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Post by Aria Talei on Oct 10, 2010 15:31:37 GMT -5
Our first thread!
Alright, general rules apply, this thread is open for anyone to join (if it makes sense for your character to be involved, of course...seeing as this is a fairly generic thread, I don't see why he/she wouldn't be). Please make sure to take turns.
Wait for Aria to post first, and then...go!
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Post by Aria Talei on Oct 10, 2010 15:51:26 GMT -5
The cobblestone streets were hardly visible past the torrents of water gushing over the windows, which pleasantly radiated of the cool air outside and rattled occasionally with a sudden gust of wind. Lost in thought, a young woman cupped her tankard of untouched ale between her hands and stared distantly back at her own reflection, looking rather out of place at the tavern booth alone.
The pub was crowded and noisy, the bad weather having driven a large majority of the men inside early- it was now approaching eight in the evening, and the drunks were beginning to announce their presences loudly. Aria tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, working to mask her annoyance. Human men were boorish, loud, and, so she thought, utterly disgraceful.
Right on cue, there was a hand on her shoulder. "'Scuse me, miss," slurred a voice; turning, the Werecat ambassador discovered that a rather portly man with one eye steadily drooping closed had climbed into the booth beside her.
"Shouldn't be out here alone, miss," he grinned toothily; Aria's sensitive nose wrinkled at the overpowering stench of alcohol. "'s dangerous, yeh know. Don' know what sort of scum come out at these hours." He moved to put his arm around her shoulders, though was stopped as his wrist was seized firmly.
"Thank you for your concern," Aria said smoothly, applying a steady pressure that forced the man to slide out of the booth and take a few steps back. "But I assure you, I am not your typical damsel in need of rescue. And I am meeting someone here, so you needn't worry about my being on my own."
The drunkard's eyebrows raised at her exotic accent. "You're not from these pars, are yeh?" he slurred; when Aria released him and made for the bar, he unsteadily pursued her, ale slopping from the mug in his hand. No one paid her any mind as the pair passed, which Aria thought fine; it was not unusual, after all, for a woman to be harassed in here. The man was a mere annoyance; she was here on her own business.
Leaning against a bar stool, the drunk continually tried to engage the Werecat in conversation, which she was content to ignore. Pretending to be waiting for her friend to arrive, she was scanning the crowd, double checking that, while her sense of smell was still more powerful than the average Human, it had not failed her in the confusion of bodies mulling about. She mentally mulled over his features- medium height, slight of build, unkept auburn hair...."
"Oi!"
Aria hissed and leapt to her feet in surprise; the right side of her cloak was now soaked in ale, and the spurned drunk was on his feet as well, looking angry.
"I was talking to yeh, you whore!"
Pride finally overstepping the boundary of preserving a distanced and regal appearance, Aria snapped her hand forward, her palm connecting solidly with his nose and whipping his head back. He tumbled backwards, smacking the back of his skull into a table where several men were playing cards; an angry cry rose up as the table, cards, and mead scattered. Several eyes turned to the Werecat, who had removed her cloak and was regarding them all with a scathing, almost challenging look.
It wouldn't be good to shift here, you know, said the small voice in her head.
No, she agreed silently, it wouldn't.
(Sorry it was a bit sloppy, I'm a tad hungover, what can I say?)
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Post by Clarissa Everdeen on Oct 10, 2010 17:10:41 GMT -5
The door to the pub swung open and rattled on its hinges. The wind that gusted into the pub was chilled from the rain, and it caused Clarissa's robes to whip around in front of her. The warm flame that illuminated the pub danced upon her figure as she took a step inside, mouth halfway open to speak. She stopped abruptly, realizing she had arrived at just the wrong moment.
Clarissa closed the door behind her, then stopped to clear her throat. She pulled the hood of her cloak back to reveal her smiling face, an attempt to lighten the mood. "Good evening, everyone." She loosened the clasp around her neck, and it was suddenly obvious that she was completely dry. What a curious girl, indeed.
