I really should get into exercising starting tomorrow

Despite all that had transpired from the past, it hadn't taken long for Reblin to feel comfortable in Biff's Bar again. Offering a couple bundles of firewood for a stout drink, the piebald wolfdog took his mug from the bar and decided to see what the Luperci in town were doing these days.

But the more he interacted with the other patrons and observed the goings on within the establishment itself, it quickly dawned on him that very little had changed. Tipping his mug back, Reblin took another quaff of his liquor and tried not to think of how much he had altered in comparison to the bar within the same amount of time.

For a place that surely saw more patrons in an hour than Reblin interacted with in half a day, it felt terribly significant to him.

Feeling as though he was sobering up at the thought, the piebald wolfdog drank the last of what was in his mug, relishing the feel of the burn as it cascaded down his throat, and veered back towards the bar to refresh his mug. There, he caught sight of a dark Luperci and sidled up next to them with a grin. "How's the bartender tonight?" he asked conversationally as he set his empty mug against the bar top with a gentle thunk. "Seems busy. But heck if I couldn't use a drink about now."

Because maybe this was too much too soon. Because maybe he was too alone. Because maybe he was still hurting.

Reblin shifted his weight and lifted his mug for the barkeep, waggling it obnoxiously until the employee addressed him properly. Once his offering was accepted and his mug was filled, the piebald wolfdog drank the contents deeply and exhaled slowly with relish. "You come here often?" he asked, the alcohol making him feel tingly and good.

[WC — 313]

OOC :: Words→ 431

Falcon paused in front of Biff’s Bar, letting the stench of alcohol and old wood wash over her. The papermill was finished, her mother was gone, the summit was long over… And she felt empty again. The feeling wasn’t as cold or as all-consuming as it once was, but it made Falcon want to flee Mistfell Vale and never return; her packmates knew her well enough to question her sour mood, and she didn’t want to be questioned.

She just wished she didn’t feel so guilty about it.

Pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the Elkenfrey pushed open the front door and slipped into the bar. She searched the room for Mykyr, blue-green gaze darting from table to table, but she couldn’t find him. He was probably in the back, Falcon thought; she’d talk to him before she went home for the night. Making her way over to the bar, she flashed Biff a tired smile and asked him to “surprise her;” a few moments later, he placed a red-brown mixed drink onto the bartop.

Falcon didn’t have a chance to pick up her mug before a stranger slid into the seat beside her, bright-eyed and talkative. She raised an eyebrow and took a swig of her cocktail. Whatever Biff had added to the wine, it burned going down; Falcon wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. ”Definitely busy,” she said, cradling her mug in her hands, ”but I just got here, so I don’t know if it’s been like this all night, or…” Falcon trailed off, shrugging as she took another sip of her drink.

The wolfdog, clearly a regular, wiggled his mug at the bartender until he begrudgingly refilled it. Falcon snorted into her cocktail and looked away to keep herself from laughing; she still felt guilty for coming to Biff’s Bar, but its occupants had a knack for making her feel better. Falcon took another sip and considered the man’s question. It sounded flirtatious, and he was handsome, but she didn’t want to push her luck.

”I wish. This is my second time,” the Elkenfrey said, ”and I can’t decide if I want to get drunk or go dancing.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment, expecting it to sound more like a joke than it did. Falcon snorted listlessly and took another swig. ”Or both,” she added, peering into her mug. Maybe she could pay for her next one in song lyrics again.

Was there anything better than that sting against the back of your throat as the liquor pooled there, burning and cooling its way down into your stomach until everything felt warm and soft and meaningless?

In that slow release of breath, Reblin couldn't think of anything. Liquor was definitely a gift from the gods.

