Young Writers Society

"This is the best stew I've ever tasted." He remarked with genuine sincerity, though, he said that about everything he ate when drunk.

"So uh, you," Bo gestures to Sacred, using a vague pronoun since he didn't know the man's name. With the beer giving him a loose tongue he just begins to speak with little direction. "You got some sick magic, aight? Sounds like a wild ride, travelin' through a couch. You did good back there with the zombie guy by the way. Sorry he ruined your nice entrance. But that's all water under the bridge, eh? But yeah, I like your style. Keep it up, man."

"I'd tell Ol' Meik, but considering you like everything when yer drunk, I ain't thinkin' it means much," Thuki chuckles.

Bends nods. "Ah. What, you've never seen an ink demon before?"

Cuppaccino smiles. "I'm from a city literally called Toontown. No joke."

Sacred tiredly cringes at the man's remarks - kind as they were, his words had no real structure or relation to the situation; they seemed like the type of words a person with little knowledge of what they'e saying would form in a vague attempt to cover up that fact. The feeling of being complimented multiple times is a weight more difficult to bear than that of Atlas to Sacred, who props himself up with his hands before addressing the man,

"Oi. I appreciate the kindness, but I frankly didn't accomplish much other than making myself look like an idiot. This is why I don't typically involve myself in conflicts I'm unaware of the means to rectify - it's not an optimal method of spending one's time, even if it is, to an extent, infinite." he groans, lifting an empty glass and staring at the obligatory solitary drop of liquid left swirling about in its base. He plops another bag of gold coins onto the table, his body scarcely capable of movement that didn't function on an exponential scale - starting out slow and deliberate before escalating to a quick and powerful motion.

"About ten more of the same drink, please. Trust me - I'm not drunk, just tired." he mutters, his eyes attempting to resist the lulling gravity of sleep.

"That sounds like a personal problem," Bo replied, pointing to the man with his spoon. "Cause ya don't seem idiotic to me." He stops pointing, and returns back to occupying himself with eating his stew. He finishes the rest of it off quickly, hoping that filling his stomach might slow the speed at which the alcohol entered his system. But by now it was likely a fruitless endeavor. The deed had already been done.

Finnegan Eld was a troublesome young man who typically roamed around for any sort of good pickpocketing business. Yet he'd done quite a lot more in the four years he'd been like this - stealing rich monetary amounts and swiping whole chests from travelers here and there, but only on a few occasions. No matter how much loot he could scrounge up, he always seemed to lose it all in a week. Such was the life of a thief. Not yet experienced enough to be placed in the category of "most wanted," Finn could usually get around without being recognized or caught in the act of his tricks, as was his wish as he decided to enter the old Three Dragon Inn.

It was beginning to rain as he approached the doorway, crossing the cobblestone street and raising his hood as he did so. Pushing in on the heavy wooden door, Finn entered and was swiftly met with the smoky atmosphere, lively chatter, and the unmistakable scent of ale. He headed for the bar.

Thuki glances up as he enters, golden eyes warm. "What can I get fer y' today?"

Bends sighs and flops next to Cuppaccino. "I'm just glad I didn't kill anyone this time."

"Amen," Cuppaccino answers without looking up from the conversation.

"Please don't say that."

"Sorry," comes the answer followed by a peck on the cheek. "I forgot again."

Finn met the golden gaze of the cat-woman behind the bar as he took a seat beside a very muscled dude. Squinting, he briefly eyed the bottles lined up at the back counter before answering.

"Ey, surprise me, won't you? Just eh..." he frowned. "Whatever ya got that won't kill a man's pocket, ey?"

"Of course," she smiles and fills up a tankard of ale. "Five copper."

Bends eyes the newcomer. "You're a thief," he says simply to the new man.

Finn stopped and narrowed his eyes, looking over at the ink creature who had spoken.

"And you're presumptuous." He turned back toward the bar and slid the five copper pieces across the counter.

((You don't know I'm an ink creature. I turned into one before you came in XD Bends just looks like a normal human with strange hair))

"Maybe a little," Bends admits. "But why don't you want anyone to know that? You can talk to anyone in here."

She takes them. "Is there really anythin' that wrong with takin' a couple o' coins every now 'n then, Bo?" she asks, wiping down the counter with a dirty rag.