Like a phantom, she nearly floated on air as she made her way to the bar. Upon passing Aria, she smiled, "You alright?" Still smiling, she shot the other men a glance that dared them to make a move. Her staff flickered with light underneath her robes, and the black ink that just brushed the skin beneath her ear became illuminated. Her defenses were clearly up, although her expression was a stark contrast to her body language. She was practically screaming 'Just try me,' but she said nothing at all.
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Post by Malcolm Selder on Oct 10, 2010 19:00:44 GMT -5
Rainy days, Malcolm decided, were good days to be a vampire. No pesky sunlight to make you look more undead than usual, and everything smelled a little like rain. That plus the smell of alcohol would either hide his ‘disease’ completely, or at least, he hoped, give enough shadow of a doubt to keep the more goody-goody were-people from tearing his throat out on sight. He hadn’t met enough of them to prove his scent theory, but he kept logic as a hardy friend.
The Dragon was happily stuffed, full of rain-haters and drink-lovers alike. Practically skipping (I think I can eat well tonight, yes I can), he traipsed towards the doors and swung them open with the swashbuckling grace of a man who knows where he’s going in life. His entrance went mostly unnoticed: all eyes were on a pair of fine young ladies at the bar, specifically towards one who seemed far more tense than most of the drunkards. He quickly made a connection between the tense girl and the crash-scene by the card table.
Leaving the cards to the players, Malcolm made for the bar, choosing to hop right over the table to save time and keep from dripping on all of the floor. Another bartender (the name was Jacob, or something like that. Good man) was covering the other side, so Malcolm swept past him and towards the two ladies.
“Excuse me, miss?” he said, waving a bit to catch her attention (he would’ve tapped her shoulder, but she seemed feisty and were-creatures had already brushed his mind that night). “Before you go and wreck the poor Dragon, perhaps you’d rather loosen up with a drink?” He glanced towards the other girl, whose long hair seemed surprisingly dry. “Or you, miss? Can I get you something?”
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Post by Aria Talei on Oct 10, 2010 19:49:29 GMT -5
Aria looked back at the Human woman with mild surprise. While there were always exceptions, most females of man she had encountered were timid creatures, preferring to stay safely out of the way rather and allow men to go about their rather boorish business undeterred. The unequal social balance was a strange element in their society, she had always thought; it was intriguing to see this woman show unusual backbone.
"Yes," she said, returning her smile gently. She relaxed her stance, knowing that the hostile energy was just as dangerous to emit as words, though her copper eyes never lost their edge. The men were now shifting their gazes between the two women, looking both very intoxicated and uncertain.
Very suddenly, the sickening, stinging stench of Vampire assailed her senses as the door opened, bringing with it the sound of rain; Aria immediately glanced toward the entrance, but the usual mull of people shielded the newcomer from view. Her heart skittered over a beat; angry, clumsy human drunks were one thing, Vampires were another. Unfortunately for Aria, her right shoulder was still doused in alcohol from where the ale had seeped through, and the Vampire melted seamlessly into the confusing swirl of smells around her.
"Excuse me, miss?" a barkeep was attempting to get her attention. “Before you go and wreck the poor Dragon, perhaps you’d rather loosen up with a drink?” Distracted by the looming threat of a Vampire in her midst, Aria mindlessly reached into the pouch at her waist for money, muttering an order for an ale she didn't intend to drink. She barely glanced at the barkeep but continued to search the crowd, obsessed, as always, in finding the source of the smell. Were I shifted, she thought in frustration, shifting where she stood to see the other end of the tavern, I could smell out that rat.
She was now on the other side of the Human woman, and the barkeep a fair distance from where she now stood; nonetheless, Aria called over to him.
"Barkeep," she called, "if you see a man with red hair, I would thank you to let me know. I'm looking for someone."
She smiled again at the woman. "Not a very common hair color. If you happen to spot him, I'd be grateful."
(Eck...sorry for slightly blowing off Malcolm, but I was trying to make sure Aria didn't recognize him to be a vamp. Yet XD
ALSO! This thread is still open! Newcomers feel free to join in whenever!)
