He attempted to train but was cut by a ferverish restlessness and roamed around til this particular bar (Alements) lured his interest (the oppressive heat had negated any ulterior aspirations)...
But what was this? Treacherous stairs? Well, he reckoned in order to sate that thirst for gold in the bottle he could do some exercise (punishment for being all lazy, probably).
There was this soothing waterfall falling around him for a while, and he practically launched himself through the bar; found the patio and plopped his arse down in a chair; drumming his hands casually on the waxed wooden table.
He heard a steaming hiss, crooked his neck a few inches, and noticed it was just some folks whispering a little urgent.
His eyes fell mesmerized by the thick rugs that contrased sharply in pattern shared blood in their colorationA floof of herbs crept into his nostrils as his gaze roamed to the ivory marble-veined counter. He realized he was standing, now, so he ordered something in a low, gravelly tone.
"A mug of fine ale; carrying a bit of thirst in me."
Some lanky man informed Sharps he was bleeding; he looked at him frazzled, like, he'd just received news all his livestock had gone missing and he owed someone merciless and mad a whole of money. To add to his belated understanding, one hand of his had smeared the blood over his cheek, frowning, he wiped it off with a tissue the charitable lanky sort gave.
"My thanks. Blood makes folks uneasy."
The man nodded his agreement, and got the hell out of dodge, with a speed akin to splinters bursting into your arse. Sharps noted a slight commotion that could of degenerated into a lively spectacle (at least for those not working here and well, Sharps himself; who had seen enough and done enough trouble to last a few colorfully unfortunate lifetimes) but it crumbled soon as the embers were half-heartedly stoked.
So, Sharps just stood there, awkwardly not taking a seat with outsider emblazoned rather fierce on his weather-beaten face; content with partaking in this savory drink that stole time away from the oncoming chaos and bad luck that followed him petching (that means F word, right?
) everywhere.A man can cut his leaches out before they bear bad blood... a man can cut his leaches out before... you have to be optimistic
And so his cursed thoughts and roiling regrets made war against him; chewed-up his weary mind until any potential customer or reveler had the will to approach this barbarous, perhaps no longer barbarous, and now reformed member of society?
His face in conspiratorially unbothered shadow til a waitress opened a window and the dappled light pored from the pink sky and revealed Sharps complacent features.