They Met in a Tavern: Deleted Scenes
So, the earliest attempts at writing what would eventually become They Met in a Tavern began some time in 2019, with the book not seeing the completion of its final draft until early 2021. Unsurprisingly, a lot of revisions, cuts, and changes happened in that time, some very late in the process. (The first chapter of the book was probably the last thing to get added to the manuscript.)
At least right now, I stand by everything that got cut. One of the major overhanging principles in writing Tavern was keeping it concise, and keeping my self-indulgence to a minimum. “Kill your darlings” hung in the back of my mind throughout the process.
…but.
Some of the stuff I wrote that got cut, I think is still kind of fun or interesting. So, even though it didn’t make the book, I thought it would be fun to share. Enjoy, maybe.
The Breakfast Scene
When Elizabeth woke up, Arman was gone. She wondered when he'd left, since they'd gone to bed together. After she'd fallen asleep? Sometime early this morning? Either way, the result was the same. She was alone in bed.
But not in the house. As she blinked away the last traces of sleep, she picked the unmistakable signs of somebody in the kitchen, cooking. Pans rattling. Something sizzling on the stove. The smell of eggs and sausage wafting through the house.
The last bit threw her for a loop. She hated sausage, except for a brief stint when she was pregnant, and Arman knew it. That left only one possibility outside of exceptionally talented intruders with exceptionally skewed priorities.
At the stove, working two skillets on the stove and wearing an apron Elizabeth normally used for gardening, was Brass.
"Good morning!" Brass said, before placing his hand on the stove surface. Just like the larger version at Carp's, it didn't burn his hand, even as it heated the skillet right next to it.
"This thing is absolutely amazing!" Brass said. "Where did you two get it?"
"Arman… made it…" Elizabeth stared at Brass, trying to work out if she was still asleep. She looked around for her husband, but saw no sign of him. "Brass, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing? Making breakfast."
"Brass—"
"Hold that thought, I don't want to burn the eggs," Brass said, as if this were a completely normal thing that he did all the time.
Elizabeth stared and waited as Brass retrieved a few plates, took the skillets off the heat, and began distributing food onto them. She couldn't help but notice he only set the table for two.
"Brass," she repeated, doing her best to maintain a calm, polite voice. "Where's Arman?"
"Oh, Phoenix? He… " Brass paused, already having some idea of how this was going to play out. "...left."
"He didn't take you?"
"Well, he is going to find Church and Angel, and Phoenix said talking to them would be a lot easier if I didn't come. To be fair, if I visited Angel, she'd probably put me through a wall before I could say hello, so he has a point."
"He's alone?"
Brass tried to think of a way to recontextualize it so it didn't seem as bad as she made it sound and drew a blank. "Yes."
Elizabeth shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. Pitch could be chasing him down right now for Avelina's sake. Go after him!"
"I mean I can, but he's got a bit of a head start," Brass said. "He took a sky surfer."
Elizabeth felt a sudden flare of irritation at her husband's resourcefulness. Of course he would take the sky surfer. Flying was faster than anything but teleportation, and safer than anything period. She'd have approved if it didn't also mean Brass had no hope of catching up to him. If she didn't know Arman to be so practical, she'd have suspected that was his real reason for taking it.
"Why didn't he just take you with him and have you wait outside while he did the talking?" Elizabeth asked.
"Well, I have been known to wander off when left unattended."
It was at that moment that Elizabeth realized Brass was covering for Arman. There was something he knew, that he wasn't supposed to tell her. The jokes and the eagerness with which he threw out information was a distraction. A good one too. If she was anyone else, it might have worked.
"Brass. What's the real reason he went alone?"
Brass was many things, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he was made. That didn't mean he wanted to give up Arman. They were just starting to be friends again.
"Flying makes me nauseous?"
"Brass."
Brass swore he saw Elizabeth's green eyes crackle even brighter green for a second, and he relented. "Alright! So. In his words, not mine, he said that if, Renalt forbid, somebody came here, and you were alone, you'd be fighting with one hand tied behind your back. And he didn't want to take that chance, so… he asked me to stay here. And by the way, staying in one place for more than a day makes me physically ill, so I was being very selfless when I said yes."