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Post by Clarissa Everdeen on Oct 10, 2010 20:23:59 GMT -5
"One apple cider, please," the asked the barkeep before giving him money from under her robe. Alcohol was something Clarissa had never grown an affinity for. Perhaps it was the bitterness, or the utter lack of self control it could cause. Either way, she proudly lived a sober life.
Things were starting to quiet down as the drunkards decided the odds weren't in their favor. Hostility was still thick in the air, and a sense of restlessness still remained as the men started to clean up the mess. She wouldn't be surprised if they tried to start something later, but it would be to no avail. She didn't want to have to harm the defenseless, but they wouldn't stand a chance regardless. Don't get cocky, Clarissa mused as the other woman slid into the seat beside her, They might be a threat if they group together. Stay alert. You're still a woman. Meaning she appeared frail and beatable. On the contrary, she was far from helpless.
She nodded, "Red hair. Got it." She extended a hand to the other woman, "I'm Clarissa. Clary for short, whichever you prefer."
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Post by Travis Huntman on Oct 10, 2010 22:20:39 GMT -5
Hidden in the back was a man who's face shielded by the hood of his green cloak . He was a stranger in these parts, not wanting to deal with people around him. When asked if he wanted a drink, he politely declined for he wasn't thristy. When asked why he was at a place of gathering where friends get drunk and he wasn't partaking in any of it, he replied "it's none of your business." From there, the casual drinker merely went off to their own dealings, ignoring the conversation with the outcast.
While Travis Huntman felt bad for blowing off the drunk, he didn't travel a long way from his home to poison his mind and socialize with the local idiots. He was in search of a man, Ivan Polisis, for the rape and murder of a woman. The pay is a good sum: about 100 gallons dead, 200 gallons alive. Though to Travis, it wasn't about the money but more about bringing justice to where it deserves. Still, he wish he didn't have to wait in a bar. He was more comfortable in the woods than in a building crowded with intoxicated people.
"Where is he?" he thought to himself as he scanned the musky room. He was tipped off that Ivan came to this particular pub, but the longer he waited, the more he doubted. He hated misinformation; he was getting frustrated to the point that he wanted to order a drink.
But his attention was soon distracted by the skirmish in the front of the bar. "Damn drunks have no respect," Travis muttered as he witnessed one getting slapped in the face by a young woman (who he presumed tryed to hit on) and struttering into a crowd of people playing cards. While it seemed things would seem to esculate for the worse, another woman, who looked like a mage, came to the defense of the woman. Travis spectated with interest; two women against a bunch of drunk men. This should be amusing.
But as things started to get wild, a fair skinned man in a red clock walked into the bar. He had short black hair and thick beard. A eye patch covered his lost left eye. The man walked with caution through the bar before taking a seat at a table. He swifted head around the room, like a chicken, looking out for anything suspious. Travis found his man; that was Ivan and he was two tables away from him.
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Post by Ulquir Kats'n on Oct 12, 2010 5:37:53 GMT -5
"If you get any more aggravated, you will alert him of our presence simply by the aura of your aggression," said a soft spoken young man to Aria.
He was there, sitting down at a nearby table, running his long fingernail over the rim of a glass of mead he had been given, the barkeep mistakenly thinking he had ordered it. Ulquir did not have the chance to correct her and return the drink, but fortunately for Ulquir, the poor man who really had asked for some... drink made from alcohol and honey... had already paid and Ulquir didn't have to fork up a single coin in return. Not that he was going to drink it; disgusting stuff he didn't have the stomach for.
The youth sat just across two burly strongmen, obviously drunk, slapping each other on the back and shouting intelligible things. Like prehistoric cavemen, they seemed to understand each other perfectly well, and this had momentarily intrigued Ulquir enough to compel him to sit down and watch quietly, attempting to observe some sort of pattern that told him what they were talking about. Obviously, since they were drunk and seemingly, currently not of sound mind, he had established nothing and his curiosity was steadily waning. His boredom had been temporarily cured by Aria's sudden outburst... but after that was the usual bustling of The Dragon's Keep.
