songerein | open mingle 🍷 grand opening

Entry tags:

open mingle 🍷 grand opening

Who: Diluc Ragnvindr, Barok van Zieks, and anybody!
Where: At Day's End bar and winery
What: After a few months of preparation, Diluc and Barok's Fine Drinking Establishment is finally ready to open! So they're doing that. With a party! Bring your own toplevel.
When: A few days before the flower festival
Warnings: I mean. Alcohol?

Welcome to the grand opening of At Day’s End!

As a nod to the upcoming holiday, the bar has been decorated with carefully arranged flowers in addition to the planned garlands and lanterns to evoke a comfortable but festive atmosphere. Although the pair didn't exactly anticipate the sudden influx of emotion-steampunk-land natives, they have temporarily removed a few tables in the interest of opening up the floor for more visitors, and the weather is thankfully warm enough for the doors to remain open. Attendees are encouraged to try small tastes of different drinks before deciding upon a full glass, giving an easy opportunity to mingle with others.

At Day’s End serves a variety of locally-crafted wines and spirits as well as non-alcoholic options such as juice, coffee, and tea.

ALCOHOLIC SPECIALS
- Cider Special: Applebloom Cider - Apple cider brewed with apple blossoms. Light and floral. Usually only available during Windblume in Mondstadt, and similarly will only be available during the month of April in Songerein.
- Red Wine Special: Midnight Harvest - A sweet red wine with a very fruity taste and hints of nutty flavor.
- White Wine Special: Winter Moon - A dry, crisp white wine for those seeking a less sweet drinking experience.
- Cocktail: Thorns of Springtime - Whiskey, honey, chamomile tea, and elderflower liqueur. Served over ice.
NON-ALCOHOLIC SPECIALS
- Gray Valley Sunset: It’s just fruit punch with a fancy name.
- Rosé Bloom: A mix of juices made from only the finest red and white grapes, according to van Zieks.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Bars are, decidedly, not her thing. Not usually. In Alexandria, it's not as though she hasn't made her stop into the tavern once or twice. And it hasn't always been because she's meant to collect anything. This, however, is a winery and decidedly different.

Quite different.

For the most part, Beatrix is trying to keep mostly to herself. Flitting around momentarily to familiar faces. Offering well wishes, or as close to 'well wishes' as a woman like Beatrix is willing to give. Considering events as of recent, however, she seems just the slightest bit amicable. Perhaps a little less on the 'unwelcoming' side.

Chances are that finding her, one will discover her with her nose in a glass of Midnight Harvest, taking in the aroma. Has she even had any glasses by this point? Quite possibly not. Why not take a moment to flirt with disaster.]

[ A certain detective has been making his own rounds of the event, subjecting party goers to his buzzed chatter, entirely unsolicited observations, vaguely offensive jokes, and chronic sneezing. After his most recent ~~victims~~ guests excuse themselves to get a refill, Sholmes sips his own Applebloom Cider and scans the crowd ...

Only for his eyes to land squarely on Beatrix. Why does this woman make him feel a sudden sense of disquietude? To be sure, she cuts an intimidating figure with her eyepatch and stern bearing. A friend of van Zieks, he decides. But that doesn't explain his malaise.

This requires further investigation, and so he winds his way over and gives her a nod in greeting. ]

Good evening, mada-ah-ah--

[ This is about as far as he gets before he yanks a kerchief from his pocket and explodes into a half-dozen sneezes. With each one, his drink sloshes over the rim of his glass. Once he's through, his voice has turned thick, eyes watery, and nose red. ] Oh, I do beg your pardon, madam. These bloody allergies will be the death of me.

[She's still very much In the Wine Zone when he addresses her and at first, Beatrix is almost certain he doesn't mean her at all. In hindsight, it should be obvious, really. There's no shortage of people in Reverein who are still calling her that. 'Madame' this, 'madam' that, a little dash of 'miss,' and the ever rare 'lady' over there. Little by little, she's stomping all of that down beneath heeled boots. Usually proverbially.

