not much of a 'gentleman' [open]

[Adrienne]

Raucous laughter echoed from one of the rowdiest taverns in the area, sounding out into the streets and leaking into the ears of all in the vicinity. Music, conversations, and the occasional dirty insult accompanied the roaring, as if the entire building was welcoming any passerby to come in and experience the finer points of Tortuga. A few wandering waif-like-beggars hung around the door outside, as if too afraid to actually walk in, but yearning to do so with every inch of their scrawny beings. The dark of night cloaked the town in its oily sheen- but the glow of the taverns dim lights send a golden hue on the streets outside. From the direction of the beach, a figure came walking. He moved at a moderate pace, as if he had all the time in the world, and had a noticeable spring in his step- or, rather, strut- as he walked like a swaggering peacock up to the door of the tavern and shoved his way inside.

It was utter blissful chaos that greeted the stranger. Men smashed bottles over each others head, wenches hung on old salts like parasites, and younger lads swigged brine much too strong for them in a far corner. The jaunty rhythm of a band sounded out as someone in the left-most side of the tavern swung a punch at someone else, and hit another. As if that was the signal for literally all hell to break loose, men from every table tackled those of neighboring seats, and harlots set up shrill cat fights in the corner. Unimpressed by the craziness, the solitary person made his way toward a table tucked away in an unoccupied corner nook after, of course, retrieving a bottle of rum for himself. Settling back in the chair with his feet- noticeably devoid of any sort of shoes- appreciatively up on the wooden table, the stranger leaned back and took a deep swig of the bottle, gulping it like someone whose entire life was spent draining bottle after bottle and flagon after flagon.

It could be noted, if someone was curious enough to look and not otherwise occupied by the hearty brawl, that the stranger was decked out in a loose white shirt and black breeches that seemed ill-fitted for the slender man. They hung on his frame like garments meant for a larger fellow, giving the rum-swigging man an unkempt and childish appearance. A thick knot of wavy brown hair was tied at the nape of his neck, restrained by a weak tie and settled just so that his face was barely visible. A hat that could easily be called the property of a pirate swooped low over his eyes, leaving only the strangers lips and freckle-smattered nose visible when his head was tilted down. Leaning back on the chair even further, another swig of the drink was taken, and an unconcerned murmur was set off from deep within his throat as he drained the last drop. It wasn't long before one of the wenches in the corner sidled over, a bottle of rum in each hand and a drowsy smirk on her face. Tipsily, she stumbled into the table and slopped some from the bottle in her left hand onto herself, laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Snatching the fuller of the two containers without comment, the stranger took another deep gulp. Rum. Ah, it was a wonderful invention!

Not bothering to shoo the harlot away- she was merely a gnat to him- the man made no comment when she pulled up a chair and leaned back in it like a drunkard. She began to drone about 'oh how hard it is being a wench' and 'all the others are jealous of me because i get more than them' and the stranger continued ignoring her, until the woman leaned up in his personal space and stared scrutinizingly at his face. "Y'know-" she muttered, between a barrage of tipsy hiccups, "You look like a girrrrrlll....." As if the thought was particularly amusing, the woman reached up to tweak his nose, an act that sent both the woman and the table tumbling, and the man stalking angrily to another spot in the tavern, taking the rum she had had with him. By the time anyone even had a moment to glance over from their fighting and see what was going on, he was gone, moved, and the girl was just another drunkard passed out on the floor of the tavern. His actions may have seemed a bit extreme, if anyone had been watching, but the stranger had not a damn to give on the matter. He despised being touched.

ooc; If anyone would be so kind as to humor me and little Adrie- in boy disguise- with a reply, I'd be mightily grateful and even more excited to start roleplaying here. xD