He had only just gotten up to leave when a strong smell of sweets and syrup began to creep in through the door. Ulquir stopped in his tracks, pausing to test the air again. A glance to his left told him that his brethren had also sensed this exasperating presence. Like poison, it smelled sugary and sweet... and it was just as deadly, and as dangerous as any other of its kind.
Then, he had sat back down. Warned Aria to keep her cool, and began to run his finger over the glass, thinking quietly and examining the crowd with his sharp brown eyes.
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Post by Malcolm Selder on Oct 12, 2010 20:12:59 GMT -5
“One ale, one cider. Just a moment, ladies,” Malcolm said, reaching for the bottles. He tucked the ale bottle under his arm then grabbed the cider, but he nearly dropped the bottle. He’d smelled lavender for the past few minutes and assumed it the smell of some gardener back from gathering sprigs, but the aroma hadn’t been overpowered by the Dragon’s usual smells. Instead, it had gotten stronger, then suddenly hit a peak, and combined with a nutty sort of pine smell. It was like having the goddamn forest under his roof.
Malcolm wasn’t an experienced vampire, but he wasn’t an idiot.
He caught the bottle with quick reflexes, grinning and playing it off as a stint of luck. Mentally assuring himself that no one was trying to kill him (yet), he strolled back to the two ladies (the violent one, for sure, I’d bet a gold coin on it) and poured each of them their respective drinks, calming himself with the familiar sight of dim candlelight reflecting through an ale waterfall.
“Red hair,” he repeated. “Hard to miss. I’ll let you know if he walks in.” Sweeping the coins off the table, he offered them a quick ‘thank you kindly’ before deciding there were other customers (preferably not were-customers) to tend to, and slipping out to the tables.
He didn’t know what drew him to the man in the red-cloak; it could have been the bright color, possibly in combination with the ‘red-haired’ friend of the woman at the counter. Either way, he ended up strolling towards that table, tapping the gentleman on the shoulder, and wondering if he might like a drink.
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Post by Tadala Dynas on Oct 12, 2010 21:00:19 GMT -5
To say Tadala wasn't beautiful would have been a lie, for the Werecat was beautiful. And in the fire light she simply looked exotic. Her body was curled in a chair by the fire, having been drenched a few minutes before by a speeding cart. The heat from the fire warmed her up, dried her hair so that is shined like liquid cream. Her eyes watched the room with intense flickers from one person to the other.
Today she had on a charcoal cincher over a silky cream colored blouse and then a gray vest. Her leather pants clung to her thighs perfectly. She was by no means muscled like other Werecats but she was fit. And her boots curled at the knee only enhancing the image she portrayed. Her hoop earring glittered in the flickering light on her left ear along with the stud in the cartilage. The arm band sat over her blouse, causing slight wrinkles in the fabric. Many drunks had tried to hit on her but with one icy glare they backed off before they could touch her.
Tadala wasn't a prominent Werecat, even if she was trying for Shaman on the tribe. But she preferred the elegance and beautiful the males of her tribe exuded. Humans just didn't measure up, not one bit.
She slowly got up, her wine glass empty. And she needed to move, her pants were becoming stiff. Walking toward the bar and the barkeep a hand slipped over her butt and then squeezed. Tadala froze, her eyes wide, mouth open slightly. Her heart beat skipped. Then she reacted. Turning she slapped the hand away, the man grinned at her. "Nice as' sweetheart. Come her'."
Off balance already she pulled away from the grabbing hand and the man that was slowly, swaying, from his chair. Tadala was out of her element and for the moment, scared. There had been few instances in her life when she had been scared but this one quickly moved to the top.
She couldn't get her footing, her boots still dripping water. And she fell.
The chair slammed into her lower back as her upper back hit the person sitting in it. For a moment she caught the scent of a meadow, lavender, crushed pine needles, rose petals. The scent of a Werecat. When she turned she saw a young man, almost her age she suspected.
"I'm so sorry. It's just-" Her soft voice was cut off as the man slapped her on the backside. His arm starting to curl around her hip.
"Where'd you run to, fox?"
Tadala froze again, it was like she was being hunted by a larger animal. One that stunk and drooled on her neck. "Please..."