"And now if anyone comes after him, he's fighting alone," Elizabeth said.
"Well… yes. I guess that was a chance he was okay with taking."
With one hand tied behind her back. She knew what Arman meant, of course. Fighting and trying to protect Robyn at the same time. A massive handicap, even for her. But the odds of anyone coming for her were slim at best. That was the whole reason she and Robyn were staying here. Meanwhile, he had a price on his head. He was almost guaranteed to get into trouble. He was taking every precaution with her and Robyn, and every risk with himself.
It was selfishly selfless, and more to the point, not like Arman. But it was, she realized, an incredibly Phoenix thing to do. At any rate, short of finding a way to teleport Brass, there was nothing she could do about it now except let Phoenix play the hero. Which absolutely infuriated her.
"Is he in trouble?" Brass asked.
"Yes."
Brass nodded, feeling sorry for Phoenix. The hells had no fury like a lover scorned. Hoping to take the edge off the situation, he offered up one of the plates of food he cooked.
"Breakfast?
"I'm not hungry," Elizabeth said, before she actually looked at the plate. "Is that Sicarn toast?"
Whenever conversation regarding "killing your darlings" comes up, this is the scene that comes to my mind. The image of Brass, making breakfast while wearing a gardening apron, and the little easter egg of Elizabeth hating sausage and liking Fantasy-French Toast. I adored this scene, and I hated to see it go. But I was trying to keep the wordcount as close to 100k as I could, and I needed to make room for "Relgen."
Brass the Talent Scout
"You know, most people who hire a whore do it so they can have sex."
Ruby sat at the dining table in the suite, watching Brass pour her a glass of wine. She hadn't known what to expect when she'd heard someone had requested her by name and booked her for the entire evening, but it hadn't been this. Brass shrugged as he poured his own glass.
"Who said anything about a whore?" he retorted. "I was told that I could request company for the evening."
Ruby shook her head, still trying to get a sense of this man. First the business with the escort killer, and now this. She wasn't complaining. He paid pretty well. Even kept his word about paying triple for the last time. But she usually prided herself on figuring out what people wanted.
"I can't tell if you're serious," she said.
Brass looked almost shocked. Deadpan, he said, "I'm absolutely serious."
He sat down across from her at the table, legs crossed, and picked up his glass by the base of the stem. "The absolute honest truth is that you are an incredibly smart, self-assured, and adaptable young woman, and you make wonderful company."
"This still feels like you're just adding steps before sex."
"You're welcome to think that if it makes this less weird for you," Brass said, raising his glass. "But you're not really my type. And if this is too odd, you can keep the money, and I can leave."
Ruby cocked her head, but decided, what the hell, she was getting paid either way, and Brass wasn't half bad company himself. She raised her glass to meet his, and the two of them toasted to the evening.
He was more talkative than he'd been at Gargan's. Even more curious about her. Quicker witted too. The stories he told about himself were almost all lies, but that didn't bother her. They were so over the top as to be intentionally obvious. They were still entertaining for their imagination and humor, if nothing else.
She set her glass down as he finished another story about traveling to a forest on another world. "Have you ever considered writing a book, or something?"
"Oh, dozens of times," Brass said. "But I'm not much of a writer. I knew one, though. We were in the same company for a while. He always said he was going to write a book about all the adventures we had together. But things… changed. I don't think that book's getting written anymore."
Ruby blinked as she realized that Brass was telling the truth. There was a twinge of sadness and disappointment to his posture that was genuine. It was a disarming show of honesty and vulnerability she hadn't expected.
How many glasses of wine had he had?
"Sorry to hear that," Ruby offered, and she meant it.
"Doesn't do to dwell on missed opportunities," Brass said, finishing his current glass. "Life happens in the present."
She smiled, and nodded, clinking her glass to his and finishing it. She liked Brass. He was interesting, and underneath his bravado there was a caring, sensitive soul, with a lust for life she'd never seen in a person.
"Why are you really here?" she asked him. "I can tell it's not for sex, but it's not just company either."
