Breakfast at Dortman (Early MT ,Chyril 23)

[Fredric Abaddon]

The inn and pub were well-known institutions within the Mouth, and only its long history within the city itself accounted for its oddly placed foundation. Nestled among the noble, towering spires of the great architectural achievements of the city's public center, the large inn seemed almost... squat and primitive. But the interior was anything but: dark mahogany wood lined the walls giving The Flying Dortman Tavern a dim but cozy atmosphere. The thick leaded glass filtered what sun made it past the heavy red brocaded curtains, now faded with age but not threadbare. A large ornately carved bar ran nearly the length of one wall, worn with handling but still kept highly polished. Behind the bar a soft colourful fresco depicting Pecunia and her followers had been painted, a sharp contrast with the deep rich wood that dominated the rest of the room.

It was very early morningtide when Fredric entered the Dortman. He had been awake all night. His meditation exercises had lessened his need for sleep while his nervous excitement had made sleep an unlikely visitor,anyway. Instead, he had filled the night with making copies of his writings, praying for guidance and imagining the conversation with his Eminence. The night over, he walked into the Dortman confident though a bit fatigued.

He bowed slightly to the barkeep,in the monkish manner, and flashed him a friendly smile. Finding a booth at the back of the pub, the young Oneist sat and waited for his order to be taken.

"Good day to you, traveller. How may I help?"

“And a good day to you, friend. It been almost ten years since I’ve visited your fine establishement and all that time I’ve been dreaming of your ‘Surprise Eggs’.” The young man said excitedly.

“You know with the cheese and the beans and the …surprising good taste. Could I get an order of that?” His eyes grew larger and his smile wider as he described the delacacy.

“Oh, yes. And a cup of coffee…..No, tea….No, Coffee…No.” He struggled but early morning was not the time for deep moral questions. “Yes. Bring me a coffee and make it a strong one. It will be my last. I recently read a book that has convinced me to give up the black liquid….after this last cup.”

[Morg]

When Fredric entered, the squat building was abuzz with conversation. The usual early morning clientele chattered away about the previous day and night's happenings over prosciutto ham, eggs and the espresso that would give them the energy to plough through another day at work. Behind the bar stood a pair of men, both wearing fine buff coats with frilled, billowing sleeves and broad grins as they chatted and laughed with their patrons. The smell of piquant coffee and fried food filled the air, and the floor, different from most wayside inns, was of polished wood that, while well worn, was sturdy as ever. As it was so early, many of the booths were unoccupied, and Fredric had no trouble finding a free one.

A waiter was along within the burn. "Ten yahren, signore?" he echoed. "That's a long time. I'll make sure they're extra surprising for you."

The man was about to depart, but then Fredric's afterthought took him by surprise. "Give up coffee?" He lifted his eyebrows, as if the monkish young man was a bit pazzesco and he was trying to humour him. "Why ever would you want to do that, signore?"

[Fredric Abaddon]

“Dominicus, I just wanted one more cup of coffee before I got serious.” He silently whined to the creator, knowing that his anti-coffee campaign had officially begun. “Thy will be done,” he sighed.

Aloud, he responded to the waiter by smiling sheepishly. “It isn’t for lack of love of the eye-opening liquid. I adore drinking that cup with the first doughnut of the day. Alas, but my conscious will not let me.”

Taking the measure of the waiter, Fredric decided that he was not an overly faithful Oneist. He therefore attempted to appear compassionate rather than angry. He shook his head with a look of true sadness though the words he uttered were anything but true. “You see, friend, I’ve been studying up on Aveas. – I’m excited about the prospects for helping the poor to prosper in our new colony.— Anyhow, in my studies, I came across a book called ‘Profiles in Faith’ , about Mouthies who died in the war when the rich coffee plantation owners gave the Army of the One over to the adhiels..”

Staring at the table, as if in thought, he continued quietly. ”I didn’t realize there were so many of us in that Army. I guess I just didn’t think. … Those creatures did some real nasty things to those men….Our men ,men from our neighborhoods…. I knew a few of them… heard of their names at least. All good Mouthies….Killed and tortured. …I... Well, it just don’t seem right.”

Fredric shrugged and smiled innocently. “Now, friend, I don’t know nothing about politics and less about war. Not my interest. I just live my life and try not to give harm to nobody….but I do take exception when my neighbors, my countrymen are killed. When them rich plantation owners made their deal to leave the One’s Army all high and dry…well, they killed ‘em just as sure as the bloody minded adhiel.”

