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]