Perrine took a long swig of rum, her third bottle tonight. She scanned the bar. If she was sober, she'd have thought there were too many people here, but considering she was almost constantly drunk nowadays, she barely noticed. The serving girl frowned when Perrine ordered another bottle, but went to fetch it anyway. The treasure-hunting French woman had grown accustomed to acting sober when she was, in fact, not, which was quite helpful at times like this. She couldn't get Renaud off her mind (as if she ever could) and she was using that as an excuse to drink excessively tonight (as if she ever didn't). A few rather menacing fellas approached the table she was sitting at and, not wanting to bother with a fight tonight (although she knew she could probably take two out of the three of them down), Perrine stood without a word and let them take the table. Looking around, she spotted a booth in the corner with only one person sitting at it and so headed (or, rather, walked in a barely-noticeable zig-zag) toward the table. 

"Hey there," she said and sat herself down without waiting for an invitation to do so. She flipped him a half-pence coin across the table, hoping it'd suffice to keep him from shooing her away, and in a long swig, drank half of the fourth bottle of rum.

Anthony was out in a pub, drinking. Again. It was kind of sad, really, how he kept on doing this. But there was nothing better for him to do, anyways, so he just kept on wasting what little money he had on alcohol. He was sitting alone in the corner of the pub, wanting to avoid talking to anyone. That plan of his failed, as a woman approached and sat down. He had half a mind to tell her to leave, but the coin she 'gave' him served to convince him to not do that.

"Good day t'you, miss," Anthony greeted her, albeit slightly reluctantly, and took another sip from his glass. He was still sober, but this encounter made him want to change that as quickly as possible.

"As t'you," Perrine replied, her gaze down at the table as she felt the buzz of the alcohol growing in her mind. It made her a little looser and she found she kind of wanted to talk to someone- and since there was this man sitting across from her at this table, she might as well strike up a conversation. She half-considered asking him what he was doing here, but then scoffed at herself. This was a tavern, he had a drink before him, he was alone- he was trying to drink away his woes, like her. "Let me buy you a drink," she offered, and if he questioned her, she replied, "I feel like talkin' to someone, even if that someone doesn't really listen or reply, and it's the least I can give for the talking-your-ear-off I'm about to do."

Anthony looked up at her again in a mild confusion, as she offered to buy him a drink. The connotations that action might have were not really pleasant, but also, he won't ever turn down a free drink. It would make him feel less guilt about drinking, so, of course he accepted. "Oh? Go ahead, miss," he said, not quite caring about the ranting she's already warned him about. He can live through that. The free drink was definitely more important.

Perrine beckoned over the server girl, who rolled her eyes at another order of rum and whatever drink the man wanted but went to get them anyhow. "Renaud's the reason I'm here. I was 19 years old when I met 'im. Lived in Paris all my life, but then he came along, the wild thing, and promised me the world." She scoffed and took a swig of rum. "Should have known it was a load of bullshit. He went on and on about how a life of travel and adventure was better than staying with my family..." She gave a sharp laugh. "Salaud de droite." It wasn't often that she spoke French to other people anymore, having left her home country for years, but when she did her country of origin was obvious. After a moment, she clarified, assuming the man didn't speak French, "He was a right bastard. I loved 'im, we were engaged to be married, even. September of 1892. Then he started falling into these fits, and he'd say he was having visions of the biggest trove he'd ever seen." The serving girl returned with the drinks and Perrine took a pause from her story to thank her. "We were chercheur de trésors- treasure-hunters, I suppose you'd call us in English. He vanished three days before our wedding day." She shook her head wryly. "Left me a note. 'Je reviendrai pour vous.', 'I'll come back for you.' Been two and a half years. Not a single sign of him since. Came to Whitby on a whim, been here ever since, booze and beachcoming my only activities." For someone as drunk as Perrine was, it might come as a surprise that she was using decent sentences and words in her speech.

Anthony hadn't even finished his drink by the time the woman ordered him a new one. Oh, well. Nothing he can do about it except keep drinking. And so that's what he did. He listened to the woman's ranting, uninterested at first, though his interest grew slightly as she kept talking. He was skeptical of the story's truthfulness, but it didn't matter anyway, so who cares?

"...Oh. That sounds tough. I'm sorry," he said, incredibly unsure of whatever else there was for him to say, and took another sip from his glass.

Perrine gave the man a second once-over. He looked kind of like Renaud, if she squinted. The thought gave her heart pause and she sighed. "Yes, well, chacun voit midi à sa porte." Raising her bottle in a toast to the old French proverb, she kept her gaze on the man without really meaning to stare. A fellow across the room started cheering and she glanced over to see a man practically bending a woman over a stool as he kissed her, the person beside them was the one cheering, probably a friend. Perrine grimaced. Renaud did that to her once. He misjudged the distance and she landed on the floor. Fun times. "You got a story?" she suddenly asked the stranger sitting across from her. The more she looked (and narrowed her eyes), the more he appeared like Renaud, and it was simultaneously throwing her off and making her want the man to talk to her in return, rather than just her rambling on about her woes.

Anthony nodded, trying to pretend that he knew what the hell she was talking about. Of course, in reality, he hadn't even the slightest idea. He just sat there in a somewhat awkward silence and kept drinking, until the woman adressed him again. He looked at her yet again, finishing his drink before  turning to speak yet again. "I mean, yeah. I don't really...want to talk about it, though," he said. Maybe he's just insane, but he'd rather not discuss all his trauma with a stranger. "'m sorry, miss."

Perrine waved off the polite address. "I'm no 'miss'," she said wryly, "just a lost scamp wondering if the world is always like this." Raising her bottle in another toast to her own words, mostly as an excuse to drink her rum faster, Perrine added, "Perri's what they called me, back when anyone called me anything." She waved over the serving girl again even though she wasn't done with the bottle in her hand, and was disappointed when the girl said they were out of rum. Perrine grumbled. "Why is the rum always gone?" She felt a strange sense of deja vu but brushed it off as she leaned a little across the table, tilting the brim of her hat back from where it had fallen over her eyes, "Come on, now. I've got nobody to tell. Who's the girl troubling your heart? Or the lad? Maybe someone died?" Perrine frowned. "I do hope no one's died."

Anthony just nodded politely. "Right. Sorry," he said, purposefully not saying her name or a title. No 'miss', then, but he was not comfortable enough with this person to just use her name. He raised his glass to take a sip from it, but noticed that it was empty, and instead finally started drinking what the woman ordered him. "And...noone's died. And there's– and there's no women or men that are troubling my heart. Nothing." Obviously, there was one man, but he wasn't about to talk about him to this random woman.