@bloomingdeed — I GUESS YOU JUST GET IT OUT OF YOUR SYSTEM THEN, THAT’S FINE.
ANOTHER ALE DOWN THE HATCH, ANOTHER DRINK FINISHED AND CLINKING DOWN WITH A THUD AGAINST THE BAR. caduceus joins them in the taverns, joins them for their drinking, but he rarely takes part. caleb cannot blame him here; this establishment hardly peddles the best of fare. in such like this, caleb attempts to keep himself — with the most effort, often unsuccessfully — from thinking of the ales and wines of rexxentrum. warm, mulled wines passed from hand to hand of tired, worn-down friends . . . forbidden ales snuck and won with charm from dance halls and seedier inns in the scant hours away from lessons. happy times . . . enjoyment he cannot remember but with a heavier, unsettled agony.
he does not wave for another drink. he fiddles with his cuffs instead. “ rarely does that trick work for me, ” he admits. a glance to the other side of the tavern, seeing beau and fjord and jester, laughing and drinking ( only milk for jester, of course, as always ) and lightened by the fare they consume. not like him. another clue they miss, insisting he is good — he is even a bit like them. “ and you? what . . . what is it you do to . . . ” he waves a hand. he often loses words, but when he is a bit drunk, it is even worse. “ when you need to let yourself . . . go. you do not drink. i have not seen you with beauregard’s cache of drugs. what do you do, mister clay? ”
