Fine wine tastes on a stale ale budget. That's what Corryn had.
Corryn indulged well into the night--and far more than she had intended. The wine was stronger than she'd anticipated, and decent enough, and one drink had lead to another and poorer judgment and more cravings for sweets. A bard had arrived during the busiest hours and started up some bawdy drinking songs, and Corryn, quite tipsy at that point, had gotten swept up into it all and joined in once she learned the words, both arms around the shoulders of some great new friends she had met that evening, two rather rough-looking men who were probably criminals of some sort, judging by their scars and tattoos and many weapons and their group of equally unsavory men, but who were sweet as pie to her. Probably because she'd bought them drinks.
And kept the rounds coming.
And coming.
"You sure you can afford this?" a barmaid asked her skeptically when she ordered another round.
"Sure! It's not my money!" Corryn laughed, and somewhere in the back of her head she thought that was a rather jackass thing to say, but her drunk-brain waved the thought away. "Just do it!"
The merry-making went well into the night, and it was only when it all caught up to her in the form of nausea that lead to puking into a tankard that some rationality caught up to her and told her it was time to call it a night.
A tired-looking barmaid pointed her room out to her, the one Decebal had paid for, and Corryn stumbled inside. Decebal was there already, sound asleep, but Corryn hardly cared as she flopped into bed beside him and quickly passed out.
