Fair enough. Ais hadn't actually expected the bouncer to answer. It was less a serious inquiry than an old habit surfacing — saying hello to someone who was built like her old self.
She pushed open the black wooden door and walked in.
Seeing Ais lift the heavy door with no visible effort, the bouncer who had been about to offer help quietly withdrew.
It was still some time before evening, so the bar was sparsely occupied. The staff, however, had already started preparing around the ring. Ais could hear the rats already scratching inside the crates lined up along its edge.
Rat-baiting is certainly popular here. Ais shook her head, mildly disappointed — she'd hoped the capital might offer something more imaginative.
Ais's entrance inevitably drew everyone's eyes. She met the attention without flinching, scanned the room briefly, then raised her voice from a distance:
"Barkeeper — a pint of Southern Ale."
She'd done her best to keep her voice low and authoritative. But from the slightly odd looks drifting her way, the effort wasn't entirely convincing.
Infuriating. I thought it sounded fine. How am I supposed to argue with anyone in this body? Ais kept her face composed and settled at the bar.
The barkeeper studied this odd woman as he reached for a glass:
"5 pence."
Ais put the money down and asked directly:
"I heard you can get a gun here. Who do I ask?"
The barkeeper's pouring paused. He looked at this bold, oddly-dressed woman and his mouth twitched:
"Ma'am, don't take other people's boasting seriously. We're just a small honest establishment. Nothing like that here."
Why can't I find a single fool. Ais leaned on the bar, chin on hand, and said pleasantly:
"No need to worry — I just want something for self-defense. So there's really nothing here?"
As she spoke, she quietly activated the Instigator's Persuasion.
The now-receptive barkeeper found Ais's reasoning entirely sensible, and answered frankly:
"Ma'am, you want to find 'Old Man.' He usually comes in the evenings."
The Instigator ability really only earns its keep in moments like these. Ais nodded:
"Any recent interesting news around here?"
The barkeeper thought briefly, slid the ale across the counter, and shook his head:
"Your drink, ma'am. Nothing special lately. It's been fairly quiet for the past year or so."
"Thank you." Ais moved away from the bar, found an unoccupied table, and sipped at the bitter, clean, refreshing Southern Ale at a measured pace.
None of the sparse patrons seemed interested in causing trouble inside the Brave Men's Bar. At most they whispered and stared. No one approached.
A little disappointed, Ais finished her ale and left to familiarize herself with the surrounding area, using the bar as a focal point.
When she returned to a now-noisy Brave Men's Bar after dinner, she walked in to a round of whistles.
Her response — she simply pushed past the people in her way, mostly ignoring the crowd, and headed toward the bar. Any wandering hands that tried to take advantage of the moment found themselves firmly redirected.
The barkeeper watched Ais's entrance — and the minor commotion trailing behind her — with visible conflict between alarm and bemusement. When Ais looked his way, he quickly pointed to a side room:
"Room 3. 'Old Man' is in there."
Ais turned and headed over, leaving the barkeeper contemplating the patrons behind her, who were variously trying to convince each other that the woman had simply been stronger than expected rather than that they were weak.
She knocked on the partially open door.
"Come in."
The voice is awfully young for someone called 'Old Man.' Ais pushed the door open with a note of puzzlement — and found not an elderly man at all, but a young man who looked even younger than Leel. Bright red eyes, a brown round-top hat, worn coat, a slight moustache. A composure that didn't quite fit his age.
Ais closed the door and looked at this young man of university age:
"You're 'Old Man'?"
Ian — who had been doing this for over three years — was unsurprised by Ais's reaction. He neither underestimated this woman, whose clothes were cheaper than his own and whose face was no cleaner, nor showed any offence:
"That's right. Good to meet you, ma'am. You can call me Ian. What do you need?"
Ais, having decided to be deliberately overbearing, disregarded Ian's self-introduction entirely and said with a note of skepticism:
"Is that so? Then what do you sell, little brother?"
Hearing this term of address, Ian's mid-lean-to-take-a-shot paused. He didn't bother correcting the obvious provocation, just quietly rolled his eyes behind Ais's line of sight and answered:
"Weapons and information, primarily. Standard weapons only, of course."
He lined up his shot and sent a red ball cleanly into the pocket.
Spent a lot of time at this table. Ais pulled a chair beside the table and sat on the edge, looking at the few remaining balls on the surface:
"So can you get your older sister some explosives? I've been bored lately."
"No." Ian refused without hesitation:
"Ma'am, I'm only trying to make a living. I have no desire to provoke the police. If explosives are all you want, please see yourself out."
Let's hope you weren't lying. Ais watched a ball drift to rest at her side from Ian's latest shot, then said:
"So that's too much of a challenge for little brother. Fine — a revolver and matching ammunition shouldn't be a problem?"
Ian gripped the cue and drew a breath. It wasn't entirely about Ais's tone and the address — mostly it was that Ais was clearly not going to vacate the spot he needed to shoot from. He was very much beginning to suspect she'd taken that particular position deliberately.
"50 rounds plus my risk — 4 pounds total."
He quoted slightly above market, but not egregiously so. Facing this erratic woman, he hadn't dared push it too far.
"Done." Ais immediately produced a 5-pound note.
Ian checked its authenticity, then allowed himself a slight upward curve at the corner of his mouth — impressed by her decisiveness:
"Give me a few minutes."
Am I going to get a reputation here? Watching Ian leave the room, Ais looked at the cue beside her and felt a sudden curiosity about billiards.
The reason she hadn't joined Ian was that she had absolutely no idea how to play.
A short while later, Ian returned with a box, pushed open the door, and found the box and a pound note sailing accurately toward him — while the balls on the table were the same count as before but in completely new positions. He finally, unable to contain himself, gave Ais a look. Then he put down the box and the note.
Ais caught both casually, then continued without missing a beat:
"By the way, could you ask around about 'light-drawing dust' and 'wild-rage herb' for me? Those two things are also on my list."
Ian was quiet for a moment, then answered:
"I've never heard of either of those."
Ais stood, met Ian's eyes, and said:
"Which is why I'm asking you to ask around. Or would you like to tell me you've established yourself here at your age, working alone, as both an arms dealer and information broker?"
Ian hadn't expected this erratic woman to have such sharp situational awareness. He blinked before responding:
"I understand, ma'am. It will take a few days, though."
Ais pocketed the pound note, gave a nod, and said:
"That's not a problem. And you can trust the payment won't be short."
She opened the box, gave it a brief inspection to confirm both gun and ammunition were intact, then turned and left the room without further ceremony — mission accomplished.
Ian played billiards for a while longer before muttering to himself:
"Completely rude."
Author's Note (this chapter):"Completely rude."
The local gang: "Completely rude." ·