The sun hadn't set when Faris barged through the bar's double doors. All at once, he was hit by a wave of wet fragrances -- booze, sweat, the heavy odors of oak wood. He took in a deep breath as those scents hit him. 'Almost like home,' he thought as he swaggered down the cluttered aisles towards the bartender. 'Like a room full of pirates.' Of course, the floor didn't creak beneath his step and his feet didn't sway on the rocking of the ocean swells. Familiar faces didn't greet him with fear and respect. He didn't bark orders at those passing by, and there was no adventure to be had. No, there was only a half-empty room of sad drunks wasting their lives away in a sad establishment like this. Faris belonged here.

He slid onto a sticky bar stool and waited, cheek resting on his palm and fingers tapping on the counter as the bartender dealt with another customer. Faris eyed the shelf while he waited -- whiskey, rum, vodka, tequila. At this point, Faris would have taken the lot if his wallet had allowed it. As it was, he could only manage to scrape by doing odd jobs killing monsters and scouting the haunted forest. He'd have a few drinks, he decided, then that was it. He had to save for a chocobo if he ever wanted to leave this forsaken town.

The bartender turned to Faris then stopped. The man's eyes caught on Faris' distinctive purple hair then on his blue tunic and scarf. A look of resignation passed his face before he approached. "You're back," the man said in a way that suggested very much that he wished Faris hadn't come. Faris smiled wryly.

"Of course I'm back. You've got the only decent booze in town."

The man visibly repressed a groan. "I thought we told you to leave."

"That? Sounded more like a suggestion to me." Faris traced his finger along a vein in the wooded counter-top. "Now why don't you pour me a double shot of whiskey. I'll pay upfront, you have a sailor's promise."

The bartender gave him a hard look. "It took three men to move you," he said. "You yelled at everyone about that monster in Torensten then passed out drunk on the floor."

"Well I did fight that fiend," Faris muttered, but he didn't get in another word before the bartender continued.

"You disturbed our customers."

"If something like that can disturb them then they're as yellow as they are daft," Faris said, but he could tell form the man's look that it got him nowhere. "I swear, I wasn't drunk at all! It was the crystals that did it! And some lass in white!"

"You starting shouting about monsters, tried to walk out on your drinks, flashed white, then passed out and concussed yourself," the man said. "We're not serving you."

Faris' eyebrows furrowed. "Fine then, if that's how you'll be about it." He hopped up off the bar stool and pushed back his straggly hair. "There are other bars around. I could get a drink anywhere," he said, although he'd tried everywhere and it just hadn't been the same. "I don't need this place -- never did!" he announced louder, but his heart wasn't in it. His eyes wandered down the bar counter until he found something he could almost call normal. There, at the end of the bar, was a man with scraggly hear, a simple red uniform, and knuckles so calloused he must have spent his days punching logs. Faris blinked at his leather hand-guards and open shirt. He could have sworn he'd seen this man before, but he couldn't quite place it. Maybe it was just that sense of familiarity he got whenever he saw someone else who didn't quite belong.

Faris seized on the opportunity.

"Hey, you there! You can still by a drink in this place. I'll pay you to buy me a pint and pay you more if you get me something stiffer." Faris grinned at the man who didn't fit in. "From one lad lost in this world to another?"

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"Eh?"

Faris wasn't an expert on a lot of things -- politics, wealth, anything with fancy dresses -- but he knew a slander when he heard it, even if it was a rather strange one. And "I'll pay for your drinks but you're getting what I order" was rather odd indeed. On the one hand, free liquor. On the other, Faris wasn't quite sure what the man was implying. Was buying him a drink an act of spite? Did he not think Faris could handle anything else? The thought made Faris bristle with indignation. Sure, he was smaller than most, shorter than most, and maybe he couldn't grow a proper beard, but Faris didn't need any of that to prove himself a man. It was all in the walk, the way he held himself, and the skill of his sword. Or spear. Or ninja stars, if he felt like mixing it up.

Still. He couldn't say no to a free drink. And didn't it sound a little like the man wanted his company? If Faris had been a woman, he would have thought this to be the man's fumbled pick-up line. Then again, he supposed he couldn't write off the possibility just because he wasn't in a dress. Some men were into that, he supposed.