Herlock follows up his own address with self-imposed interjection which winds up being a collective of sneezes. Unfortunate, that. She's lost count after three, mostly because her one very good eye is fixed on the contents of his glass. Just... to see if any of it ends up on the floor. Or on her. Or on someone else. Things could get very... interesting with this guy around.

A crease forms in the furrow of her brow at his explanation. Allergies. Right.]

If not the death of you, quite possibly the death of someone else. Mayhap put your glass down before you end up pouring it all over yourself.

[Better him than her, though. She'll be hard-pressed to keep restraint on her temper if the alternative occurs.]

[ He does as she suggests, if only to root around in his coat pockets. First for a fresh kerchief to clean the cider off his hand and sleeve, then for a small bottle. Sholmes squeezes a few drops directly onto his tongue--with a visible shudder at the taste--and chases it with a sip of his drink. ]

A tincture from the apothecary. [ He explains, stashing it away again. ] Might as well be a placebo for all the good it's done me.

[ He resumes his drink with a discreet sniffle and eyes Beatrix's own glass. ] Enjoying the Midnight Harvest, I see. A wise choice. I've yet to meet a more discerning oenophile than Mr. Rea-- Lord van Zieks. I trust he's produced a fine vintage?

[ He clears his throat. It's just the pollen, surely. ] ... Not too harsh or bitter?

If it is not helping, I am not certain why you would think to continue taking it. For all you know, it is merely exacerbating your situation.

[Beatrix issues a scoff, disbelief rising off of her easily enough. As she sets her attention onto her glass again, she's in the midst of a delicate sip when she hears his continue. ...Did he just say Lord van Zieks? Upon meeting the man, she can't recall him using the title, but... As she's giving it more thought, it's relatively obvious. The style of dress. His demeanour. How he carries himself.

She's really not surprised, in the end.]

I would not consider myself an expert. [Beatrix can admit this easily. She likes a nice bottle of wine. It's a wonderful way to wind down. Sometimes a necessity it feels.] It is a bit sweeter than I anticipated. That is not unpleasant. You are well acquainted with him, then?

[Van Zieks, she means.]

They insist it will only take full effect with regular doses. I asked about downing the whole bottle in one go, but the idea was strongly discouraged. [ He shrugs. Some people are far too cautious.

Meanwhile, he can't shake the tickling familiarity about this woman. Her speech patterns specifically ... but he's never spoken to her before, has he? Odd. ]

Oh, yes! We hail from the same place. You could say we're associates—our work often overlaps. [ His gaze lands on van Zieks—the man's imposing stature is easy to spot in the cozy crowd. ] You strike me as the type of person he would get on quite well with. You have a very rigid ... very martial ... way ... about you ...

[ Oh. Oh no. There it is. His brows raise as the pieces fall into place. Including a promised meeting he'd completely forgotten about. ]

One might even call you "dapper," Ms. Beatrix.

[Is he serious? He must be serious? Just who is this fool?

Beatrix has a thought to ask, but doesn't even get that far. Instead, he clarifies and as his gaze onto van Zieks, eventually so too does her own as she listens to him. His method of deduction is either brilliant, coincidental, or just goes to show that Beatrix, in this world, stands out.

...Perhaps she does.

Once she hears the word 'dapper' from him, she slowly draws her attention back onto him.]

Ah. The 'detective.'

[An animated fool detective, at that, she proceeds, easily dipping her nose back into he glass.

Perhaps he wasn't the first to stand her up. Maybe she's simply expected that, at this point. It's not as though Beatrix has ever given anyone much implication that she's friendly.]

Allow me to remind you that 'Beatrix' is fine. 'General,' if you feel it necessary to title me.

I suppose I owe you an apology, General Beatrix. [ His initial surprise has worn off and his contrite smile seems more perfunctory than anything. As if this is a script he's had to repeat fairly often. ] Our appointment entirely slipped my mind. I would invent an excuse, but I doubt an officer of your stature has use for such trifles.

