Waterman

Waterman
Waterman South of Quinley, in Kaffee Tower.

Endorsed by the House Silver-Celeste, this is where the rich people and the slightly rich people will rack up thousand sovereign bills in a night, after night, after night, indulging in such finery as the rarest malts, the most delicate and delicious meats, copious amounts of rare sweets, wonderful and dreamlike entertainment, and simple comfort from the cold weather of Evershade.

Owned by Ben, this place isn’t all that old, but its gained a high reputation in the time that its been open. Ben’s work is much aided by the fact that House Silver-Celeste has its hands deep in the trade of rare and expensive goods both within Evershade, as well as outside of it.

But lets not stop there. Let me tell you about this place, oh this place. There are private booths for those that need them, with varying levels of privacy as needed. Its a place to go if you need to have a private conversation in public, where you can arrange for distractions for would-be spies to look another way while you slip a small purse, a knowing look, a stolen kiss, a broken promise. There are dozens of rooms for board, ranging in size perhaps but one no less particular or opulent than the last. The largest room, the central hall, could be hired out for a very serious fee for those wanting or needing a room enough for several hundred to be entertained, for dancing, for drinking, for celebrating.

The staff is attentive and unassuming. They are there only when you need them, and gone and unobtrusive when they are not. Every need, within and beyond reason, is closely and concisely attended to. Their secrecy is tantamount to blasphemy. They hear nothing and see nothing, or so it is trusted. This discretion is held quite high by Ben, who more than appreciates that people want and more than ever need privacy these days. The punishment for someone accused of singing birdy songs is not just termination of employment: the last attendant to do so has not been heard of from since.

Reservations are hardly required, and a warm reception is given to most who enter the doors, for they’ve visited time and time again. Newcomers are treated with the upmost respect, and those failing to accept or abide by the unwritten rules of the tavern are quietly left in a corner and never attended to again.

Finally, Waterman makes no recognition as to who is visiting, not about their affiliations, not about their past misdeeds (unless directly involved with Waterman), and not about their beliefs. Coin is currency, as well as status. Members of all houses frequent here, and frequent often.


Waterman is located in the North side of Evershade. There is a large central multi-tier hall with a multitude of awnings and booths, tables, splayed out in a chaotic and inviting pattern. There are doors leading in every direction and moderately lit lamps, no torches, placed everywhere. The bustle of attendants, dressed in all black with just a splash of red, a scarf, a handkerchief, a sash or a belt. Dozens of side hallways lined with smaller rooms, some sealed, some open, are places of refuge. The interior is decorated heavily with dark black ebony, which lines the walls alternating at certain spots with red glass, rubies, or the richest red cedar that anyone has ever seen. The aroma of hot chocolate, caramel, cigars, roasted meat, wine and beer are everywhere, mixing on where you are in the tavern. Several areas of the tavern have been designed to isolate sound and light, allowing for several different performances to occur at once, be it acrobats, dancers, musicians and singers, actors or something even spicier.

The check for all of this is often called a shock.

Waterman

Helena PureFlight