The Punt Den -- Chyril 23rd, TT (Cont.'d from A New Home)

[Guest]

The Punt Den
Deep in SouthBridge lies a small, but locally well-known pub. Shabby where Ranley Tavern is considered clean, unsafe where Ranley Tavern is considered safe, hostile to newcomers where Ranley Tavern is considered welcoming, and shady where Ranley Tavern is considered honest.

A crude, wooden sign swaying and creaking in the wind hung above the entrance. Once it had depicted a pretty barmaid and a stack of cards, now those were barely recognizable, and the crude lettering was not easily read: 'Punt Den'.

Strategically situated between the Promenade Theatre and Madame Panicci's brothel, Punt Den holds open only from eveningtide third mark, but its doors remain welcoming until morningtide. Spectators of the later and more dubious shows of the Promenade Theatre often spends the marks after in the Punt Den, discussing the night's performances, and indeed some of the girls of the Theatre comes here looking for an extra coin after having advertised their looks on the stage. But these are the lesser stars, many the crowd's favourites usually head straight for Madame Panicci's or take their leave with clients when the show is over.

It is the less attractive and less professional of Madame Panicci's girls who attend the Punt Den, and the connection between the brothel and the pub is a silent one. Where Madame Panicci houses guests from both the upper and lower classes and emphasizes privacy and discretion, it is the latter classes who frequents the Punt Bar where whores and their clients finds themselves a corner rather than a private room. Even so, relaxing with a beer in the Den is popular sport either before or after a visit to Madame Panicci's.

A wooden door opened into the main room of Punt Den with its long bar and crowded tables. Barmaids hurried between the guests, successfully and unsuccessfully evading pinches and grabs from the male customers, who were the definite majority in the establishment. A few daringly dressed girls scanned the guests for potential customers, and indeed a few already had clinched with clients in corners or behind tables. There was a stench of sweat, beer, smoke and even congealed blood in the air, mixed with raucous laughter, the clink of glass and loud conversation.

A stairway led down to the basement where the gambling took place. Stakes varied from a mark at Madam Panicci's to crown upon crown in games of all varieties.

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The large, dark-skinned man manuvered quitely through the city. He was still new to the Mouth, and as such he still had a tendancy to get lost on accasion. He'd never been to the Punt Den before, but he was confident that if he asked enough well-meaning people he'd find it eventually...which was the case. As he made it to the building, he sneered lightly.

The black-clad man had lit his pipe for the walk, having smoked a bit. Now that he was at the building proper, he tapped out the ash and pouched the pipe once more. Not because he couldn't smoke...but because he didn't want it to be used against him if he got in a struggle. This place could be rough, and he knew it. With a light smirk, Behn brushed the light shade of dirt off his clothes and pushed the door open.

As he stepped inside the dark location, he made straight for the bar, though his wandering eyes scanned the crowd to see who took notice and looked like a servant thug, and who just didn't give a damn. The scantily-clad women get some looks from him as well...a few of the healthier ones might indeed see his business later...but for now this was about his business.

As he arrived at the counter, he smiled congenially--though no smile of his could ever be considered congenial, but leering and kind of creepy--he spoke.

"I'd like a pint of your cheapest that doesn't taste like swill, and some information. I heard from a reliable source I can find Remmel or some of his flunkies here...I'd like to talk to as Chief a person as I can...Remmel himself if possible."

He hoped to speak with Remmel himself, but didn't honestly expect he'd gain that honor because he was no one of repute. Instead, he was hoping to talk to a chief lacky or summat, intending instead to find someone who could approve his becoming their muscle.

If, as he suspected, Remmel became the new head somebody in the Arch, he wanted very much to be on the winning team because power bread both fortune and opportunity, both things Behn was in short supply of at the moment.

[Guido Cercatoro]

(OOC: just stepping in for a tie-over post to push the thread along whilst Maeve is absent)

The Punt Den was quiet this tradetide. It was as if the entire place was taking a deep breath after the momentous events of the previous night. A few disreputable looking patrons were scattered around the tables and the low murmur of whispered conversations drifted out of some of the dark alcoves that lined the walls.

The bartender’s face showed not a trace of interest as Behn made his request to speak to Remmel. Within a few flickers a dirty, chipped mug of cloudy ale had been slammed down on top of the bar. Folding his arms, the barkeep spoke to the newcomer in a low mutter. “And who might you be, my friend? What business have you got with the man you ask for?”

[Morg]

Archived without skilling due to player inactivity.