[ He pauses to set down his drink as he winds up for another sneeze. No—false alarm. He blinks away the pressure, then continues: ]

As luck would have it, I'm currently equipped with my usual array of trinkets. [ Indeed, goggles are perched on his deerstalker, revolver at his hip, and untold curiosities in his leather satchel. ] Should you still be interested.

[Is it because she has a glass of wine that she's not inclined to be more agitated with this newly-found discovery of who he is? She can't say for certain, but whatever the case, she is perfectly willing to hear him out and though she accepts his apology for what it is, she's more appreciative that he's put aside the more demure titles he's given her in the past.

For just a moment, in anticipation of another sneeze, her hold on her own glass tightens. She braces herself for an impact that doesn't come and he effectively leaves her on the edge of her proverbial seat.]

Do you carry those around everywhere?

[Beatrix lowers her glass just a moment and raises an eyebrow. Evidently, she wasn't expecting that. Not... that she's expected really anything she's learned about the man. He's a bit more handsome than she's expected and he looks altogether far too put together to be as... scatterbrained as he appears to be in the flesh.]

Of course! Crimes can unfold anywhere, at any time. Even at this lovely little soirée. [ He raises his drink, takes a sip and says, almost cheerfully: ] I find alcohol improves those chances by no small margin!

[ Sholmes recalls her particular interest in firearms, and sets aside his drink to draw his pistol. He flicks open the cylinder—empty, as expected—locks it back into place and offers the weapon, grip first, to Beatrix for inspection. ] Here you are. The handheld artillery I mentioned.

[ He produces a .45 caliber bullet and sets it on the table. ] And the round it fires.

Whilst I am inclined to agree with you on that, I...

[Well, she's always found she can cut right to the heart of the matter. In a fashion. Most of the time, anyway. To say she's always done it would be little more than a falsehood.

What he offers her stops her train of thought well enough. It's a sleek piece, really. Quite elegant as she's looking at it, though it's a bit smaller than she's expected. Of course, as a woman intrigued by swords and more familiar with such things, she's certain she was expecting something more like that. Even Zidane's daggers, she's almost certain, are larger.

With a breath's hesitance, she accepts the pistol and she takes a moment to set down her glass to get a better look at the piece he's offered. Miniature artillery. Well, not miniature. She isn't sure how she would call it, honestly. But when he sets down the bullet, she eyes it for a beat or two before deciding this is almost like holding a small piece of the Red Rose canon fire in her hands.]

It is a bit like a canon, is it not? The closest thing I can think of in comparison would be things I have seen aboard airships. Although an airship's usage is not my expertise either.

It employs similar principles to a cannon, yes! Gunpowder in the cartridge is activated by a firing pin and the ensuing explosion propels the slug. Grooves in the barrel impart a spin that stabilizes the projectile and improves accuracy. Quite a feat of engineering. [ As he explains, he points to the relevant parts of both the gun and bullet. The weapon has other curious design elements: a flange at the base of the grip and some threading at the end of the barrel that suggest missing parts. ]

I would demonstrate, but as I mentioned, I only have so many rounds and I doubt Lord van Zieks would appreciate firearms discharged in his bar. [ Sholmes is already on paper-thin ice as it is, what with his improvised drinks and stray bats. ]

You must tell me, General, what sort of airship can accommodate a cannon? Where I come from, the best we have are hot air balloons, and the most they can handle is a basket and a few passengers.

[She listens intently as he demonstrates for her. That she's able to connect the concept of a gun and a cannon together allows her a better understanding of what she's looking at. Beatrix lifts a free and and she waves somewhat dismissively before she offers his gun back over to him.]

Let us not stir his ire. I am on good terms with him and I should like to keep it that way.

[At his question, Beatrix reclaims her glass of wine and she tilts her head with some consideration.]

Not all airships are built with combat in mind. Many are transport only. I would not say that combat by way of air is so commonplace. Her Majesty's personal airship is capable. I would have reason to believe that Lindblum, a not-so-distant kingdom from my own is likely further ahead in such advancements. That kingdom could be considered the birthplace of airship technology and progression.

