The night was far advanced, but the lively atmosphere had not yet abated. Really, “lively” was a poor descriptor of the absolute madness incited by celebration and sustained with nearly half the bartender’s stock of mead. The Bloodhounds had gathered tonight as they have always done, with the singular purpose of feting their achievements, but also to celebrate Leander’s birthday.
The early summer heat exacerbated the warmth of the tavern, the unfaltering goodwill permeating the tavern as infectious as any will to happiness. Leander had long abandoned his coat, but had refused to undo any part of his shirt due to his inebriated inability to undo the far-too-many buckles holding it together. The heat and the hour and the countless bottles of mead had left him dead tired, but couldn’t bring himself to be the reason his men couldn’t keep up their carousing. But the same drinking games, the same jokes, the same drunken spats, the same magic tricks done for the same people … were taking their toll upon him, quietly tarnishing the brilliance of his smile.
That was, until, an unmistakable shock of dark red hair peeked over the heads of the crowd, drawing Leander’s attention immediately. His heart quickened foolishly in his chest, quiet excuses given as he extracted himself from the throng to see who it was for himself. Sure enough, Vere stood before him, his scowling expression quite incongruous with the merriment of the mood. Leander, however, lit up at the sight of him, grinning wide even as he stopped himself from pulling him for a proper greeting.
“You’re here!” he exclaimed happily, his voice barely loud enough over the throng. He wasn’t so foolish as to think Vere would be here specifically for him. It was enough that Vere was here at all. He beamed at him. “Can I buy you a drink? You’re going to stay awhile, aren’t you?”
@concupitor - i hate vere so much im gonna punch him in the mouf