“Nothing ,I can do for our Mouthie brothers, now “he sighed. “ …. But I don’t have to be tossing my few banters to those who betrayed them...Not every morning. No, not when their widows and orphans still wander our streets. “

Sighing with real emotion , though it was for the loss of his morning cup of coffee not the loss of life, he changed his order. “Cancel the coffee. Give me tea.”

[Sevti]

As he listened to Fredric's speech, the humor turned to surprise, then to eye-widening shock. Finally, as his tale came to an end, the young man visibly swallowed. "I... I... had no idea," he whispered softly. "I knew some of the boys that had gone over there but I never..." His head shook back and forth, trying to drive from his mind the evils of the world all contained in a simple black liquid.

"Tea, sir, right away," he replied, adding a small bow to the young monk. "And the finest breakfast in ten yahren."

He paused for a moment, his lips parted as though a question were ready to emerge, then turned quickly on his heel to place the order for the thought-provoking patron.

It was but a few burns before the young waiter returned with a steaming cup balanced carefully on a saucer. "To get you started, segnore." He placed the cup carefully upon the table before Fredric. "Would you care for anything in your tea? It will be a few more burns before your eggs are ready."

[Fredric Abaddon]

"Would you care for anything in your tea? It will be a few more burns before your eggs are ready."

“What is good in dog piss?” Fredric mumbled, still slightly annoyed at the loss of his habitual morning cup of coffee. However, his mood was rapidly brightening. His first anti-coffee speech had made an impact. He had seen some emotion on the server’s face….Emotion, of course, was not the goal. Any two-banter drama could pull on the heartstrings. Action. His writings were a call to action. If the young waiter had heard that call then the beginning insurrectionist would feel his first speech a success.

“Well, I used to put three spoonfuls of sugar in my coffee. I guess sugar couldn’t make tea taste any worse. Why don’t you get me some of that.”

The manipulative non-monk made conversation with the youthful server, planning, eventually, to steer it back to Aveas. “By the way, my name is Fredric. Good to make your acquaintance. You seem an outgoing sort with a good head on your shoulders…what do you hear? What are people talking about this morning?”

[Fredric Abaddon]

Fredric smiled as he waited for the young waiter’s response. Glancing up at the colorful fresco over the bar, the budding propagandist was distracted for a flicker. He wondered if the odd, old painting held any lessons for his, as of yet unborn, “institutional gossiping” organization. He remembered asking his father why the obviously rich woman in the portrait was wearing a slave collar.

With a look on his face, usually reserved for passionate rails against the “outrageous” price of silver, Fredric’s father answered.

“Boy. Let this be a lesson to you.” Fredric’s father had never been one to neglect his children’s education. He was always ready to give a lesson, never letting ignorance of a subject deter him from pedagogy. “That there is what’s known as Ar-Tis-Tic License. It is the bane of all us right thinking businessmen cursed with the need to employ the artsy-fartsy types.“ From time to time, his father hired talented engravers in the family silversmith business- times inevitably marked by increased swearing and prodigious alcohol consumption on my father’s part.

“If a man don’t watch over them peoples, nights and days, they go crazy-creative on you and you can kiss your profits goodbye. That be sure. They’ll go and toss in metaphors. Where all you asked for was a meadow, with maybe a rabbit, a deer and some grass, they bring the finished engraving and right there smack in the middle of the field is a dog peeing on some broken down cart. ‘Well,’ says he. ‘That represents the shoddiness of urban life compared to a life closer to nature.’ ‘No,’ says I. ‘That represents me having to toss that plate back in the fire!” That’s just what I did, too.”

Stabbing his finger at the fresco, he continued. “Now that there was supposed to be a portrait of the owner’s mother, a saintly woman with more business sense than the whole of the Merchant Council combined. He goes and hires the fresco made and what he get? ARTISTIC LICENSE. She is a slave to her work therefore the collar…. I know how these creative types think. The customers adored her so you gots the people all bowing to her in the fresco. All very metaphorical and sissyfied.… Don’t know why she is half naked …but all those artists are degenerates and like that sort of thing.”

“The difference between the owner of this here bar and me is my AR-tists don’t get a banter until everything is nice and normal like I like it. The owner here must have paid his guy ahead of time so he is stuck with it.”

“Boy, let that be a lesson to you. Never trust a …”

Fredric quickly returned his attention to the youthful server, who was about to speak.

