Bastien understood very little about the world he now inhabited. It seemed a dreary, harsh place compared to the culture of his home, which had mostly consisted of hedonism and culture. Once he had concluded it wasn't a dream (after a few slaps to his own face and splashing himself with a lot of cold water) he assumed it could only be some kind of hell; he had long ago assumed God was ignoring him and felt this punishment without any warning was most unfair.
The only remaining proof of his homes existence he had on him was a gold Ducat, the coin dull in his pocket but now the most precious thing he owned. The damn twist of fate that had brought him here had decided to do it while he was in bed, so he had sprung into the world in only a thin pair of pants. He had, in the few days he had been here, acquired a pair of shoes that had been left on a door and found a cloth to work as a makeshift shawl.
Desperately, he had looked for something familiar, and he had found it in the sound and smell of the Rathskeller. He had never been too much of a drinker before (maybe the odd glass of wine, but there were far more interesting things to take in his opinion) but the promise of something to dull the senses and a bartender to talk to was something he could not pass up. It was something he knew, at least.
It was not until the barkeeper turned to him he realised he had no money to pay for a drink. Admittedly, he hadn't seen anyone else pass out money...perhaps he could use his smile, charm his way through things like he had as a younger man. Carefully, he painted on a practised smirk and leaned forward onto the bar. When he spoke there was a heavy accent to his words he knew marked him out as not from here, but he was fortunate the people understood him at all.
"Ah, hello. I thought myself lost but now I am found in your lovely establishment...matched only, of course, by your lovely self." He gestured towards Vervain with a graceful motion of his fingers. "Perhaps you could spare a drink for a lost soul? I would be very grateful and willing to express it in many ways." He didn't need to wink, the suggestion in his voice enough, but he did rest his chin on his fingers and raise his eyebrows.
The only remaining proof of his homes existence he had on him was a gold Ducat, the coin dull in his pocket but now the most precious thing he owned. The damn twist of fate that had brought him here had decided to do it while he was in bed, so he had sprung into the world in only a thin pair of pants. He had, in the few days he had been here, acquired a pair of shoes that had been left on a door and found a cloth to work as a makeshift shawl.
Desperately, he had looked for something familiar, and he had found it in the sound and smell of the Rathskeller. He had never been too much of a drinker before (maybe the odd glass of wine, but there were far more interesting things to take in his opinion) but the promise of something to dull the senses and a bartender to talk to was something he could not pass up. It was something he knew, at least.
It was not until the barkeeper turned to him he realised he had no money to pay for a drink. Admittedly, he hadn't seen anyone else pass out money...perhaps he could use his smile, charm his way through things like he had as a younger man. Carefully, he painted on a practised smirk and leaned forward onto the bar. When he spoke there was a heavy accent to his words he knew marked him out as not from here, but he was fortunate the people understood him at all.
"Ah, hello. I thought myself lost but now I am found in your lovely establishment...matched only, of course, by your lovely self." He gestured towards Vervain with a graceful motion of his fingers. "Perhaps you could spare a drink for a lost soul? I would be very grateful and willing to express it in many ways." He didn't need to wink, the suggestion in his voice enough, but he did rest his chin on his fingers and raise his eyebrows.
