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[ That's what he gets for hanging out there, he supposes, simply giving the bouncer a nod and moving on into the tavern without causing a fuss. He does realize he looks a little out of place these days but it's not the first sailor dive he's been in, though those days were long since gone with his youth.

While he does mean to head for the bar and order something regardless of whether Lambert is here or not, it's hard to ignore the group gathered further into the tavern. So, he drifts that way first, curious to see what's happening. ]

[ A contest, that much is clear from the murmured betting amongst the audience, but once Childermass gets close enough, he’ll actually see the competitors. A burly faun with impressive ram horns is fixed in an arm wrestling contest with Lambert, the muscles in their arms taut with tension as they try to pin the other down.

It’s a little hard to tell who’s winning at the moment, but the witcher’s mad grin reveals teeth more slightly pronounced than they used to be, and his fingers end in long, blunt claws. ]

Give it up, old goat. [ He sneers. ] We know who’s walking away from this.

[ The exertions of the evening — he’s already more than a few drinks in, that much is obvious— have the back of his shirt riding up, exposing a strip of sandy fur that disappears into his waistband. ]

Edited 2019-08-29 02:24 (UTC)

[ Somehow he's not surprised. By finding the witcher here and that they have an arm-wrestling contest going both. Childermass will ease his way into a spot amongst the crowd, though not directly to the fore or in plain sight of Lambert. He's in no rush and he isn't about to stop any of their fun, even finding some amusement in watching it himself.

He would point out they're both walking away, technically, but, again, he's not here to ruin anyone's fun. Quietly watching will have to do for now. ]

[ Lambert isn’t so monstrous as some of the tavern’s other patrons, but he seems curiously strong despite that, or at least confident he’s a match for it. Muscles in shoulders all tense one after the other as he really puts his back into it for one last push, hands shaking as they vie for triumph.

With a resounding slam, the faun’s arm hits the table and there’s a mix of cheering from the winners and groans of disgust from the losers, muttering about how they can believe he’s still going, he’s been at it all night! Lambert laughs and straightens; the bartender calls to him to bstop breaking his co-worker’s arms just because he’s done for the night. ]

[ That Lambert's been at this all night is a skeptical claim to Childermass but he's not the one making it himself, so, perhaps more believable. He takes in the general banter among the tavern-goers, the bartender yelling at him, and comes away with the general idea that the witcher works here regularly enough for everyone to know him.

It means he's definitely the outsider here right now but, as usual, Childermass isn't about to let that bother him. Instead, he'll just linger where he took up watching from while the other patrons depart and the faun grumbles and cusses under his breath before getting up to leave.

Only once it's a tiny bit quieter — it's a tavern, so actual quiet is impossible — will he speak up. ]

I suppose this means your muscles are more than just for looks after all.

[ Which is a joke in itself, considering Lambert isn't exactly an adonis amongst men to begin with here. ]

[ It’s easy enough to place the voice once he hears it, distinct as it is, and Lambert’s mouth twists up into a smirk when he sees the magician, raising his brows. ]

I can give you a personal demonstration, if you want. [ He leers, before he rocks his weight back on his heels and laughs. There’s an edge to it, if Childermass looks closer, something taut and tired around his eyes — a witcher can get by on little sleep, but Lambert has extra reason to be wary of going to bed these days. ]

Didn’t think you’d actually show up. Witch school that boring already?

I've very little interest in a broken wrist, so I'm afraid I'll have to pass.

[ That, at least, is likely less of a surprise. Childermass isn't weak by any means but he's not that, whatever the hell a witcher is. Now that the crowd is dispersing, he'll walk closer to the table and raise his eyebrows a hint as he looks down at Lambert. That tired look isn't too far off from his own...

But he won't mention it. He just shrugs. ]

And I felt like being contrary today.

[ And so here he is. ]

Well, your loss. Still, can’t let you come all this way for nothing, so let’s get you that drink. [ Lambert straightens, then nods to the bar, indicating Childermass should follow him in finding a seat at it. He leans over the counter to speak to the bartender, though not before looking to the witch. ]

So, what’s your poison today?