Brass glanced down at his empty glass. "Do you like what you do?"
Ruby raised an eyebrow. "Why? Planning on saving me?"
"Not unless you need saving," Brass said. His tone made it clear he didn't think she did. "I'd never disparage a career that's done nothing but improve my nights, and I especially would never judge someone for making a living."
"Then why do you ask?" Ruby asked. She wasn't offended. She was curious.
"I have an eye for talent. And you have exactly the kind that can make someone a good freelancer."
Ruby laughed. "Me? A glintchaser?"
"It's not for everyone," Brass admitted. "If you're satisfied where you are, there's no sense in jumping ship. But, if you're looking for something different... I could use a new partner."
Ruby laughed again, but the idea wormed its way into her head. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was Brass's confidence, but she pictured it. And it didn't feel impossible.
"Do you actually think so?"
"Absolutely."
There was genuine admiration in his voice, and not the kind she'd gotten used to. She shook her head. "I've never even held a sword."
Brass rolled his eyes. "Fighting's the easy part. You can learn that. What's important are the things you can't learn. Instinct. Nerve. Charm."
Ruby smiled at the compliment, but she wasn't convinced. "I don't know… I haven't exactly heard a lot of good things about glintchasers."
"We do tend to get bad press."
"That's an understatement."
"You're not saying no."
"I'm also drunk."
Before Brass could say anything, the suite door opened. Brass fell backwards out of his chair, and came up with his rapier in hand. A moment later, Arman walked into the room, nearly running into Brass's sword.
"Phoenix," Brass cocked his head. "We gotta stop meeting like this."
"We need to talk," Arman said. He glanced to Ruby, noticing her for the first time.
"I mean, I was in the middle of a pleasant evening, but all means, what's your thing?" Brass gestured for Arman to keep talking.
"I saw Snow," Arman said.
Brass's arms fell to his side, and his jaw went slack. "What?"
Still sitting, Ruby thought about asking who Snow was, but decided it would be more fun to try and figure that out herself. Distant relative? Old enemy? Girlfriend, maybe?
"She knew about the contract. She came to warn me," Arman said. "Things are bad. We are in deep, deep—"
"Back up." Brass held up a hand. "Where was this?"
"In Akers. She caught me right before I got home."
"Alright." Brass waved his sword to get Arman to keep talking. "Well, spill, what did she say?"
"Confirmed what we found out from Clocktower, plus a little more," Arman said. "The contract on our heads is a massive payout. It's attracted dangerous people. People like Pitch."
"He's still alive?" Brass asked. "You'd think after the Cord kicked him out he'd have gotten himself killed by now."
"Brass," Arman stressed. Every time he talked to Brass, he got distracted. They couldn't afford that right now. "This is more than the watch can handle. Maybe more than Ink and Seven Gates can. It's too many dirks, and too many targets. And I can't do this alone."
"Say no more. Let's do this." Brass held up a finger. "Actually hold that thought one second."
He looked over his shoulder at Ruby with an apology on his face. "This is incredibly rude of me."
Ruby shook her head, holding back a confused smile. She had only the vaguest idea what either of them were talking about, but it was still amusing to watch their back and forth. "No, this is… fine."
"The offer still stands." He glanced back at Arman. "You're just going to get some extra time to think it over."
Ruby nodded. "Sure. I'll think it over."
"Great!" Brass turned back to Arman, who was getting impatient. "Alright, I'm ready. Let's go."
So, I originally wrote this chapter with the two major goals in mind: firstly, a bit of housekeeping to establish when/how Phoenix and Brass found each other again after parting ways earlier in the story, and secondly to plant the seed of the idea of Ruby becoming a glintchaser.
As the drafting process continued, I took a lot of priority off making sure every moment and everyone's whereabouts were always accounted for at all times and decided to trust people to fill in the blanks where specifics didn't matter, so this chapter's first reason for existing sort of evaporated.
As for the second, I also did a lot of easing off on the gas pedal of Ruby's storyline as a whole in later revisions, and it just became less of a priority to include more setup like this that doesn't get paid off in the first book.
