Sep 24 17:45:56 105 PA

From Chronicles

The current game time is: Thu Sep 24 17:45:56 105 PA.

Comes the evening. Work is letting out for most and as a consequence, the 'Fork' is seeing the daily upswing of patronage. Which makes for a place that is populated by a steady buzz of talk from the eating folks. Mostly families of various shapes and sizes and species. Though there are singles and such as well. One such single comes in quietly enough, Desmond pausing at the front to hand over a few small personal weapons to the check at the door. Done with the easy familiarity of repetition. After a few moments he's speaking with the seater, who ends up telling him, "I'm sorry sir, but we've something of a wait." Desmond nods once to this, though before he might speak, the seater asks, "Perhaps we could seat you with someone else? If you wouldn't mind that." The big male takes a moment to consider before his head is given a slight nod. "If someone is willing, I would not mind it," he rumbles in reply. This has the server checking the various table assignments for prospective places he might lead the big cat.

Laughing and talking with the bartender over what appears to be a large steak, is a well dressed short statured man. He has a cane resting on seat next to him. He is talking with a very thick accent and telling some joke. The waiter sees the stool and asks the man quietly, if he wouldn't mind if someone sat there, "Oh, of course not. Tis just my cane." He laughs softly, "Especially if it is a lovely wo, "He pauses as he sees the large cat, "Or a find speciman of feline." He chuckles and motions towards, "Come, sit, eat."

Desmond is led to a few tables to see if anyone will allow him to sit with them, though each one who gets a look at him politely declines. Through it all, Desmond remains patiently silent, seeming to take no offense from one table to the next. After the fourth, the seater pauses and looks to him. "I'm sorry, sir. Looks like.." He catches Rasputin's prompt, then turns back to Desmond, "If you don't mind, you can fit in there, I think," he offers. Desmond looks towards the bar and then nods once. "Very well," he agrees easily enough before turning to approach the spot is next to Rasputin. He will dip his head once towards the smaller man, moving up to the bar itself to carefully settle himself upon the open stool. "Greetings," he will say to Rasputin, his voice deep and smooth, with a subtle roll to his 'r's.

Rasputin nods with a laugh, "Evening." He says as he sets down his fork and knife, "Rasputin Kylyst is the name. Meat, ah, yes, Meat is my game." He chuckles soflty, "Billy, Billy, get this fine individual a drink. And a menu." Rasputin doesn't extend his hand really but just smiles at you.

"Desmond," The big feline offers simply, his own manner more reserved, both in level tone and the strict neutral set of his expression. Ras' proclamation of his game gets a subtle arch of Desmond's brow. "I see." Though he seems to favor addressing the bartender, to whom he rumbles, "Two steaks, very rare. Ice water." That done he returns his attention to Rasputin and considers a moment before he offers, "By game, I take it you mean business, yes?" A casual curiosity in his tone.

Rasputin nods and chuckles, "Yes. I own Yakov's Deli, near the Dregs. We specialize in all types of meat. Beef, Pork, Chicken, even a few non-normal ones." He says looking around, "I just got in a small quantity of Fury Beatle. Might tasty if prepared correctly." He laughs and with the skill of surgen, cuts another perfect square of meat from his stake and eats it. Waits until he is done chewing, then swallows then says, "So do you eat here often. Ya know, they buy some of me top stuff here."

Desmond listens to the descriptions given with that same lingering air of light interest. His arms end up folded against the edge of the bar, his head turned to give the smaller man his attention. THe final question gets a silent shake of his head, his own words coming a few moments after Rasputin's have ended. "Usually I attend to my own cooking, but this day I feel not the energy for it. And Aimee is busy, thus I am here." HIs deep voice carrying with a pragmatic acceptance of how things have fallen before him. "I think I have seen the place you speak of before.. but I had not entered it before," he adds. "As of late, I do not often go to the Dregs, though at one time I did."

Rasputin nods, "Ah yes." He cuts another piece of steak, chews, swallows, "Tis a nasty place at times. Creepy and crawls all about." He nods to himself and sighs, "But tis where me people life, so me shop tis there." "Your people?" Desmond examines Rasputin again for a few moments as he asks this, as if to determine some answer to his own question. Though he if does or not it goes unsaid. He then rumbles in agreement, "It is a place I prefer to be away from. Too dangerous to live a life with true ease."

Rasputin nods, "Well me people came from far to the east, about 20 years back. Kingsdale opened their arms to us." He chuckles and eats some more stake, "Well, their armpit anyway." He smiles, "There were a little over a hundred of us and we made our home in the north side of the Dregs. It wasn't much, but it was ours and we made it a home."

Desmond nods as Rasputin explains, though it might be obvious the event itself doesn't seem to form a connection with him. "I see. Though settled, I am still quite new to this place, thus such past events I know little of," he explains. "It seems this place is a focal point for the lost and the uncertain. Many seem to come after a loss, even if they do not intentionally seek anything here." Desmond's neutral set expression taking on a thoughtful lean. This being when his food and water are brought. Desmond looks at once to his plate, though an ear cocked towards Rasputin keeps track of the man's words.

