Closed [The Sharp Tongue Pub] Like We’re Drowning

Adem is unwholesome, Sybel a trooper, and they both get sick.

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Known as the Celestial Seat, Nyka is a religious city in Northern Sylira. Ruled by four demigods and traversed by a large crevice, the monk-city is both mystical and dangerous. [Lore]

[The Sharp Tongue Pub] Like We’re Drowning

Postby Adem on December 30th, 2015, 2:27 am

winter 6, 515 a.v.


The rain came down without a shimmer of warning, shading the world outside bleak and grey and growing darker with every chime. It beat down on the windows like skeleton fingers. The Sharp Tongue paused its evening of wit and repartee to watch outside as the wind surged, tilting the falling droplets at a violent angle. The walls creaked ominously. Someone said, “It’s raining hard.” Then:

“A daring observation--”

“--you’ll find the rain’s wet, too--”

“--let him leave his laat at the door and find out for himself--”

And just like that, with patrons picking up their swords and dicing the luckless commentator’s dignity with good cheer, the weather was presently forgotten.

Adem didn’t think much of the storm, stewing in his own thoughts, and he didn’t turn an ear to the verbal fencers as he usually liked to do. Instead, he stood leaning against the railing of the second-floor balcony, one hand braced against the wooden edge while the other nursed a mug of ale, half-empty. He wasn’t drunk, yet.

The storm matched his mood. His brows were drawn as though invisible stitches pulled them together, his lips an ugly, squirming line. To anybody else, it would have looked like the lad couldn’t bear the alcohol content, or the taste, or both. This was partly true. The rest of the story was the look on Annalee’s face before he had whipped bodily around and left their apartment in brooding silence: incredulous, angry, hurt. At the time, her wounded expression had filled his chest with perverse delight.

He leaned back, swung the mug to his lips, swallowed. His throat moved thickly.

Mug empty, he pushed himself off the railing and spun around with intent on another round when he met head-on with another body and rather rudely spilled their drink. The shadows disappeared from his face.

“Oh,” he said. His eyes were round like plates. “I’m very sorry. That was rude of me.” He leaned down to pick up the drink. Its contents were spreading on the floor. He knew what the right thing to say was: “Can I offer you another drink?”
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Adem
i don't believe anything
 
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