Plus, I don't know, I didn't quite like how... romantic this scene turned out? Brass and Ruby ARE both adults, but there is a an age gap (that I probably did a poor job communicating) that puts Ruby, at least to my mind, firmly outside Brass and the other Starbreakers' "generation," if that makes any sense. So that's why this one didn't make the cut, but hey, it doesn't contradict anything, so if you want to pretend it's canon, go right ahead.
Confronted by the Consequences
"Who hired you?" Phoenix asked.
"Rim a heffer," the thin man shouted back at him.
Phoenix rolled his eyes, and looked to Arno expectantly. Arno spoke, and Beneger's presence descended into the room. A sudden clarity took the air, as if it had just rained. The hairs stood up on the back of everyone's neck, and they were all met with the sensation of being watched, and a firm, formless hand on their shoulder. The prisoners and Phoenix both shifted in place. If Arno felt the effect of the prayer, he didn't react to it.
"What did you do?" the big man asked.
"I used the a prayer to purge this room of falsehood and compel truth forward," Arno said. "Everyone here will speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
Phoenix felt a pressure build in his chest, and the invisible hand at his shoulder squeezed. "You weren't supposed to us it on us!"
Arno pointedly did not look at him. "An undisciplined mind will even be compelled to think out loud."
Phoenix glared at him. His mouth moved without his consent. "You know, I really hate you right now."
"This feels weird," the big man said. His eyes widened. "I wanted to be a court jester, but nobody thought I was funny."
"What?" the thin man craned his neck to look at his fellow captive.
The man shook his head. "I never told anyone that."
"Also you might do that," Arno said.
"Keep your mouths shut," the woman said. "Don't give them shit."
"Who hired you?" Phoenix asked.
"It was a contract offered by the Handler, in Olwin," the big man said. The woman kicked him in the shin.
"I don't even know this woman," the big man said.
"Shut up," she kicked him again.
"Get it together man," the thin man said. "I don't think you can, you're an idiot, but try anyway. Wait, shit."
"Hey!" Phoenix snapped his fingers to get their attention. He could feel a rising sensation in his chest. Pressure. Words trying to force their way out of him. Keeping them down felt like trying not to vomit. "What were your instructions?"
"Don't-"
"The contract had a list of names with descriptions, locations, and prices," the big man blurted out. "You bring any name on the list back to the Handler, dead or alive, and you'd get paid. If you can't get to them, you send word and they come to you. A lot of the names were close together, but the name Angel was way out of the way from the others and would've made us rich. We figured there'd be less competition, so we went for it."
"Where's the Handler now?"
"A big house in the Pale. The one with the blue roof, near the farmer's market."
The woman growled. The thin man squirmed in his chair, and tugged at his bonds. He looked back at the bigger man. "Pipe down already!"
"I can't stop it," the big man said. He was visibly sweating, and he was staring at Phoenix in horror. "I don't want to die."
"We're not going to kill you," Arno said.
The woman said nothing, but her eyes narrowed at him.
"Who's on the list?" Phoenix asked.
"I don't remember," the big man said. He swallowed hard, and looked like he was on the verge of choking. Watching him made the pressure in Phoenix's chest only feel stronger. He could feel the urge to blurt out his thoughts as they passed. "It was a long list. Some of us wrote it down."
"Who?" Phoenix asked.
The big man stared at him. Blinked. He jerked his head to indicate the woman next to him, and immediately tension seemed to evaporate from his body. "She's got one on her."
The woman tried to kill Phoenix with a look. He'd met people who could actually do that, but since this woman couldn't, he ignored it and started rifling through her pockets. He done it once already before tying her down, but apparently he'd missed something. It wouldn't be the first time.
The woman headbutted him, and he staggered back, nose bleeding.
"Try again," she said. "I dare you."
Phoenix wiped the blood from his nose. "I know it's coming and I'd still get hit again. I'm just going to have my friend put you under and take it while you're out."
"Are you gonna hit us?" the big man asked.
"No," Arno walked forward, and placed his hand on the man's forehead. He spoke a single word, and the man slumped in his chair.
