet at jeg skylder deg for bjornen." Except that in blurred Norwegian, such a thing probably does not get across at all to Jain, much less clearly. Jorn looks torn between being irritated and staying tipsy. "Jeg mente ikke a kaste den pa deg, selv om du er en pikk."

"Aye, you're right," Jain points blearily at the norseman, arm thrown about the large man in comraderie. The highlander is past drunk and past the need for translation. He smells like sweat, blood, and hard liquor recently bottled at home. Likely confiscated. "Scalded vegetables do taste like minty pict saliva!"

A boisterous laugh carries into the brothel as the blonde slaps the bearman on the chest. The door is kicked open, like it always is when MacCruimein is on a bender. It's been happening more often as of late. "You'll have to come out to the farm for Mairi's cooking soon, very soon. It's not quite pict saliva but if you compliment her she'll take you to bed an' I'll be free for a night, eh?" Jorn. The ultimate wingman.

"Hossfeld! Get in here an' catch us a couple of live ones," he demands, his neck craned around toward the still open door for the other man. "I want something large and blonde for my friend from up north. I'll have a smaller bite from somewhere east."

The biggest problem with group efforts is that the workload sometimes leans more heavily to one side over another. Such is the case tonight, where Eduard Hossfeld is more than happy to let his two companions in the group do more of the effort than him. They're young, they're malleable, they can survive a fall or two. "Don't rush me, I don't want to track mud inside," the German replies, although there was not much mud he would have tracked in anyway. Once he steps in, the door is shut, and the outside world is left safely outside. "I'll see what I can find." And Hossfeld is off, not really going far, and leaving his fellow militiamen alone for a tiny bit. "Girls! I need two for die betrunkene I brought."

"What?" Jorn half-hisses this out, looking sidelong as if Jain might be talking the same perceived gibberish. It is a rarity for them to get along, and times like this are as uncommon as finding a non-Caucasian in Dornie. "Mairi's a nice woman, don't talk like that." If he were in a mood, he might lean over and give Jain such a pinch- but tonight is not the night, apparently, and besides- he might be right. A little bit, there. Jain is not the worst man he's ever met. One of them, at least.

"You assume we all favor our women like our valkyrja?" Partially accusing, but not quite. Jorn cranes his own neck to scope out the parlour. "Bah, who wants a twig when you can have the tree?"

"It's like this… Jorn…" Arm taken from around the other man's shoulder, Jain holds both hands cupped in front of him. "Having one woman at home is like eating a large steak every day… Filling and a little heavy… Sometimes you need something light… Like a chicken." Either the highlander means to take another woman home or— He's comparing them to meat and he's drunk.

Something sparkly catches the blond's attention across the room, a woman with much too much jewelry on. "Excuse me fellows, I think I found my catch for the evening." In other words, he's not going home to Mairi.

It's probably a good thing, in this case, that there were no truly far places that Hossfeld could have gotten to. He was able to stay close enough to his fellows to hear of Jain's sudden change in plans. "So what's this then?" he asks, striding back over with a shrug, "After all the work I did for you, walking over there and pretending to look for women? Aigh." The German's right hand goes over his heart, and he looks just slightly to the side and downward. "Mitten durch das herz, Jain. Right through it." But that' all there is to it.

"I'll find someone for you then?" he asks of Jorn. Surely, someone there can count of him! For, something. "What you like, I'll find her. Probably."

If Jorn understands, the expression he is wearing does not show it- something a little brutish, as if he is suddenly in the mood for jumping on a longship and heading for the nearest undefended village. So to speak. The northman is left looking half-wistful, half-sour after Jain's intended destination, only to be drug out of it by the German at his elbow.

"Ja," Jorn squints at nothing, then looks down to Hossfeld, finally. "Do you?" Want one, he means. "Meine augen sind nicht scharf…" Jorn has never been good at this part, mind you, so this is probably nothing new to anyone.

From across the room, Jain leads a woman carrying fistfulls of frothing steins. Something to make the german in all of them a little more comfortable. He does her the service of passing one to each of the other men before lifting his own high in the air. "To women," Jain says a little too loudly, causing most of the ones around them to giggle and cover their mouths. "To one for each hand and a extra for the mouth. To the Dovetail for being so hospitable to provide us with whatever we want. And finally to Duncan Rowntree for paying the way."

His beer sloshes over the side of the large mug as he clanks it against his chosen whore's. Or one of them. He's only got one free hand at the moment but his smile attracts another one of his regulars. "I'll have three wenches tonight, these two can take whatever's left!"