Rasputin nods his head as he swallows another piece of well marbled steak, "Da, da. Tis true. My people's travels took us many years to get here. And we didn't know where we going until, da. Until we got here." He smiles, "Billy, more wodka." He says as the accent comes through harshly on the word Vodka. "But, in 20 years, we have a, well, da, da, peace. The Dregs are harsh, but the wilderness," Rasputin shudders, "Da, the wilderness is mean." Rasputin adds, "Cruel." He nods and looks to you then eats a bit more.

"It is unforgiving," Desmond agrees, whilst still attending to his own meat. The first still red steak is assailed at once by the big feline's claws, he seeming to ignore other utenisils as he starts to carefully, if somewhat raggedly section it with passes of the claw on his index finger, the others splayed to hold the meat in place as the index does all the work. "But at times the Dregs seem no different from the wilds. Predators and prey, with just a bit more honor to be found than one would find in unthinking animals." Not said with scorn, this. He continues to rumble with a steadiness of tone, betraying little shift from that baseline neutrality. "Exceptions there are, as ever, but that is often the case anywhere."

Rasputin watches in wonder as you dissect your food, "Underful. Those must come handy." His voice rumbles with humor, "These things seem neigh equipted compaired to yours built in ones." He says as his eyes look at the fork and knife, "But, we do we can." He puts down the knife, picks up his glass of Vodka and drinks half in a gulp, "So you say you are new to the city? Might I help you find something, I've been her a long time."

Desmond looks up at the first comment, his hands pausing as he glances at Rasputin. Noting easily his interest in the claws. A nod given as he replies to the first, "I am one who was made to eat meat," he rumbles, head dipping slightly as he resumes and finishes off the sectioning of the first portion of steak. That done, he hooks a portion with that index claw, lifting it as he answers the offer of assistance. "I have been here a few months. New in comparison to you, but for the moment I am not in need of direction." He pauses before taking in the slice of meat, that thoughtful look coming to him again as he states, "I know my direction better now than at any point I could remember in the past." The strip of steak is then eaten, a light sense of contentment about the big feline as he eats.

Rasputin nods slowly, "Da, one you find der path. Tis good to stay on it." He says his tone losing the chipper ring for a moment but then it returns, "So, do you mind me asking where hail from? Or at least, where were da before Kingsdale?"

Desmond frowns faintly, still dealing with his second portion of meat when that second question rises. But his response is delayed, the big male having manners enough to wait for his maw to be clear before he replies, "A place I wish to think little of," he returns. Firmly, but not unkindly so. "Only that the further my path takes me from it, the better. This place is better by far, despite the sense of disorder that there is at times."

Rasputin nods slowly, "Da. I understand, we differ there. I would love to visit my home land before I die, but alas very unlikely." He pushes his now empty plate away and gulps the rest of the Vodka down. "So, what do ya do for living then? To pay for such a voracious appetite?" He chuckles, and tries to drink more Vodka but notices it is empty, he motions to Billy for another.

Desmond holds a thoughtful expression as Rasputin speaks of visiting his own homeland. A quiet sort of expression that fades in the wake of the further questioning that he gets. He answers with little pause, seeming to find the distraction of the question agreeable. "I work in the ProTech factory. Manual labor, which can be quite tiring and trying. This day was especially so, thus why I am here." He pauses after downing half of the first steak, lifting the water glass to drain a full third of the contents in one go.

Rasputin nods as he frowns that Billy hasn't filled his glass again, "Da. Sounds like delivery day for me. Large slabs of meat, for hours on end. Then ya cut." He sighs, "But, it is good honest work, ya?" Billy just brings the bottle over and leaves it. Rasputin chuckles loudly, "Da, da." He poors another glass, and drinks half. One would wonder, why not just drink straight from the bottle, but of course that might be rude.

Desmond nods his head in agreement to the question, his own glass having been set aside. "It is such. And challenging in ways my prior employment was not. I was a bouncer for a place in the Dregs.. Moe's for a brief few months. Though simple, this work is better. Even so, I do not plan to do it for the whole of my life. It is merely a means to an end, which will provide more favorable work to be done." His head dips again as he resumes making the second half of his steak disappear. Though still somewhat neat, he's not shy about digging in and seems to hold a steady hunger.

Rasputin drinks down the second half of his glass and poors another, "Da. Dis important to have plans for da future." He says, stareing at his now fresh glass, "So sir, I have enjoyed our conversation greatly. Please, come by the deli some time. I'll getcha a great deal on some fine venison I just got in from a local hunter." He smiles, tosses some creds on the table, "Allow me to pay for your meal too. Not often I have a good conversation." He nods to Billy, as he slides the bottle into an inside pocket and picks up his cane.

Desmond lifts his head, looking towards Rasputin with another nod. A pause for him to clear his maw before rumbling, "There is no need to pay, but I appreciate the offer. So too, I will seek out your deli. I and a friend of mine favor meat over other foods, thus we do eat a good deal of it. To reduce what is spent on such things would be a boon." He doesn't rise himself, but gives another bob of his head, a bit lower and subtly more formal. "Fare well, Rasputin. Take care when you return to your home."

Rasputin chuckles, "Da, da. Tis good. Pass on my favor. Today was day." He leaves the cash on the table and with that briskly exist the establishment. He makes sure to tip the hostess, by sliding her a chit as he slides by her. Shrugs his shoulders and waves his hands when she protests, and is quickly gone out the door. As he leaves he starts singing a very bad song, in Russian persumably. Tags: desmond, rasputin