The thin man stared in shock, and tried to tug himself free again. "What was that? What did you do to him?"
"I just used a prayer to put him to sleep," Arno said. "He'll be fine."
The thin man stared at him, and Phoenix, and his unconscious friend. "Who are you people?"
"Arno."
"Phoenix."
Arno glanced back at Phoenix, whose eyes were wide. He'd been surprised by his own answer. Arno shook his head. Now wasn't the time to unpack that. Turning back around, he put the second man to sleep.
He came to the woman, and offered her an apologetic look. "When you wake up, I suggest you leave town. If you come back here, Angel will probably kill you."
"You two were with the Starbreakers, weren't you?" the woman asked.
The question took them both by surprise, and Phoenix felt the answer slip without thinking.
"Yes."
The woman drew in a deep breath, and her nostrils flared. Phoenix and Arno both recognized the look on her face. Phoenix felt his blood go cold. Arno concentration faltered, and the presence of Beneger retreated from the room.
"My parents lived in Relgen."
Phoenix swallowed. He was relieved Arno's prayer had worn off. He wasn't sure what he'd have said if it was still up. He didn't want to know. Arno stared at the woman. He wouldn't look at Phoenix.
"I hope someone kills you all, and gets fucking rich doing it," the woman spat.
Hate radiated from her eyes. At that moment, even without the aid of divine insight, Arno understood her. For her, this was personal.
"Arno," Phoenix prompted.
"Right," Arno snapped out of his brief stupor, placed his hand on the woman's forehead, and put her to sleep.
She slumped into her chair, leaving them alone again.
So a version of this scene did eventually make it into the book, but whereas the final version takes place at a point in the story where the heroes are on the upswing, this took place much earlier in the story, when they were still finding their footing. The entire thing is basically just set up and pre-amble to that bomb drop of “My parents lived in Relgen.”
I ended up moving things around, and that downer of an ending no longer felt like it fit, so things changed. But I do still like the punch of that line, that moment. I’ll probably end up reusing it at some point.
The Jury
The Blind Eye was a truly revealing prayer, laying bare humanity's moral cowardice. It took the deep-seated desire within people to look the other way, to not get involved with things that looked difficult or troubling, and dredged it to the surface, amplifying it until the subject of the prayer was all but invisible. A person under the prayer could scream for help in a crowded marketplace, and no one would so much as bat an eye. The only defense against it was conviction; a person unwilling to look the other way at the unpleasantness of the world would see through the prayer. In all his years of using it, the Jury had never met such a person—save, of course, for himself.
As he strode through the city watch's jailhouse unimpeded, it seemed that he wouldn't meet one today, either. Several members of the watch were stationed here, manning desk, processing inmate property, and patrolling hallways, but none of them so much as glanced at him. The cells lining the first few stone halls were packed with a crowd of drunks, disorderlies, and debtors. Their souls gave off little more than a din of discontent. The men and women here had committed no great slights worthy of his time. It was the cells in the next hall that drew his attention.
There were only four men in these cells. One of them was no more guilty than the others the Jury had passed on his way in. But for the remaining three. Voices demanding retribution clung to their souls, calling out to him like a choir. Their chorus of resentment, their clamors for satisfactions, spurred the Jury forward. Here were the souls who had earned the attention of Saint Adresta the Vengeful. Here, the Jury would find the individuals he sought.
Phoenix was no longer among the inmates. Unfortunate, but not unexpected. The watch could not hear the cries of the wronged as he could. They did not know the depths of the Starbreaker's crimes.
But the failures who had attacked him were here.
With a stolen key, the Jury entered the cell of the biggest man, currently huddled in the corner of his cell. The Blind Eye masked his approach, until he extended it out to cover the prisoner as well as himself. As soon as he did, the captive mercenary jolted upright, suddenly aware of the Jury's presence.
The Jury was a short man, with greasy hair and harshly angled features, dressed in an oversized tunic and brandishing an ornamental dagger. In the most favorable settings, he was unpleasant to look at. In the middle of the night, appearing as if from nowhere in the man's cell, he looked like a terrible spirit.
