One drink for the good times, two drinks for bad, and three on one's way out the door. Songs clucked while drowning in ale were the best as describing the slippery slope through the door and then out again. While those serving were full of smiles and sympathetic nods the first round or two, beyond that saying that your family was eaten by wilder beasts wouldn't get you more than a glass of ice water and a reminder to sleep on your side. Kinship could, often times, be as thin as the paper that one's ever growing tab was scribbled on.
The barkeep was known to be a careless man of another sort. As in: If you don't have the coin to pay he could careless. Such was the perk of being the <B>only</B> public tavern in the village. Some said that he meant well, that he provided a service. Even his own wife reserved the words "well meaning", which were almost always followed by the slight 'bastard'.
The streets of the village had become very acquainted with throngs of haunched over, hobbling, hedonists; their numbers growing every day, their pockets and purses quickly emptied into the grubby hands of the bar keep and his employ. Speaking of, Bryce had taken to dragging her feet to the point of hardly moving at all. Her hang over had, thankfully, cleared itself up more so after her evening meal and a chilly wash; which only made the thought of going to the tavern less appetizing, as she'd be tempted to drink until the point of bloat again.
She could just show restraint, but what would be the fun in that? It was more fun to give false hope to the bar boys, sock them one when it came time that they ask her for some means of repayment for the drink and food, only to stumble home bruised and laughing. It was no fault of her's that they could not see the obvious, that she had never taken up their offers to roll in the hay out back--and never would.
It was a small world after all, growing steadily smaller with each begrudged step forward. The over head lanterns swayed in the Summer current, the oil within washing the glass with a butter yellow light. The cobble stone roads wound their paths seemingly without care from one point to another, abruptly stopping before various hearth and home of assorted villagers. The back route contained mostly private homes, the occasional too small to be minded business, and the obvious orphans whom had ventured into town in hopes of finding something with which to take out their childhood energy on.
Another five houses or so and Bryce would have made it to her destination. Thus she stopped off and on to admire the same sights as before; a broken window, the whistle of the night air through a nearing chimney, and the spot where she stopped to vomit on her way home.
How sad, she had a routine at the age of nineteen! She should have felt worse about being able to see her day in a wet spot on the ground, but her attention suddenly shifted to two deep cracks in the distance.
Upon squinting she was able eventually to tell her ass from a hole in the ground, so to speak.
Muscles gone stiff in anticipation, she clung to the shadows and edged forward, her curiosity too strong to be cast aside by the mental mutterings of, "It is none of your damned business."
Thin eyebrows perking up, the girl could do nothing but watch (at first), as some one made very clear that they had a death wish. The swagger with which the smaller figure moved was another familiar sight, someone was drunk out of their bloody mind; and about to get their what's for thanks to a unbelievably bad choice to get brave.
<I>Today just was <B>not her day</I>, a selfish thought born from a moment of contemplated selflessness. Well, selflessness as well as the fact that she and every other person at in La'marri knew better than to try and have a battle of drunken wits with an armed man (one known to care not whom it was that fell under his blade).
Glancing around in hopes of finding another path to follow to the tavern, Bryce's stomach lurched as she was met with another obvious fact: right place and wrong time, there was only one road to take.
Leering up and at the star pocked sky from behind the mess of her bangs, Bryce groaned, "You fuckin' owe me."
Things were suddenly not looking so wonderful for <B>either of them. One by choice the other by sheer luck of the drunk.
As she sprung from the shadows, doing her best to keep a careful watch and distance, she could see the well defined muscles of the Bravo's shoulders twitch into action....
What the fuck was she doing trying to help someone who was clearly suicidal!?
Then again, it did not look as though the challenger was the type to rumble. He looked more like a leaf a drift on raging rapids, at least at the moment. If luck was on her side, they would both live to forget they ever met.
More of a hunk of vein laced meat, a fist took flight in retaliation. She was already hating herself for her decision to act....
She was going to hate herself even more for it in the morning, when her whole body was going to scream in reminder of the evening. Her body tugging itself into action, she forced herself between the two men, the bone of her shoulder erupting into pain over flowing.
"Not fuckin' to'nite ass hole!"
For such a luckless night, at least he did not opt to use his sword as an opening to his sick joke.
(OOC: Ehe, thank you for being so understanding! And you're right, there is a place and time for everything, even in role playing. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow. Hopefully this one didn't power play you too much, if so, send me an IM and I'll re-write it)