Conscientia

[gamemakers]

WHO| Open
WHAT| Night life at the Speakeasy
WHEN| Evenings this week
WHERE| The Speakeasy
WARNINGS/NOTES| Feel free to use this party post style, or however you like if you would like to set any threads here.

The speakeasy was a classy joint. Wood panels, and soft velvet, and usually some kinda of live music, something mellow and easy to relax to. It was big, with low ceilings and with many back rooms, some easy to access, others less so. Easy to get lost in. And it gave off an air of class, of comfort, and being a part of something a little different from the rest. The kinda place where everybody knew your name, and everybody knew to be discreet about it.

It was the perfect place to grab a drink, sit, talk, and relax. No one over heard you, no one got in your business, but everyone was glad to talk if you wanted to find a friendly face. The owner, Conscientia, made her round every now and then, saying hello to her regulars, welcoming those who were new.

Comments

[the_marshal]

He lifted his hat, scratched at his hairline idly.

"Just lookin' for a place more my speed," he said. "And I heard tell this place might be just my sort."

[mannersmatter]

"It is a nice, mellow sort of place."

Classy, too. Incredibly classy. Which is why Effie enjoyed being here so much. It really surprised her Haymitch has chosen it.

[the_marshal]

His head tipped back slightly as he looked around.

It was a bit too fancy for him, a bit more high-brow than the saloons back home, but it wasn't that far off from the grand resturant at the hotel.

And that made it more like home than anywhere else he'd been.

"Well hopefully they won't mind havin' an ol' hand like me around," he said with small smile.

[mannersmatter]

"I'm sure they'll be honored to have you around." She said, laying a hand on his reassuringly.

"So, have you settled in a bit more?"

[the_marshal]

His hand twitched, but he didn't pull away.

She'd been good to him, he wanted to be nice to her.

"As much as one can, I suppose," he said slowly. "I mean,... it's not home, Ma'am."

[mannersmatter]

"What was home like?"

They knew things about the past. But very, very...biased things. Romanticized. And the wild, wild west more than victim to that treatment.

And Effie, and her inner history buff, wanted to know the truth.

[the_marshal]

"Well," he shifted, looked down at the bar for a moment, "I'd say it was in some ways an easier place, more difficult in others."

His gaze went distant, foggy with memory as he looked not quite at Effie, but past her. As if he could see the old world waiting just on the other side of the bar.

"The war changed things. Tensions 'tween North and South were still real tender even after Lee surrendered, and the holes left in families by so many missing fathers, brothers, and sons certainly took their toll. I tried to join the fight myself a few times, runnin' away from home, thinkin' I knew best. Pa always tracked me down though, and dragged me back by my ear." He refocused as he spoke of his family, his youth, glancing back at Effie with a vague sort of smile playing around his mouth before drifting away again, humor lost. "My brother James was wounded in Fredericktown. Almost lost him."

He lifted his glass, sipped, and took a moment to enjoy the burn of the liquor before carrying on. "Movement, especially westward was a bug that everybody seemed to have. Wagon trains gathering on the border states before heading off to parts unknown." He frowned a little, remembering. "It was a dirty affair, long and tiring. The wagons would kick up an awful dust that got into everything. Disease wasn't uncommon, and neither was raids. Lots of folks never reached where they were headed."

[mannersmatter]

She leaned forward, instantly fascinated by what he was saying. It was like a small little window into the past, their actual past, instead of bits and pieces stitched together with what was left after the war.

"Why would they go, if it was so risky?"

She couldn't imagine leaving comfort for such risk.

[the_marshal]

He snorted a laugh.

"There were as many reasons as there were folks goin'," he said, tipping his head. "But I 'spose one of the big ones was 'cause it was a chance to strike out and make a name for yerself. To go places, to see and do things nobody else had ever done. To make yer claim on a wild, untamed land."

He lifted his drink and smiled. "And the gold a'course. There were a great many drawn by that siren call."

[mannersmatter]

"Well, I can understand with the gold, but if you are safe at home, I can't really understand the risk..."

Of course 'home' to Effie was here. Perhaps if she had been in 12, or 8, or called some other place home, the concept would make more sense.

[the_marshal]

"Not everyone did," he acknowledged. "I'm not sure my Mama did. I think she went along because of Pa. And Dora..."

He hadn't said her name in months, he realized. He hadn't even really thought of her all that much. Guilt swamped over him, a burning shame.

Was he forgetting her? How could he ever do that?

Hadn't he loved her?

...Didn't he still?

[mannersmatter]

"Oh, who is Dora?" Effie asked, with her usually tact.

She was trying to put herself in these people's position Someone else shoes, stuck between a rock and a hard place. It would be so difficult to make hard choices...

[the_marshal]

He snapped back, realizing with a jolt that he'd left Effie hanging.

"Dora... Dora was an actress. She traveled 'round the country, 'round the world, puttin' on shows." He paused. Hesitating. Uncertain. Pained. "She didn't care for Dodge much. It wasn't nothin' compared to some of the fancy places she'd been... but she kept comin' back. For me." It was like tearing open an old wound, the sudden revisiting pain so sharp, so real. "I - cared for her."

[mannersmatter]

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

A lost love. She could feel herself misting up already. Reaching out, she laid a hand over his.

[the_marshal]

He looked down at her hand, slim and pale over his, and swallowed roughly.

"She died. Was murdered, before I was brought here."

And the last words their shared had been unpleasant. Had been her begging him to stay. Had been him telling her he had go...

He still blamed himself. If he'd been there when Spike had come through, if he'd been with her....

[mannersmatter]

Oh, it was nearly all too much.

She squeezed his hand, biting her lip, not sure what to say. Oh, she just never did well with this sort of thing.

"Well, at least now you have a place for new beginnings."

[the_marshal]

Over and over again.

Each time he died.

But she was trying to be helpful, he knew. Trying to be comforting, and he appreciated it.

He nodded, swallowed... tried to find something nice to say. His eyes tracked around the room, looking at anything but her - and spotted a familiar face, sitting in a booth across the way.

Great timing, that Elias.

"I'm doin' my best, Miss Trinket," he said, refocusing on her, working to find a small smile for her and gently extracting his hand from hers. "If ya'll forgive me now, I see Elias over there, and I should probably go say hello."

[mannersmatter]

"Oh, of course, I forgot you were Mr. Nehemiah's tribute." She straightened up, smiling and nodding.

"Uhhh..." Was it bad form to wish other Tributes good luck still? Oh well. "Good luck then."