[Sevti]

"The big news is a fire that completely destroyed the Coztanza villa," the boy answered, his eyes so bright with the chance to pass along gossip that the politeness of introducing himself completely eluded him. "The rumor is that it's the start of vendetta upon that house. From what's been told, Master Tormson fought bravely and only just got out alive. And I believe I've heard that the fair lady was lost in the blaze. At least no one has seen her since."

Leaning in closely, the young man's voice became a whisper. "What's going to happen to her estate is the question of much speculation. And what Master Tormson is going to do in return. It's been said that the two were quite... close," he nodded his head knowingly.

With a quick, guilty movement, he stood straight once more. "Let me go get that sugar for you, segnore." His dark eyes darted to the bartender, then lowered. "And I think your breakfast might be ready. If you'll excuse me."

When the young man returned, he carried a tray laden with an overflowing plate and a small clay bowl brimming with sugar. Stopping beside Fredric, the young man first set the sugar next to the steaming mug of tea, then carefully rested the plate on the table directly before the non-monk. Steam rose from a large colorful pile of food. Yellow eggs were mixed with red, white and green beans, pale pink ham, creamy cheese, bright red tomatoes and dark green flecks of herbs. Beside it lay four halves of toast, buttered lightly and a small tub of currant jelly perched between them. Rounding out the plate was a small slice of steak, it's center a soft pink.

"Will there be anything else?" he asked as the plate touched the table.

[Fredric Abaddon]

Fredric shoveled sugar into the feeble yellow liquid as he listened.

“Coztanza dead? Wonderful.”

She wouldn’t have been the first one that he’d pick for the chopping block –Actually, he had a whole fantasy laid out as to the order and method by which Council heads would chop and drop. - But beggars can’t be choosers. Hopefully, a lively vendetta war would take out a few more…. The busier the council members were the less likely they would notice his activities.

The breakfast came and Fredric was immediately infatuated. Its alluring beauty tempted him. Its tantalizing smells lured him with promises of pleasure. Almost against his will, he succumbed and snuck an illicit pre-prayer bite of the eggs. Delicious. He romanced the edible orgasm for a few flickers before swallowing." Mmmmm. This must be what sex feels like,” he imagined. “…minus the sweaty bodies and odd animal noises.”

Ending that train of thought before it had a chance to derail, the former monk-trainee turned his attention back to the youthful server. “Actually,” he said. “There may be one more way you can help me. I mentioned some interest in Aveas and the links to the coffee trade. Well, it occurs to me that I don’t know much of anything about the coffee business. I was wondering if you could help me rectify that. I don’t know what use it would be but I’m interested. For example, how much coffee does the Dortman use in a day? What company provides it? Do they deliver it straight from the warehouse or do you purchase it from the general store?…”

“I am just trying to get a picture of the coffee business in my own mind, not looking for trade secrets just some understanding. Do you think you can get me that information?”

[Sevti]

The young man listened to Fredric's request thoughtfully, his tray resting loosely at his side. He captured his bottom lip between his teeth and let the tray play a tattoo against his side. "I can't say that I know much about it myself," he admitted. "I just serve it. I could tell you what people like and what they don't, how they drink it, that kind of thing. But I do know someone I can ask."

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a plate being slid to the side of the bar. "I won't see my friend until later this trade tide, but if you'll be around tomorrow morningtide, I can let you know then."

[Fredric Abaddon]

With a friend in the coffee business, the waiter might actually be of more use than expected. The more Fredric knew of the coffee trade, the more trouble he might cause and trouble-making was to be his new profession.

“Why, thank you. I’d appreciate that. With meals as good as this, I’d jump at the chance to come back tomorrow morning.... Who is this friend of yours?”

After the boy responded, the hungry, unemployed Oneist thanked him a second time then let the waiter return to his duties. Within seconds, half of the divinely good Surprise Eggs disappeared – a magic trick the mundane non-monk intended to perform again, though at a more civilized pace.

[Nemesis]

The morning meal would be quite satisfying for the monk once he finished it. It was a hefty meal with eggs cooked to perfection. The blends of cheese add variety to not only taste, but to the way the eggs appeared on the plate. Fresh herbs added aroma and taste as well. Delicate slices of meat would also help to satisfy any man's hunger.

"You will have to forgive me for being hesitant on revealing who my friend is at this time signore. It's out of respect of course, the same respect I would give if someone were to ask me about you."

With no more word on the subject the young waiter excused himself to go wait on a couple that had and taken seats together.

[Morg]

Archived without skilling due to player inactivity.