His choice was made for him by the snickering bartender. Apparently the man's request had amused him enough to repeal Faris' ban. Either that, or the bartender didn't think Faris could do much damage on whatever he would bring him. As the bartender hustled off to pour his mystery cocktail, Faris gave a long sigh and slid onto the stool next to the red-clad man.

"Well, it'll be better than nothing," he said with his cheek rather gloomily held in his hand. He glanced at the man beside him again. The man was a wall of muscle -- all bulk with the ligaments shifting every time he moved. That kind of body toning took serious discipline, and Faris supposed he could respect that if nothing else. With his loose pants, brown sash, and open shirt, he looked a bit like Bartz in the Monk class whenever the boy cared to use it. Faris tilted his head a little in interest. "So you. You're not from around here, are you?" Faris gave a bitter smile. "I know how it goes now. If a lad looks like he's got an ounce of sense in him, then he's from somewhere else. Woke up here, did you? Can't remember a thing? Head like a cupboard full of cobwebs?" Faris laughed. "What's your story? I sailed in from the east side of Tycoon, not that that'll mean much to you. The name's Faris. Captain Faris Scherwiz, if a title be important to you."

Faris was about to ask what brought the stranger to Provo when the bartender shoved a glass his way. Faris' easy smile fell instantly. In front of him in the daintiest glass he'd ever laid eyes on was some orange concoction swimming with a shot of red and with some kind of citrus fruit hanging off the side. Faris eyed it distrustfully. "What in the seven seas is this nonsense?"

"A tequila sunrise," the bartender answered. Faris thought that over carefully.

"Tequila?" he echoed. He cautiously picked up the glass and brought it to his lips. After a moment, he recoiled and shoved it back onto the counter. "It's sweet!" he said accusingly, "How am I supposed to get drunk off of this?"

The bartender said nothing and went on to serve an old man down the row. Faris moodily watched a cherry bob in the ungodly concoction. "A waste of good tequila..." he muttered as he sank against the counter. It was a shame, really. Just a damn shame.

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"Better than nothing," the man beside him repeated, smirking. Faris shot him a dangerous look without sitting up.

"Watch it," he growled. "I'm too sober for a tongue like that." With his crew long gone and no way home in sight, he was too sober for a lot of things. Thinking, for one. Or doing much of anything other than fixing the problem at the root of everything -- his sobriety. His crew would have known better than to test Faris without a bottle of liquor in his hand. They would have given him every bottle they had. His heart ached with longing.

Still, the man continued as though Faris didn't resemble a snarling dragon. It was probably for the best, but it would have helped if Faris had understood a single thing the man had said. Something about a head full of dreams, a land he'd never heard of, and some kind of fiends. All in all, it was exactly the kind of nonsense everyone was spewing these days. Faris eyed the liquor shelves like it held the secrets to life itself.

"Dreams, eh?" he echoed. It was all a bit too obtuse for him, really.

The man took a long drink from his mug, and Faris' eyes narrowed on him darkly. 'The yellow bastard's rubbing it in,' he thought, 'You no-good, sneaky son of a-'

“The name is Douken, and I hail from the farmlands of Melmond, which resides near the kingdom of Cornelia." The man held out a hand in friendship. Faris didn't take it immediately, and when he did, it was with a cross look that suggested exactly the kind of mood he was in. “I trained as a Monk for several years now, although before coming here, it was more for sport than survival.”

"A monk, you say?" Faris perked up in genuine interest. "Like the job class?" Despite his mood and the many slights against him, Faris couldn't help but laugh a little in relief. "Aye, well that's familiar. I knew you looked like a man who could use his hands. Fight any monsters then? I've been getting my hands bloodied in that haunted forest of theirs for weeks."

For a moment, a new fire lit Faris' eyes. It had been months since he'd met anyone who knew a thing in battle, and he'd have been more than happy to share violent tales with the man for hours -- drink or no drink. However, the monk seemed to have a different plan. The monk -- Douken -- replaced his beer on the counter before giving Faris a cautious glance.

“Tell me, have you ever had a dream that felt that way? Where the bounds of reality and dream were so blended it could be hard to distinguish one from the other?" he said, and Faris was about to ask him what in all seven seas he was talking about before he continued. "It may be strange to talk about, but a couple nights ago, I had a dream. One that I had never experienced before."