His concern for sobriety safely quelled, the piebald wolfdog looked at his fellow bar patron – really looked at him – and felt his heart catch painfully in his throat. Because the eyes looking back at him, all blue-green like turquoise gems, reminded him acutely of her. Taking another deep swill, Reblin swallowed his emotions and gave his tightly-curled tail a generous wag. "Wait... lemme get this straight," he began, setting his mug down and tilting one hand, palm-up and fingers splayed, upwards. "You've only been here twice, so clearly you don't get out of... well, wherever it is you come from often, and you wanna choose only one of those things?" he replied with mock incredulity.

Reblin watched as the hybrid took another drink, and grinned broadly with his addendum. "Now that's more like it! Let's get drunk and then go dancing!" Even though he wasn't much of a dancer himself, if it also involved alcohol then dancing in a crowded bar filled with a bunch of drunk strangers sounded like a fantastic idea in which there was absolutely nothing wrong with it nor possibly could go wrong while it was being enacted.

That was the magic of alcohol.

"I'm Reblin, by the way," he said with another grin, looking at the stranger whose eyes so threatened to haunt him. "And I have definitely been here more than two times, so I can totally show you the ropes."

[WC — 301]

OOC :: Words→ 338

Falcon laughed before she could stop herself. The man was certainly a character, she thought; it was charming. ”I’m not very good at dancing when I’m drunk,” she admitted, finishing off her first drink in record time. ”Mykyr had to catch me before I knocked over a table.” The hybrid grinned sheepishly, letting the warmth of the alcohol lower her inhibitions; it was easy to relax when she knew she didn't have a choice in the matter.

”That’s a handsome name,” the Elkrenfrey said, leaning her cheek against her fist on the bartop as she looked at him; it was worth a shot. ”I’m Falcon. I’m from Mistfell Vale, and that’s a bit far for a…” She let the rest of her sentence sit in her throat, wondering if it was worth the risk. ”For a girl with no horse.”

Falcon needed another drink. ”Do you mind filling me up again? I’m good for it, even if I have to pay in the morning—Mykyr can vouch for me.” The barkeeper stared at her for a moment, but took her mug to prepare another cocktail. She’d come back to pay for her drinks last time, even though they’d been gift; Falcon could do it again once she slept and sobered up.

She took a healthy swig of her drink once it was placed in front of her. This one burned worse going down, but it was probably for the best. Standing up with her mug still in hand, Falcon offered the other to Reblin. ”Want to hit the dancefloor before these kick in?” she asked with a smile; she doubted they’d make much progress if she got drunk first.

Another swig, another smile, and a wink as he reached for her hand. Before Reblin could close his fingers around hers, Falcon slipped them out of his grasp and stepped toward the middle of the bar. As busy as the place was, there weren’t many patrons dancing.

Reblin snorted, his smile cracking open at the vision of what Falcon described. But he was not to be dissuaded. "Look, nobody's very good at dancing when they're drunk! That's why it's so great!" Ebullience lifted his voice and lit his moon-pale eyes mirthfully. And besides, when the gods, in their eternal humor, granted a soul such as his the gift of natural idiocy, inebriation, at least, offered him an excuse.

"Pfft," he replied, pursing his lips and blowing air between them while adding a playfully dismissive flick of his wrist for good measure. "Handsome ain't got nothin' on awesome. I mean, c'mon, Falcon?" He clicked his teeth approvingly.

And, perhaps as a result of the alcohol making everything fuzzy and disjointed and good, his mind failed to catch Falcon's risk and instead, his name still forefront in his mind, honed in on the lack of a horse. He nodded, grinning almost maniacally in anticipation of his response. "So... I mean, it's safe to assume that you, like, flew then, right?" he asked, knowing the joke was a stupid one but saying it anyway because alcohol. "Because falcons, yanno... fly and... you're, uh... Falcon." His voice almost squeaking near the end, Reblin offered Falcon an apologetic flattening of his ears and grinned toothily.

