He moves the bottle back to his lips, a short swig and a sigh before looking up.
"No reason in particular... Figured the booze was better. Thought about catching a ship to go and..."
He pulls out a very folded and weathered scrap of paper.
"... Find some interestin' rocks."
ㅤ
ㅤ
The cuts on her knuckles still burn like
a shot of whisky, the ebb and flow of
pain being a soft reminder that she's
fallen off the wagon yet again. Sarah
could smell him before she even seen
him, and heard him approaching even
before that. It's good to know that her
senses are still sharp.
When offered the drink, Fortune gives
a hesitant shake of her head before
relinquishing a burdened sigh. This
doesn't really feel like the right time to
get lost at the bottom of a bottle.
"Yeah. Something like that. What
are you doing back in Bilgewater?"
ㅤ
ㅤ
Started teaching some kids sword forms with sticks.
War orphans. Here in Ionia, the elders treat them well enough... but when you lose your family and home like that... I dunno... Maybe... you just need to hone that rage. Carry that loss in both hands.
There's a small swish of liquid swigging in a bottle, then the sound of glass hitting the side of a wooden wall.
The bottle is proffered to the other.
"Lemme guess, I should see the other guy?"
ㅤ
ㅤ
Fortune's gaze targets her bruised fists,
tongue inching out to taste the blood
from her split lip. Her jaw locks and she
gently shakes her head in disapproval.
ㅤ
ㅤ
"s'actly."
He mutters half into a cup.
"Not sure how to make it.... Different. What to do that's different. I wanna keep livin' on but.... What's the point. World's changin'. I'm stayin' the same."
“Hmm…” Zhu leaned back in his chairs, arms crossed.
“Yeah, Ah’ can see why that’d make ya tired. It sounds like a whole bunch’f th’ same ol same ol, day after day.”
"Yeah. Probably wouldn't. Pick your fights. Make sure your death, and your life, mean something."
There's a small breeze and he inhales.
He exhales out, looking at Rumble as if asking him to do the same.
"So, hypothetically. This guy with the best shoes... he kills you because you decide to fight him over shoes. Doesn't sit on you. He kills you. You died because of shoes. That how you wanna go out?"
“Okay first of all, they picked the fight by saying their shoes were so great. I ain’t never seen a longleg with good shoes. Second of all, what, I’m just supposed to shrug and hope that pisses him off?”
He blinked surprised before he looked back at his cup then back at Zhu.
"I'm not suicidal. I'm just... I guess tired. Like There isn't really a huge point. I go off from one village to the next drinkin' and helpin' the folks then flit to the next place."
His ears flattened against his head a bit, and Zhu would soon lean against the bar. He’d lower his head, trying to get eye contact with the sullen samurai.
“Ah’ care.” He answered with a tinge of worry in his voice. “An’ Ah’d listen if ya wanna talk.”
He wobbles his hand a little, letting it teeter in the air as he mulls on it.
"Yeah, sorta. The real trick is knowing what's worth it really. Some guy talks about his shoes being the best in the country, what do you say?"
He leans back, hands folded.
"You win a fight by having a strong mental state, remember? How strong does that have to be, do you think to walk away, and how weak must your opponent's be, for it to crack?"
Rumble leaned back as he let that lesson sink in, brow steadily furrowing.
“…What are you, stupid? How the hell do you win a fight by not fighting? That’s just giving the other guy the win by default!”
"Less that, more like... there feels like no purpose. Like there's just. Nothin'. Could talk about there bin'' somethin'. But who cares."
There is a clear melancholy as he looks at the ceiling pouring another glass.
“Mmmmh, yeah. Ah’ know what ya mean. It’s hard ta find someone out there who really gets ya gets ya, ya know?”
He leans back in his seats, which creak and groan beneath his weight.