[ Sholmes returns the revolver to its holster, the precious bullet to his pocket. ] It comes as no surprise at all that they would be modified for war, however premature.

[ He's still trying to envision what these airships look like. Do they glide and flap bird-like wings? Or are they great vessels held aloft by so many hot air balloons? All of the possibilities are equally charming, if not somewhat impractical. ]

Do you often find yourself deployed on such craft, General? Perhaps to move your troops into place, or survey the battlefield? If not engage in the rare aerial combat you mention? [ He can't deny that it sounds exciting, and his expression suggests as much. ]

[She suspects that Herlock doesn't particularly mean anything malevolent by asking, though it doesn't remove how pointed the line of questioning is. The Red Rose is used for no shortage of things. Brahne's ship, but truthfully... Beatrix has quite possibly spent more time commanding from it than her own queen.]

I have spent a considerable increased amount of time aboard within the last few years.

[At first, it seems that's all she's inclined to say, but after a breath, Beatrix continues.]

I suppose it has been used more for transport in tandem with the... allocation of mages. My kingdom is currently at war.

[ Sholmes might as well be a squirrel, foraging aimlessly for interesting morsels to hoard (and probably forget.) Sometimes those caches of information do yield dividends—for leads or ~~blackmail~~ negotiations—but Beatrix is quite safe. For now.

At present, the detective seems more enchanted by the simple novelty of a lady general who rides to war in an airship. And the modest terms in which she describes this occupation. ]

So you've been plucked from the midst of battle and dropped here. [ He waves his drink at the surroundings. ] No surprise at all that you'd be keen on a militia—you must find this civilian life quite unstimulating!

Something... like that.

[Dropped here, indeed. It's part of why Beatrix was so believably volatile upon her arrival. And he's put the rest of it together easily enough. She is restless. Of course she wants to bury herself into something, just to make up for the idea that she's been put into a place where she's... considerably less practical.]

With or without the presence of war in my world would not have changed my idea that this place could benefit from order. Not excessive restriction. Simply protection for those who need it. [She's resolute on that front.] As for... Well. There is no denying that it is a very different kind of lifestyle here. Not convenient to acclimate to for a soldier.

[ "Order" still strikes him as a troublingly subjective term, but he can't argue with the idea of basic protection. He's well-accustomed to human threats, but he's encountered nothing of the sort since his arrival. (Unless Sholmes' own absentminded self-sabotage counts.)

No, he's only noted more metaphysical threats: Noctaere and nightmare energy. ]

Hum. On the matter of protection: I wonder, have you encountered any Noctaere as of yet?

I have.

[It's a very simple answer to give and she sees no reason she has need to hide that information.]

A few times, I should think by this time. I would not say it is an expertise, but I suspect should we continue to cross paths with them, it will become a forte in time. I doubt they will stop appearing anytime soon. If you have not yet seen one, you will. Eventually.

[Her head tips as she gives him a once over thoughtfully.] Do you suppose you can stand against one?

[ A few times. That's exactly what he hoped from the lady general; she should be a source of good data.

At the question, Sholmes rests his hip against the table and rubs his chin. ] I only have experience with human adversaries, but as you well know, it's a relatively simple task to incapacitate a man. Land a blow in his many tender regions and he drops like a sack of so many potatoes.

[ But a supernatural being? Kazuma and Soldier 76's residual nightmare features only leave him to wonder what kind of threat a Noctaere at full strength must present. He finally offers some speculation: ]

Armed with knowledge, the right trinkets, and a healthy dollop of hubris, I may hold my own against a Noctaere.

[ He waves a hand down his person. ] But you've already met such foes. What do your general's instincts say? We've already established I'm no prince—could I instead have the makings of a worthy knight?

[Debatable.

Not all men or women are so easily felled. It would be rather presumptuous to think otherwise. True that some of her opponents have been less than interesting. Others, like a certain captain in clunky armour, have been underestimated.

And the idea of the Noctaere... Well. That's altogether different, isn't it?

At his question, Beatrix frowns and this time, it's not just her usual expression, though perhaps to some she does little more than frown and scowl and offer scathing remarks.]

