Otto drank his first bit of mead. He did not want it to disappear so quickly. He had worked hard for his father and picked up a job escorting some fool chieftan to the mountains for his coin. He did not want the drink to go to waste. As the delicious poison pulled apart his muscle, he found himself thinking lighter and happier things. Helga was refilling drinks. Fin's friends were down the bench drinking. One was nearly on the floor. He grumbled and finished his drink.
The thick hairs on his back stood. He could swear someone was watching him, but the place was crowded, and he was a large man. Of course someone was staring at the massive Otto the Younger. Someone always was. Besides that, he had just finished a long journey home through McLain's foul swamps full of watching witches. A journey like that made a man's hair stand on end for days.
He scratched at the hairs. They still would not settle. He grumbled and turned to the tables where some of the men gambled on stones. The counter was too busy with moving bodies to see anyone. He scratched the hairs and moved toward Fin's friends.
"You boys being good?" he asked, not sure how to speak to the whelps. Of course they weren't being good. They were three strapping young men drinking at the tavern without anyone to watch them. "Not picking fights with an'one bigger than yerselves?"
They were too drunk to understand. Otto grumbled and lumbered to the counter for another drink.
For once, Raivo failed to finish his drink. He set it down on the counter, careful not to knock his, or anyone else's over. It might still be needed later, but whether for celebration or to ease pain was a toss up.
ReplyDeleteHis feet hit the floor with a thud as he slid off the stool, arms out for balance. There were more of them, he was sure of that now. Watching the behemoth he suspected talk amongst his friends had confirmed that, drunk idiots though they may be. Perhaps they'd be easier to get along with.
Raivo took his time to confront the stranger, one step at a time, careful not to trip or knock anyone over. Whatever conflict that might arise from such an accident, Raivo would win no doubt, but it would draw unneeded attention. One step at a time, still using his arms for balance, occasionally swaying with his steps until he stood where the other werewolf sat.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Raivo blurted out. Until the words left his mouth, he never once thought there was such a thing as "too drunk."