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Post by Aria Talei on Oct 12, 2010 21:31:33 GMT -5
The Werecat clasped her hand in the human greeting. "Aria," she said, smiling good naturedly, even if it didn't touch her eyes. They met Clarrissa's only briefly, long enough to be polite, and then they darted back over the woman's shoulder, still seeking out the source of the undead stench.
The barkeep returned with Aria's ale, but the Werecat dared not risk deadening her senses; behind her, a soft voice warned her to calm herself. Turning slightly, she glanced over a man sitting at the bar near to her, smelling alluringly of her own kind. His human face was unrecognizeable to her, seeing as Werecats were not often social creatures, though his particular aroma was faintly familiar, though a name eluded her.
Heartened, at least, that one of her kindred were nearby, and feeling faintly foolish for being so visibly agitated, Aria gave the smallest of nods and reached nonchallantly for her ale, feigning a swig. He had a point, after all; it all came down to energy. And while Aria's position as Ambassador required a constant state of calm, the Werecat had been out of sorts for the past few days. It was the red haired human, she inwardly seethed; her bruising pride had put her on edge, and she doubted the irritability would leave until things with the boy had been settled.
Just then, a momentary scuffle threw a second of her kin into the picture; Tadala, the candidate for the new Shaman, fell awkwardly onto the other Werecat's lap, a feral panic in her eyes. Unconsciously, Aria's upper lip curled to bear her canines as a man wrapped an arm about her kin's waist; with accidental force that sent her drink slopping out the sides of her mug, Aria made to step forward, but before she could take much more than a step, a wall of drunks stood up to stop her.
The man she had shoved before was glaring at their helm, holding a nose that was steadily weeping blood. He looked for a moment that he wanted to say something to her, but after a brief look of frustrated concentration strained his intoxicated face, he seemingly changed his mind, aiming instead a lazy slug at her face.
With ease Aria deflected the blow, stepping into his punch so that the palm of her other hand struck solidly at the man's stomach; she sidled out of the way as he doubled over and crumpled to the floor. Now, this Werecat was no fool- stronger, perhaps, than the average Human woman, Aria knew she could easily be overpowered by the five remaining men blocking her way (more drunks, incited by the fray, had joined for the sheer violence). Fortunately for her, however, her opponents were exceptionally drunk and, for some reason, Aria had the inkling that her new aquaintence Clarissa would prove herself useful in this brawl. As for Tadala, she trusted the unnamed Werecat would stand by his kin and take care of her pursuers.
Aria took a step back; as always, she did not instigate fights, merely held her ground where needed.
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Post by Mason McTavish on Oct 12, 2010 22:34:45 GMT -5
Mason was wet, tired, and needed a drink. His wife was ill, work had been a bit slower than usual, and walking into the bar in the middle of a fight was NOT helping his mood. Taking a calming breath, the large man tried to work his way around the standoff as best as he could, the drunks giving him some rather, well, drunk looks. The females in question... One looked ready to beat them witless, and the other looked a little bit underprepared. A shame.
He shook his head, brushing aside one of the aggresive men. "Ya' drunken morons oughta sit yourselves down, ye' might get hurt.". He continued towards a free table, ignoring the angry glares. "Ye can't even hold in couple of drinks without grabbing someone's as'."
A rough hand grabbed ahold of his shoulder, trying to turn him around. Sighing, he turned to face the dope when a sloppy punch connected with his face.
"Was that... Neccessary?". He asked slowly, temper rising.
Another punch.
"Alright, ye asked for it.". Mason grunted, slamming his fists onto the man's head, sending him to the floor. Picking the groaning man back up, he practically tossed the man back to his fellows.
"Now, unless the rest of ye are willing for a fight, sit yourselves down and let the rest of us enjoy a goddamn drink!". He frowned, silently daring the drunks to continue, his mood now seriously ruined. Several wisely chose to back off.
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Post by Ulquir Kats'n on Oct 13, 2010 9:58:24 GMT -5
For a second, Ulquir simply watched blankly, taking in the situation. The tavern was pretty much a mess right now: a pervert feeling up a woman -- a werecat by her scent; a burly man shouting at the drunkards to keep quiet; and the werecat ambassador now being harassed by a bunch of these drunkards. Brilliant. This was a wonderful, very bothersome-free situation.