"You're too kind," Hossfeld replies, although he doesn't sound terribly sincere, "First, let's make sure we are all clear on just, one thing. You had better be able to walk in the morning, because I'm not going to carry you out. Do we agree on this?" There's no time to respond, and all at once, Hossfeld is friendly and smiles and speaking again. "Gut, ich bin froh." And then, his attention shifts instantly to Jorn. "Don't move. I'll find you the best one-" A glance to Jain, and then back to Jorn- "That is left."

"I have a different sponsor to be thanking, but all the same-" Jorn is more than happy to hold the drink aloft long enough to have it counted, before he finds his mouth full again. He licks the edge of his mouth free of taste when he turns to address Hoss, barely able to stop his scoping of the others, which aren't involving themselves with other patrons. "Haha," The noise is like a bark. "I'd like to see that, eh. Can you find me one with huge-" Jorn makes a chesty gesture with his hand and the drink that causes a dribble along the side of his stein, and a mixed expression on his face. "-tracts of land" No, that's not right. The gesture was, at least.

Huge tracts of land, he could be talking about Mairi, she's got that farm of hers. Jain lofts an eyebrow toward Jorn and then glances toward the window with a shake of his head. "Too far to walk, just take one've the ones here. Mairi can wait until the morn." The whore on his lap giggles and runs a hand through his hair, though that sort of attention seems to annoy him all of a sudden. "Go, get a friend and a room, I'll join you after my friends find company."

A toast and a drink. And then, confusion. "Huge…" Hossfeld finishes his restatement of Jorn's requirements with a shrug. "Okay. Huge tracts of land." The German- the actual German- looks around, and then casually passes his stein into Jorn's free hand. "Here, drink them both as fast as you can," he says, "Before you know, everything will have huge tracts of land. The huge tracts of land will have huge tracts of land. And then, you can die happy.

"Or, something. Sleep happy. One of those. I'll be back." And then, he walks off again to find Jorn a girl.

Being looked after by a German reminds Jorn vaguely of Germany, and meeting at least the one mother there- Hossfeld isn't overbearing, but the way he shoves beer at Jorn is uncanny. And he isn't about to make light of it, and somehow Jain's advice, of all things, has a point to it. Too much of a walk to handle what he is thinking about right now. The northman lifts the first and practically pours it down, for all the faster it vanishes and he finds himself making an effort to track Hoss' shoulders.

"It'll be sleeping happy, mein freund! Of course. I don't have time to die happy." That probably made more sense before it made its way to his mouth, granted.

Another ale finds its way into Jorn's hand, this time gifted from Jain. The whore that's missing from his lap left a few between them. "There's more, we'll need to get you a bit knackered in order to find a woman for you tonight." Whatever he might mean by that is hidden behind a winning smile.

Flicking a hand, he beckons over a large woman with red hair and an abundance of freckles sprinkled everywhere. "Florentine, meet Jorn, he's just your type. Available. Jorn, meet Florentine, she's just your type, huge tracts of land." It's likely that they already know each other, maybe even well, but Jain isn't quite up to his regular faculties this evening. "Eduard! One more for Wartooth and we'll find yours!!" A hoarse yell follows after the German as the scot staggers toward the stairs.

"Gute Nacht, Highlander! I'll be upstairs in no time!" But will Hossfeld be upstairs in no time? Perhaps, but perhaps not as well. Rather than wandering about, seeking a second girl for Jorn or even a first for him, the fireplace off there, in the den, as well as an empty and comfortable chair draws his attention first. Will he pick out a girl? Probably. After he's had a short rest, first. Just long enough for his head to clear a bit: How else is he going to focus? "Don't wait for me."

Big hands are good for when your 'pals' shove mugs into them. One is empty, and he hasn't time to set it down before Jain passes the third. Maneuvering them isn't so easy, and he ends up passing one off on someone else, not exactly looking to see who. He saw an empty hand, that's all. His answer for Jain is somewhat plain, though he is all smiles with Florentine, regardless of if he actually likes her outside of this or not. "We've met."

"What say you to one more?" Jorn's arm is essentially its own creature at this point, snaking its way around the woman's waist and finding nothing wrong in tugging her closer.

"I've got more than money burning holes in my pockets — I was thinking, perhaps yourself and miss Bonnie can help me fix that." Not as smooth as sobriety, but it will do.