26th Fall, 515AV. Twenty-second bell.
The woman who sat beside Jeremy was the sort of female who raised eyebrows and lowered expectations. Perhaps she was a whore, a gold digger, or some other lowly member of society out to fill her purse one way or another. The Kelvic didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he certainly did not appear to care. Instead, Jeremy was busy nursing a half-full mug of ale, which he stared into as if it would somehow reveal his future.
Not that he needed it. His future was in the Mithryn Outpost, no doubt tucked up in bed and, if not sleeping, giddily staring up at the gold band that hugged her ring finger. Penelope Hope was his fianceé and the mother of his unborn child, the woman Jeremy was to wed in three days time. And unfortunately, she was still practically to a stranger to him. After an embarrassingly brief roll-around in the fields at night, he had knocked up the young woman and subsequently asked her to marry him. It had all happened very fast, and Jeremy's life had spiralled out of control.
Hence his drinking. It perhaps wasn't the smartest idea - the last time he had gotten drunk was the night Penelope had conceived his child, after all - but nevertheless here he was. There was something tragic about the sight: his slumped form, exhausted expression. To anyone else in the Rearing Stallion, Jeremy was quite obviously a man whose life was currently far from ideal. Maybe that was way that sultry-looking, red-lipped woman leant so close to him and his pocket full of coinage.
"I shouldn't be drinking." He murmured quietly to her, his eyes blearly and words slurred. "Bad things happen."
"Oh really?" His companion crooned, her hand sliding from tabletop to his thigh. She gripped his leg sensually, but the Phylonurist barely felt the gesture, let alone noticed the sexualised nature of her touch.
He drank deeply from his ale, pausing only to give the woman a solemn nod. "Yeh. I tend to get women pregnant when I drink." Giving himself a derisive snort, Jeremy shook his head and returned to his drink. Oh, how his life was changing.
The woman, however, leant sharply away from him. Putting up with the miserable sod was one thing, but there was no way she was going to risk her lithe form for whatever gains she had been working towards. With a haughty sniff, the woman stood and once again left Jeremy alone with his alcohol.
The woman who sat beside Jeremy was the sort of female who raised eyebrows and lowered expectations. Perhaps she was a whore, a gold digger, or some other lowly member of society out to fill her purse one way or another. The Kelvic didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he certainly did not appear to care. Instead, Jeremy was busy nursing a half-full mug of ale, which he stared into as if it would somehow reveal his future.
Not that he needed it. His future was in the Mithryn Outpost, no doubt tucked up in bed and, if not sleeping, giddily staring up at the gold band that hugged her ring finger. Penelope Hope was his fianceé and the mother of his unborn child, the woman Jeremy was to wed in three days time. And unfortunately, she was still practically to a stranger to him. After an embarrassingly brief roll-around in the fields at night, he had knocked up the young woman and subsequently asked her to marry him. It had all happened very fast, and Jeremy's life had spiralled out of control.
Hence his drinking. It perhaps wasn't the smartest idea - the last time he had gotten drunk was the night Penelope had conceived his child, after all - but nevertheless here he was. There was something tragic about the sight: his slumped form, exhausted expression. To anyone else in the Rearing Stallion, Jeremy was quite obviously a man whose life was currently far from ideal. Maybe that was way that sultry-looking, red-lipped woman leant so close to him and his pocket full of coinage.
"I shouldn't be drinking." He murmured quietly to her, his eyes blearly and words slurred. "Bad things happen."
"Oh really?" His companion crooned, her hand sliding from tabletop to his thigh. She gripped his leg sensually, but the Phylonurist barely felt the gesture, let alone noticed the sexualised nature of her touch.
He drank deeply from his ale, pausing only to give the woman a solemn nod. "Yeh. I tend to get women pregnant when I drink." Giving himself a derisive snort, Jeremy shook his head and returned to his drink. Oh, how his life was changing.
The woman, however, leant sharply away from him. Putting up with the miserable sod was one thing, but there was no way she was going to risk her lithe form for whatever gains she had been working towards. With a haughty sniff, the woman stood and once again left Jeremy alone with his alcohol.