Edited 2019-09-01 17:25 (UTC)

[ Childermass will do just that, trailing along after and grabbing a barstool next to where the witcher ends up. ]

Beer's fine. [ Even if he cared to drink more often, he wouldn't even fathom ordering anything else in a tavern like this one. Beer's going to be cheap, which means its the staple of place serving a rougher crowd. ] Or whatever you get normally, I suppose. I'm not really picky about it.

[ That gets him a smirk over the witcher’s shoulder. ]

You don’t want what I usually get. Beer it is, then.

[ At least it makes for less money to spend. It’ll take the bartender a few minutes to get their drinks together, so until then— ]

So, do I get your name now?

[ Well, alright. He won't ask what he usually gets, then, but he'll definitely keep an eye out for what the bartender ends up serving the witcher. ]

Took you long enough to ask, didn't it? [ Childermass comments, totally unhelpful, but he won't leave Lambert's question hanging for long. ] John Childermass.

[ Perhaps not that surprisingly, the mix Lambert's ordered for himself has the barkeep reaching up for wicked-looking bottles on the higher shelves. ]

What, were you waiting for me to? [ John Childermass. It's an odd name, which makes for easy remembering. ]

[ Is that alcohol or poison up there? ]

Not really but after running into one another so often, I was beginning to wonder.

[ Not that he ever asked before himself but, well, Childermass may have been of a mind to ignore the witcher to some extent. ]

[ Why not both. The bartender comes back over with their drinks soon enough, and Lambert slides his glass over to himself, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he glances over at the magician. ]

Didn't seem like I really needed it. And you already have mine. [ Hanging around spellcaster's is more Geralt's thing than Lambert's, but it's been a funny game to play with himself anyway, half-seriously keeping track of the time between running into Childermass and not. ]

Should we have a toast to celebrate the occasion?

Seems a bit much. [ Toast learning his name? Surely the man's joking. ] Or has no one ever taken you up on a free drink before?

[ Lambert, that's just sad. ]

[ Boy, he's rude. Too bad that's Lambert's type of company. The witcher shrugs. ]

It's just a reason to drink. You don't like it, make up one of your own.

Edited (html my nemesis) 2019-09-16 17:35 (UTC)

To waking up and not being in that wretched city, then.

[ He'll raise his glass to that, even knowing well that the city is likely real. They aren't in it, though, and that's what counts. ]

[ That gets a sharp grimace, Lambert raising his glass and slamming back half the cup almost immediately. ]

Had that shitty dream too, huh?

[ Childermass only goes in for about a quarter of his glass but the mood is the same. ]

Didn't we all?

Fuck if I know. Didn't exactly go around asking the whole city about it.

[ Lambert sets his glass back down on the counter, claws restlessly tapping on the glass before he forces them to a stop. ]

You're a witch, right? [ It comes out less like a confirmation of a fact he already knows than a challenge. ]

If it falls in line with the last dream, I can only imagine those I met during it would remember it the same.

[ Maybe it's a big assumption to make but he's not usually one to dream about people he barely knows at random. Setting his own glass down, there is a moment where he gives the witcher a faintly amused look, like the answer to that should have been obvious.

No.

He must know. Why ask, then? ]

I am.

[ Unshockingly, Lambert's asking only to probe at it like one might at a sore tooth. ]

Didn't like having monsters jumping at your beck and call, then?

[ If that's his goal, he'll only find indifference, as per usual. ]

I could have just as easily arrived here a monster myself, so, no, I've no interest in having them — or anyone else — jumping at my beck and call. At best I would find it embarrassing.

[ That just gets a sneer from the witcher, though it’s not directed at Childermass this time. The hand not occupied with aimlessly swirling the remaining alcohol in the glass rubs at one wrist, unconsciously. ]

Good.

[ Good thing for Lambert, Childermass is hard to offend. He's going to take it as making sure he isn't that kind of asshole specifically. ]

Are you worried that there are witches in Aefenglom who would?

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