Rays of light filtered through the crimson curtains that were draped over the tavern's windows, casting the interior into an ominous red hue. The sound of voices speaking softly filled the air, as did the smell of burning incense. Everything was relatively calm; people kept to themselves mostly, exchanging a few words with those around them every so often, mostly to talk about mundane topics, such as the weather, or the local politics. They were silenced, however, by the sound of the tavern door creaking open, drowning out their conversations and compelling them to turn and get a look at the newcomer.
Kujo had been used to being looked at funny. He didn't exactly fit in with the local populous. It was like this everywhere he went. Kujo didn't mind it much, as he preferred to keep to himself mostly nowadays. Not like he had much of a choice. Nobody would bother to speak to him, let alone sit down and converse with him.
Kujo stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the interior of the tavern, seemingly searching for something in particular. After a few moments of this, accompanied by an awkward silence that had started the moment he set foot inside, Kujo stepped forward, letting the door slam shut behind him. The sound of his shoes hitting the worn cobblestone floor filled the room as he walked down the center aisle, in between the few tables and chairs that had been set out for patrons to sit at, steadily making his way to the bar.
The bar was manned by a short, stocky man, bald except for a small mustache that crowned his lips. He glared at Kujo, evidently not pleased with his presence, perhaps fearing that he might cause some sort of trouble. He'd seen his kind before; some dangerous wanderer, a sell-sword looking for someone to buy his bloody services. The bartender continued to frown as Kujo reached the bar. Kujo reached in his pocket, digging around for a few seconds before removing his hand, producing a few small coins which he placed in front of him, before finally speaking.
"Give me a bottle of your strongest stuff," he said in a gruff, yet youthful voice. The bartender, surprised (he sounded younger than he looked) yet unshaken, stood his ground.
"We don't want your kind in here, mercenary. You may be able to practice your bloody arts wherever your from, but our community is one of peace, and we prefer to keep it that way." Heads nodded in agreement throughout the establishment, the soft hum of voices starting up again as they debated the newcomer's presence.
"Listen, friend," Kujo started, a small grin forming on his face. "I don't want any trouble. I'm just a weary exile, looking to drown my sorrows. And I will happily pay for the privilege." He slid the coins closer to the bartender, putting his other hand in his pocket in case he needed a little more "persuading."
"Now you listen, cutthroat," the bartender started again, a hint of anger evident in his tone. "I meant what I said. I don't offer my services to the likes of you. I don't know what game you're playing at, but it won't work on me. We have standards here. Morals." Kujo sighed, tilting his head down just slightly. He was starting to get annoyed, and he knew that things would continue to escalate from here.
"Fine," he said, grabbing the coins off the table. "Have it your way." He lifted his head back up to look at the bartender, a threatening glare on his face. The bartender let out a short gasp as he felt his heart stop for a short second. Kujo let out another sigh as he turned to leave, the crowds hiding their faces as he walked past them.
Kujo had been used to being looked at funny. He didn't exactly fit in with the local populous. It was like this everywhere he went. Kujo didn't mind it much, as he preferred to keep to himself mostly nowadays. Not like he had much of a choice. Nobody would bother to speak to him, let alone sit down and converse with him.
Kujo stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the interior of the tavern, seemingly searching for something in particular. After a few moments of this, accompanied by an awkward silence that had started the moment he set foot inside, Kujo stepped forward, letting the door slam shut behind him. The sound of his shoes hitting the worn cobblestone floor filled the room as he walked down the center aisle, in between the few tables and chairs that had been set out for patrons to sit at, steadily making his way to the bar.
The bar was manned by a short, stocky man, bald except for a small mustache that crowned his lips. He glared at Kujo, evidently not pleased with his presence, perhaps fearing that he might cause some sort of trouble. He'd seen his kind before; some dangerous wanderer, a sell-sword looking for someone to buy his bloody services. The bartender continued to frown as Kujo reached the bar. Kujo reached in his pocket, digging around for a few seconds before removing his hand, producing a few small coins which he placed in front of him, before finally speaking.
"Give me a bottle of your strongest stuff," he said in a gruff, yet youthful voice. The bartender, surprised (he sounded younger than he looked) yet unshaken, stood his ground.
"We don't want your kind in here, mercenary. You may be able to practice your bloody arts wherever your from, but our community is one of peace, and we prefer to keep it that way." Heads nodded in agreement throughout the establishment, the soft hum of voices starting up again as they debated the newcomer's presence.
"Listen, friend," Kujo started, a small grin forming on his face. "I don't want any trouble. I'm just a weary exile, looking to drown my sorrows. And I will happily pay for the privilege." He slid the coins closer to the bartender, putting his other hand in his pocket in case he needed a little more "persuading."
"Now you listen, cutthroat," the bartender started again, a hint of anger evident in his tone. "I meant what I said. I don't offer my services to the likes of you. I don't know what game you're playing at, but it won't work on me. We have standards here. Morals." Kujo sighed, tilting his head down just slightly. He was starting to get annoyed, and he knew that things would continue to escalate from here.
"Fine," he said, grabbing the coins off the table. "Have it your way." He lifted his head back up to look at the bartender, a threatening glare on his face. The bartender let out a short gasp as he felt his heart stop for a short second. Kujo let out another sigh as he turned to leave, the crowds hiding their faces as he walked past them.