The circumstances here in this world are decisively different, Master Sholmes. It is not as straight forward as employing the use of a sharpened blade or a well-placed magic spell.

[After a decently long drink from her glass, Beatrix continues.] In my opinion, combating the Noctaere requires a confidence and knowledge in how magic and strength are comprised in this world. One with a stronger sense of creative innovation is likely to be more successful than say, one who may be more sceptical or logical. [Herself, that is. She has found that her scepticism has done her very few favours since arrival.] My assessment of your person? I know you little. Initial deduction implies you may fit into the former. Not all princes, after all, take to the battlefield. If you have the will, the resolve, and the heart to protect others, then surely you have the makings of a knight.

[ Master Sholmes. He rather likes the sound of that. What, if anything, he's the master of may be a subject of debate.

To be fair, Sholmes arrived in Songerein with a healthy amount of skepticism; his beloved science might as well be wadded up and tossed in the bin—thoroughly upended as it is by the whims of dream magic. But in a matter of days, he's adapted to, and even come to delight in the chaos; it makes his work more exciting. ]

That assessment was bang-on. Are you certain you don't know me? [ He laughs. ] Indeed. Creativity lies at the heart of my methods. One must always consider a problem from multiple angles, however outlandish they may seem. Only thereafter should possibility be pruned with the shears of logic. [ Maybe this is the place where Sholmes' wild imagination won't require such aggressive "pruning"? ]

So you must be given to the latter mindset, General Beatrix, bound by prudence—only to be expected when one's decisions risk countless lives. No room for whimsy in such grave calculations, is there?

[She smiles—just a touch—into her glass. Beatrix would not necessarily consider herself intuitive by any means. She views him in the same lens that she views everyone else. All might as well be an enemy until they prove themselves otherwise. Of course, the very same could be said about her, too.]

It was only deduction based on what I have learnt of you thus far. [She explains rather simply, feeling that this is not one of those situations where she can be believably arrogant.]

[His assessment of her person is a valid one. True. Creativity is not necessarily in Beatrix's schedule. One can suppose on the field of battle, sometimes she's had to be, but she suspects she's far more likely to give into simply... brute strength. That's what her sword is for, isn't it?]

What a very kind way for you to describe me. I do not think my people would view it quite the same way. Either way, you are not inaccurate. Creativity has little place in war or in battle, save perhaps some very particular circumstances. Even then, strategy is logic-based.

[ It's not difficult to guess at the general's reputation, and Sholmes can well imagine it's not in her nature to be worried over a kind portrayal. No successful officer is overly-liked. Respected, perhaps. Feared, maybe. ]

As I understand it, there is a confounding issue when it comes to Noctaere. One which may defy cold logic. [ A cool, spring draft darts through the open doors, ruffling flower arrangements and guttering lanterns. ] That is, a Noctaere may not only be a simple manifestation of nightmare energy—it can just as readily corrupt one of our own.

[ The breeze has carried in a fresh batch of invisible pollen and Sholmes stifles a sneeze in his elbow before asking, thickly: ] Would such knowledge stay your hand, General?

[For just the flicker of a moment, Beatrix's attention moves onto rustle of flower arrangements and the subtle sound of lanterns shifting, even if but minutely. Herlock's words settle within her and for several breaths, she doesn't address. Immediate responses from her tend to be ones to be feared. Rarely is she moved to a counter without a pause. Perhaps simply more logic.]

My personal preference...

[She begins, choosing her words carefully, knowing that it wouldn't be impossible for her to simply slay and ask questions later. Knowing Noctaere can be people corrupted and tainted by nightmares... It's reason for her to not immediately assume that Save the Queen will solve all conflicts.]

Would be to purify Noctaere creatures. If we could manage to do so. I do not imagine that will always be within the realm of possibility. It could be that the Noctaere I have fought against or slain could have been people. How would we have way to know if the corruption made one unrecognisable?

[Beatrix shakes her head.] I must admit that I do not have all of the answers.

Beatrix | OTA

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