As the girl who had bumped into him got up and turned around to apologize, the degenerate who'd started this in the first place dragged her towards him and wrapped his arm around her waist. Abruptly irritated that he hadn't given up after causing the others to make such a ruckus, he impulsively grabbed the girl's arm and shot the man a double-barreled glare. "Let go."
"W-What?" The man flinched, surprised, loosening his grip but not quite letting go completely, arm still hooked around her hip. "Yeh can't stop meh, you son of a --"
Ulquir whipped out a small throwing axe and, still holding on to the girl with his non-dominant right hand, he spun the hatchet with one hand and made eye contact. "I'm left-handed, you know," he said, his tone low and firm. "And I would never miss; especially not when my target is a fat, ugly bastard who doesn't know his left from his right."
"What!?" Now the man raised his fists in protestation. "Yeh wanna fight, yeh fight like'a man! Mano a mano, yeh lil' son of a bitccch!" At this Ulquir simply pulled the female werecat towards him -- at a closer look it appeared to be Tadala, whom he knew as the one competing for the position of Shaman in the werecat clan -- and pushed her behind him. Then he said nothing, only stared the man down, leaning his head on his elbow. Like this, his fringe shifted to one side because of gravity, showing off his coercive tawny eyes. "Leave."
The man started to twitch, and his offensive stance faltered. "Yeh... Yeh better 'member dis, yeh little lowlife! I'll know yer face when I see yeh!" With that, he bulldozed his way through the crowd and rammed the door leading outside. From his distinctive yell Ulquir knew he had probably tripped and fallen. He was lucky for getting away with only that. As for Ulquir, he felt lucky that not many people had seen that. At least, not anyone sober. After all, which one of these hyperactive men wanted to watch him talk down a pervert when there were fights to be cheering on to instead?
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Post by Scipio Varick on Oct 13, 2010 17:30:02 GMT -5
No sooner had Scipio shoulder his way into the tavern that a very drunk man was stumbling past him, rubbing his face and muttering murderously under his breath as his small eyes darted bewilderingly around. He was fleeing what looked to be the makings of a bar fight; drawing back his rain-soaked hood, the ex soldier groaned. Although he himself was often stirred to senseless violence in bouts of drunken rage, Scipio tonight wanted nothing more than to quietly attempt to drown himself in endless pitchers of mead. He briefly considered heading down to the Boar, his usual haunt, but found himself too mentally weary to drag himself back out into the storm. Sidestepping the crowd that had collected near the bar, Scipio wandered to the back of the tavern, frowning at finding not a single table unoccupied. At hearing who he assumed to be the barkeep ask what a fellow in an eyepatch what he would like to order, however, Scipio swept up behind.
"I'll have your largest pitcher of mead," he grunted, casting an irritated glance in the direction of the swarm of drunks, who all at once had decided to begin yelling loudly; fumbling in his coin purse for the pay, he tapped the barkeep on his shoulder and extended the money, impatiently oblivious to the possibility that he was being very rude.
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Post by Malcolm Selder on Oct 13, 2010 20:16:30 GMT -5
And of course, with Malcolm’s luck of the day continuing on its dive, red-cloak didn’t want a drink, get out of my sight I’m in a bad mood. With a small shrug (his loss), Malcolm turned instead to watch the developing fight. Judging from the diffusion of nature’s aroma through the bar, he guessed the cats were involved, and the brawlers provided a pleasant wall between their stench and Malcolm’s nose. He’d enjoy that while he still had an excuse to stand around and pretend that the fight kept him from working.
“I’ll have your largest pitcher of mead.”
Malcolm spared the stranger a sidelong glance, one that would have remained just that had there not been coins involved in the deal. Letting a smile brighten his features, he accepted the pay and motioned for the man to follow to the other side of the counter. “Sure thing. Just follow me around back to avoid the brawl there. Punches are only entertaining if the joke isn’t on you, right?”
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