Waiting for his drink to be refilled, Reblin took another healthy swig of his own drink and watched the other patrons brightly. When it was offered, the wolfdog didn't hesitate to accept the invitation of his hand. "Uh, does a bear crap in the woods?" he answered cheerfully, a dull chime ringing at the back of his head at the wink that he promptly ignored. But before his fingers found purchase, the other hybrid slipped away and was already making his way toward the dance floor. "Hey!" he called after Falcon, tipping back the rest of his drink and setting the mug down on the bar. "Wait up!"

There was nothing that could keep him from dancing, not any more. Immersed in the brilliant sorcery of the drink and the lively atmosphere of the bar, Reblin heard the rhythm and it called his name.

OOC: god rebel u idiot

[WC — 368]

OOC :: Words→ 463

Reblin really was a handsome man, his golden brown fur framing white-gold eyes and an ivory grin. The wolfdog’s exuberance made Falcon lean closer, head cocked as she listened to every drunken word, and let her grin fade into an amused smile. “Awesome” seemed like a bit of a strong word, but the compliment still flooded her face with warmth. She decided he wasn’t allowed to click his teeth anymore—she liked the sound.

Falcon laughed and glanced away for a second, dipping her head to hide a relieved smile; he’d taken that awfully well, assuming he’d heard her at all. ”Oh yes, I flew here on the wind. You should really see me when I get going, I could fly to Mistfell Vale and back before you finished your next drink,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice. It was nice to unwind with a good drink in a raucous bar every once in a while; Biff’s was so different from quiet, old Winterwynd that it felt like another world.

The Elkenfrey snorted at his answer, more amused than she had any right to be by his antics. ”Cute,” she said, her voice a little lower than it needed to be. When Reblin told her to wait up, downing his drink as quickly as he’d been given it, Falcon didn’t oblige him; the dance floor wasn’t that big, and he was already getting up. ”Hey, you decided to finish your drink first, not me.” It’s not like she’d forced him.

When Reblin caught up to the green-eyed woman, she gave an experimental twirl and let her skirt fan out around her legs. Her drink sloshed more than she’d have liked, even only half full, and threatened to spill onto the wooden floor. She lifted the mug to her lips; she’d have to do something about that. Falcon held it there for a second, making eye contact with Reblin as she did so, before chugging the rest. The alcohol burning down her throat made her think of better, drunker times and she drew confidence from those memories.

Breaking eye contact to slam her mug down on the nearest, unoccupied table, Falcon turned back to Reblin and licked her lips. ”You know, I’ve always been more of a singer than a dancer,” she said, extending her hand to the golden brown wolfdog, ”but it’s a lot easier to dance with a good-looking man than sing with one—at least while drunk.” Another cue for Reblin to say something, to push in one direction for the other.

Falcon just wanted a little attention; if Reblin couldn’t give it to her, she was certain another patron could.

"Do you accept passengers?" he asked her through a toothy grin. That his stupid joke was clearly well-received made him feel invincible. He decided to keep on trying his luck. Hell, maybe it wasn't even luck! Maybe he actually had more comedic talent than he gave himself credit for! "'Cause I may just join you for the ride instead!" Oh yeah. He was good. Even if it was the alcohol talking, the words were coming out of his mouth.

Scrambling to catch up with him, Reblin twisted his lips up in unwilling acceptance of Falcon's call-out. "Okay, but—" He paused, the spinning of his newfound friend's body making the fabric of his skirt billow and flap and fly. Reblin blinked against the alcohol, his pale eyes finding her emeralds, and he was only distantly aware of the way his reality shifted.

He was mesmerized, watching as Falcon finished spinning before tipping back his – her? – mug and letting its contents cascade down her – his? – throat. He held those verdant eyes, feeling confused and good and happy and excited.

With alcohol coursing, unguarded, through his veins, Reblin threw all caution to the wind.

"Wait," he began, stepping forward. "Are you sayin' I'm good-looking?" he asked, accepting Falcon's outstretched hand. "Or that you think I'll be a terrible singer?"

OOC: sorry for the awful wait! :c <3

[WC — 225]