The Shady Sham

[Boros]

A very shady tavern, with very shady clientele, near the docks.

[Boros]

"An' ah said: eat fecking shit, ye fecking bastards. An' left." Hoster had reached his drunken apex, those shits, especially Edmure with his grin, had made him angrier than a kicked hound. He made his way out of the wedding to meet with his Bonny Boys in the Shady Sham, there he'd probably feel much more at home than with the fancy folk on top of the hill. "Tha' ain no place for me, they think they better than us small folk. But they be going to see, we'll fecking show'em." He stabbed a round callouse finger towards one of his fellows.

The Bonny Boys numbered in twelve members, all ugly, all brutes, all pissed, all drunk; he had known them for all his life, and to him they meant more family than most of those shits uphill.

"Harrenhal is da bigges' fucking castle in da world. An' we'll be livin' in it. They'll learn to respect da Blackfort name, e'en if t'is da last thing ah do."

[The Raven]

Muddy Marwyn was still in awe of having taken the first bath of his life. The rest, no strangers to modern hygiene, were singing 'Teats on Feets Make Me Completes' when Hoster arrived.

Mors handed Hoster an ale without breaking tune.

[Boros]

Hoster grabbed the tankard without joining in the tune, he had no mind for fucking singing at that moment. He sat sulking at the back, his face shadowed a somber grimace. He drank it in a single, uninterrupted , swallow; this was piss, but he had had worse in his life.

"Oy, ye shits." He barked at no one in particular, expecting at least one to break the song. "Wha' did ye feckers do while I was gon?"

[The Raven]

The singing ceased with their leader's outburst. Mors took a seat beside the new noble. "We wondered if your nephew dropped the cloak or not, and if you snagged a rich old bitty. Judgin' by your disposition, I owe ten coppers to a friend. So in that spirit, I'll join you in your fine sulk."

[Boros]

"I stood in a fecking sept for more 'n an hour wi'out a single drink. An' tha' was the best part of mah day...." Hoster raised a hand, motioning at the bar for more ale. "Do ye kno' a whore call 'd Lady Mandrake? An' her lapdogs Ser Rolan' an' Ser wha'e'er the feck o' wha'e'er other Fork there is."

[The Raven]

Jun 1, 2016 21:33:24 GMT Boros said:

"I stood in a fecking sept for more 'n an hour wi'out a single drink. An' tha' was the best part of mah day...." Hoster raised a hand, motioning at the bar for more ale. "Do ye kno' a whore call 'd Lady Mandrake? An' her lapdogs Ser Rolan' an' Ser wha'e'er the feck o' wha'e'er other Fork there is."

"Mandrake..." Mors sloshed his ale while he pondered the question. "Donyl Mandrake? Couldn't 'old 'is likker, but still an 'elluva archer." He mimed a bow and arrow. "'Elluva archer..."

[Boros]

"Da basterd's widow, fecking bitch..." Hoster cleared his throat will all his heart, and spat inside the empty flagon. "Think she can treat me like shit just 'cause I'm new to t'is noble stuff. She threw shit at the Blackfort name. Ye kno' I norm'ly don' give a feck abou' these thin's, but naw ah'm noble, aye? I can't let 'er goin' around dancin' as if she were be'er than ah an' mine family." He pulled out one of the dozen daggers he kept strapped to his outfit and started stabbing the table. "But she'll see it, aight."

"Ye gon' get two others an' ye'll find out where she an' her dogs is staying. Then com' back tah me." He said, lowering his tone, staring aggressively at anyone who might be paying attention to their conversation. "Take Muddy, I wan' to be done wi' t'is 'fore dawn."

[The Raven]

Mors, never one to question Hosted in this mood, nodded slowly before grabbing Muddy and Pate. Pate had no nose, but he was also the smoothest talker of the lot. He even had all his teeth.

*****

They returned an hour later. Hoster noticed Muddy' bloody knuckles when he grabbed a cup, and Pate was showing off his not at all pearly whites. Mors sat beside Hoster and handed him a slip of paper.

The Humming Maiden, Maegor's March, near Old Gate

Mors smelled distinctly of horse shit.

[Boros]

"Let's go..." Hoster jumped up to his feet and made his way to the door. He nodded at the three who had just left to join him, and pulled another by the collar.

[Boros]

///////////////////////

Unhappy with not being able to acquire one of the new Lady's undergarments, Hoster made his was once again back to the Shady Sham. The rest of the Blackforts would stay at the Keep, he doubted they'd want him there... Anyway, he didn't want to stay there either. As soon as he arrived in the establishment, he checked if Mors, essentially his second in command , was back from their ordeal.

[The Raven]

Mors sat playing his lute in the corner, with Muddy resting his head on the table.

[Boros]

"Mors..." Hoster barked and took a sit near his friend/employee/compadre. He had been thinking about their meeting with the kid and had been feeling very 'eh' about it. "How did it go back there after ah left?"

[The Raven]

"He kept his mouth shut. I watched the hotel for two hours to see if he sent the house guards after us. Quiet as a Septon's favorite brothel" He laughed. "He actually picked up the horse cleaning stuff he dropped earlier before going in!"

[Boros]

"Meh..." Hoster said, waving for a flagon. Never stop drinking, never stop working, those were the words Hoster lived by. - Of course, being 'work' his own definition of the word, which meant 'doing whatever the fuck he wanted'. "Think ah'm goin' old an' soft. Coulda 'ave kill'd 'im in the spot, taught da bitch not tah feck wi' us."