Douken took a thoughtful pause, maybe for dramatic effect, while Faris was left watching him awkwardly. "Dreams, right," he said in a way that he wasn't sure came off as encouraging or awkward. Thankfully, he didn't have long to think about it.

“In it was the nameless warrior in our kingdom, two spear wielders, and a woman dressed in white who spoke in what I could only call riddles. Tell me, does this sound familiar, because I swore one of the spear-wielders shared your characteristics…”

"Eh? You're saying you dreamed about me?" Faris gave the monk an odd look then tapped his fingers on the counter top. Now that sounded like an advance if he'd ever heard it, but if it was then Faris had never heard a more bumbling excuse for a pick-up line. And if he was being serious...

"Aye, well, I've never seen heads nor tails of you, and I haven't carried a spear since that mess in Torensten. Must've been someone else then. Another lad with purple hair and a wicked spear." Faris grinned to lighten the mood then pushed his hair back roughly. "So tell me. What kind of a monk are you, anyway? You've seen your fair share of scraps, I bet. This kingdom's full of trouble, and it doesn't take a rogue to go looking for it."

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The monk told Faris about his fighting style. It was for competitions -- not practicality's sake. He punched things. Very quickly. A lot.  “It is simply a punch," the man concluded with a pensive sip of his drink, "No magic... No special skills… Just a punch…”

"Oh." Faris looked ahead awkwardly. The counter was wet with sticky condensation. "I use the power of the crystals. Crazy things. They chose me -- a Warrior of Light, they called it. Still an uppity title if you ask me." Faris pushed his full glass across the counter moodily. "If I'd been interested in titles, I'd of stayed in Tycoon."

Faris' chest tightened with something he couldn't recognize. He caught a flash of marble floors, stone pillars, and the warbling of royal trumpeters. 'No, not those thoughts again. Not sober.'

He cleared his throat roughly and jumped to his feet before his mood could get any worse. He threw back his mane of hair, crossed his arms authoritatively, and said, "Well, if I can't get a decent drink then I'll be leaving, I think. There's other places to be. Better places, I reckon." Faris tossed his head aside and eyed the condensation-fogged windows. His fingers itched for the thrill of adventure. He wanted to move, not to think. To feel the spray of the sea against his face and the wind against his hair, but that wasn't really in the question. No, if he couldn't have his ship, then he'd take the weight of a weapon and the frenzy of a fight. As long as it got his blood pumping, he didn't care what it took.

"Think I'll go brawling tonight. The beasts around here have tested me too long," he said, but the woods didn't feel right -- not like this and not alone. Maybe he could try picking fights with strangers, but with his crystals and their weakness, that wouldn't last long and he'd feel like a villain for it. No, they didn't make street brawls like they used to anymore, and once you'd squared off against a sorcerer at the end of existence there wasn't much going back. Still, the itch of the fight boiled his blood. He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. 

"Or I know a place..." he said slowly before straightening in interest. "Aye, I know a place! You said you liked contests, lad? Why don't you come with me? We could have a contest of our own." He grinned at the idea of it. In the shadier corners of the town, he'd heard tell of a fighting arena held in the outskirts of the forest. Monsters, men, and every type of evil fiend were rounded together for a brawl and some kind of nebulous prize. Faris had told them to shove it only a week ago so he could keep drinking, but now that he thought about it, it wasn't such a bad idea. If there was no one in town strong enough to face him, then who else would stand a chance?

Other than maybe his "competition-only" new friend, but Faris didn't find that likely. There was nothing like the thrill of battle, and no amount of practice could replace risking your own neck. Still, it wouldn't be fun without a little challenge, so Faris added, "There's a prize, I've heard. Can't recall what it was, but it'll give you a chance to brush up on those...uh...Punches." Faris snorted a little at that. 'No magic. No special skills. Just a punch.'

"Well then, lad, are you in? Of course you are, if you're a man worth his name. A monk. Doubt they've seen a thing like it." With wild ideas lighting his mind, Faris wouldn't hear no for an answer, and he'd started out the door without checking to see if the man had come with him. Faris didn't need liquor to have an adventure, all he needed was a spark, and in this confused young monk, he'd found it.

He hit the town with a grin on his face and his fingers twitching for blood. This would be a night to remember.

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