Everything was clearer to the warrior tonight. And everything was way more complex and fuzzier too. If he would have been thinking right, he would have put the blame on that strange bottle he'd been handed by strange trader. Perhaps he had seen the boy's alcoholic virginity through the dark exterior. Through the dark, plush coat and on past the warriors heats and claymore sword to match. It had been a frosty dark blue bottle, if Tony remembered correctly, a simple screw top stopping the liquid from escaping. But Tony was a humanised creature and found no difficultly in removing the shiny black cap while not intoxicated. The alcohol, which Tony still had no idea of it's name, was spicy and aromatic, hot down the back of his throat, surprisingly so. He almost spat it out, but decided against it and let it slide into his stomach. And that's where he found the pleasure, the true burn. It still tasted like shit, there was no getting away from that fact, but the burn was what kept Tony coming back for more. And if he knew what happened when one drinks alcohol maybe he wouldn't have been so eager to down in with the frequency he was. While everything was as noisy as hell and while normally he would wish to get out of there so he could hear himself think, while drunk he frankly couldn't give a shit. It was like music to him.
On that note, the actual music was even better now, that it had been before the 'magic drink'. A woman sat with a guitar and singing was his main focus. There was a healthy crowd with her, support from everyone else that it wasn't jsut the alcohol dictating what sounded good to him and leading him to believe it was truly a good sound she put out into the crown. Tony, with his warriors height and bulk pushed his way to the inner edge of the circle, eager to see this woman. His ochre eyes hit upon the familiar form and when she'd finished and when the small crowd disaperated into the air as it seemed, he approached with a drunk, almost arrogant swagger. 'Why? Hallo again gorgeous! Th' night treatin' ya well I presume, aye?' His Scotch accent was thinker now than usual, another symptom of the large half bottle of whisky he'd already drunken. He lifted the object in question aloft and smile, 'Ah still got s'more if y wish t' share' he beamed, trying to be as charming as possible.
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