Respect for an Age [Dimel, Gillroy]

The accent took Dimel a little by surprise. It was thicker than he was used to hearing as he spent more time around Koben and Iadlain dark elves than in those living in their homeland. He was thankful the man asked to keep the bills separate, he hadn't exactly had the money to buy an acquaintance extra, maybe enough for a drink, but he was on the sour end of a job where it was expenses up front and payment in behind.

"Second hand is a great way to find some traditional beauties if the moths haven't eaten them first." Dimel looked at his own tartan a moment touching the purple for a second. "Hm, this is the closest thing I could get to the old Cairain. The pattern is a touch off but you can't tell unless you're from my great grandfather's age. They changed the tartan to a hunter green, black, and white when Queen Morven was crowned."

The thought passed through Dimel's mind that he could pin the man's age down should he talk about the Queen's coronation, however judging by the looks he was at least as old as Dimel. Was this man one of the life-long assassins? Of course, Dimel wouldn't know. Dimel didn't go around advertising that about five or six decades in with the Guild, since there were younger members with longer service that Dimel respected.

Respect was foremost on his mind, which fueled his impulse for an old fashioned greeting where he did the quick handed version of the crossing of Atros with an extra open wave at the end in a gesture of welcome as he introduced himself, "Dimel Cairain, by Atros's grace."



((Okay, I kind of improved the greeting. I can change it if you like.))

That was direct. Well, thankfully it might mean a more interesting conversation than listening to an age-touched elder reminisce about youthful escapades that had details change with every telling. Dimel sipped his stout, while it was still fresh and answered, "I think you know some of my friends. I've seen you talking with them. Even then, Maimo ((Grandmother)) wouldn't have me disrespecting any ol' codger that was good-humored enough to join me at my table."

During the conversation the servant brought Gillroy his drink and offered to take any additional orders the two might have. Dimel thought it over and asked for lamb, if they had any as well as another stout. He also implied the cook could add onions or other vegetables as liberally as he saw fit. However, Dimel didn't feel like pushing the servant or cook into cooking something out of their normal routine.

"I hope you don't mind," he addressed Gillroy. "Been traveling most of the day and dinner sounded too appealing to pass on. They seem pretty good here, I'm not around often enough to know of many other places that serve as well."

Oh, the man brought up a good point, indirectly. Dimel picked up on his mistake immediately. If he said too much, how trust worthy was he? His desire for some camaraderie nearly crossed the lines of proper assassin etiquette.

Dimel smiled just a little, to seem warm and relaxed rather than sarcastic as he crafted a true but exaggerated description of one of the more unforgettable assassins whether or not Gillroy would know the man, and a tactless, yet, not untrue description of the Queen.

"Well, if you don't recognize Cailean, I've probably mistaken you for someone else," Cailen wasn't the real name, but a common name that began with the same letter as the lithe, extraordianarly tall, plain man, Colum. "He's as loud as a braying donkey, always saying 'If I was in your position, I would...' or 'Always ask yourself, what would Atros do...' as if Atros would be bothered with half the things Cailean thinks are important. He scares children off with his smile since he's missing half his teeth and his hair looks like a half eaten horse's tail. I don't think I've ever seen him sitting, he's always standing as if he has to tower over everyone. He takes his work seriously, almost too seriously, and I swear that's the only thing he has any wits for as much as he likes to offer advice. He's good at what he does, thankfully."

"Of course if you don't know him, you might know of his 'lady'. He adores her completely, always saying compliments about her intelligence, beauty and cunning. She certainly is hot. I haven't seen too many women that are as captivating and stunning as her, especially her ass. Although, I've heard she's rather bossy and has a strong head. If I was her lad, I'd be loathe to cross her because the smart, stubborn ones, have one cart-full of a temper. A few of my opinions aren't very popular, so I'm sure she'd throw me to the wolves for mentioning them in her presence, not that I find fault with anything she's said or done."


((and Dimel doesn't know when to shut up... I had to... he had to...))

Ah, it sounded like Gillroy picked up on the clue. Dimel chuckled appropriately. He took a sip of his stout enjoying the brew. It gave him a second to count his blessings that he was able to convey a message without committing a grievous oversight in regard to the assassin's secrecy. He felt like such an idiot, but all was well with his cheery demeanor. Not a thing to worry about with his simple smile.

He could smell from the kitchen that the food was nearly done. The aroma of the cooked meats saturated the air with a bit of wind that came through when the doors opened and closed with the clients. It was incredibly inviting.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one with that opinion, but of course I let his lady be. Looking, without touching, as the saying goes. Besides, there are plenty of lasses out there if one really wanted some free company or otherwise. Right now, I'm more keen on showing my good faith," Dimel flirted with moving the topic away from work.

"I've been trying to keep up my fair share of work, but I've had a chance to take a few days for a trip to the cathedral. It's been far too long. Is the best way there still down the road by Brainkrigg's land and through Obar Bhrothaig (town)?"

The waiter returned about this time with the dinners, as they were ordered. Everything was hot, fresh, and smelling well seasoned. Dimel relaxed in his seat in anticipation of getting something to eat finally. He put the stout down to pick up his utensils.







((DERP. I keep inventing things, sorry. Brainkrigg is a last name (aka: Breckenridge) and Obar Bhroathaig (aka: Arbroath) is a town name in Scotland. I have no plans or ideas about any of them. I just like using something more specific than "that town over there". I love the details you added in your post. I also didn't see in the posts if the dinner was served yet.... derpa))