"Saints," the man swore. "Where the fuck did you come from?"
"The transgressions of man upon man," the Jury answered.
The prisoner stared at the Jury for a moment, before coming to the conclusion that whoever the Jury was, he wasn't someone to be left alone with.
"Guard!" he shouted. "Guard!"
"They won't come," the Jury said. "I have questions for you."
The prisoner tried shouting for the guard a few more times, with no response. Nobody else in the adjacent cells even looked in his direction. The Jury stood unmoving, patiently waiting for the man to understand the futility of his efforts.
When he eventually did, he backed up even further into the corner of his cell, and the Jury frowned. He was like an animal, this man. Cornered. Pathetic.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"How many allies did you have when you confronted the glintchaser?"
"I already said I'm not saying anything," the man said.
"You told the watch," the Jury corrected. "I am not them."
The man glanced at the Jury's dagger. The blade was covered in engravings. It was just scrawl at a glance, but close inspection revealed they all depicted scenes of violent death. It was most certainly not the kind of weapon a member of the watch would carry. The prisoner changed his mind about staying silent.
"Just the three of us."
The Jury's lips parted in an expression close to a smile, but off. He appreciated cooperation.
"What weapons did he have with him?"
"Some kinda thing in his mouth that shot fire. And magic shackles, I guess. I don't know," the man said.
"Anything else?"
"I said I don't know!" the man said. "Uh… he had a fucking metal head."
For the first time, the Jury was confused. "His head was metal?"
"No, he had another head. Like from a statue."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know."
"How did you find him in the first place?"
"I don't know." The Jury's not-quite smile had morphed into an open mouthed frown as his irritation with the prisoner grew. The man looked visibly concerned at that, and immediately pointed to the man in the next cell over. "Look, Click was the one who found him. He said he got some kinda tip. That's all I know! Really."
The Jury closed his mouth, considering this. There were prayers to compel a person to truth he could use to verify the man's claims, but he saw no need. He trusted the fear in his eyes. If that was the case, he had information. Phoenix did indeed carry the esoteric arsenal he had heard of, and was more than capable of using it. A three on one encounter was nothing to scoff at, even if the three were comparatively amateurs.
He had what he needed from this man. Satisfied, he spoke a new prayer to Saint Adresta, willing the saint to manifest for him the power of the gods. As he finished the words, he reached out, and placed a hand on the prisoner's forehead.
The man screamed as the blood vessels in his body began to pop, one by one, beginning in his face and spreading out across his entire body. At the same time, his skin tightened, his joints swelled, and his bones became brittle. In desperation, he grabbed at the Jury's hand, trying to pry it off to no avail. With every passing moment, his body became weaker, and his struggle quickly turned to feeble spasms. His screams decayed into tortured wheezing and gasps for air that his shriveling lungs could no longer handle. A few seconds into the prayer, the man's head crumpled beneath the Jury's fingers, and what was left of him collapsed into a withered, discolored heap on the floor.
Then, calmly as anyone taking a stroll, the Jury exited the cell, and moved on to the next.
I almost didn’t cut this one. Partially because it was originally an addition to an older draft. This would have come pretty early in the story, after Phoenix had gotten arrested but before he got home to Elizabeth. And I liked it for how weird and creepy and scary it made the Jury seem, but because nothing actually comes of this—the deaths of those men never really factored into the story as I wrote it, the Jury basically never interacts with Phoenix anyway—I couldn’t really see the point of including it.
It would have been some hype/pre-amble for the villains earlier in the story, but that’s not where I wanted to focus in this part of the book, and the Jury’s first appearance still works fine for an introduction. In fact, that big fight with Brass, the Jury, Cull, and Pitch originally was broken up into two chapters, the first focused just on the Jury. So I had his intro covered.
Still really damn gnarly way to describe what is essentially Inflict Wounds though, right?
That’s it for this edition of deleted scenes. The older versions of this book are scattered in about a million different folders though, so I’m sure there’s more decently interesting bits to be found if you guys are interested. Let me know if you are, or if this is just one huge exercise in self indulgence on my part.