The 93rd of Vhalar 717
Although nighttime had set in a long time ago, there were still people making a ruckus about. Those people were either laughing and drinking and yelling in a pub, or they were doing the same thing traveling to or away from one. Bran himself found him in the former category, thoroughly enjoying himself. The pub itself was nothing special; quite small inside, with wooden furniture and bar, some lanterns hanging from the beams at the ceiling –safely out of reach from rowdy customers—and a flutist standing on a small stage in one of the corners of the room. Tables were few, lining the walls, leaving the middle as well as the area near the bar free. There customers could dance and sing and swing their mugs as wildly as they pleased.
Oberan was sitting at one of the small tables, a chaotic collection of drinks in front of him. Most of the mugs were empty, but two still held liquid inside. One was in Bran’s hand, the other stood waiting for his companion, who currently had her hands running across his face.
”You’re quite handsome,” she spoke, tracing the line of his jaw, following the curve to his chin. The mortalborn tilted his head to the side, eyes half-closed.
”I’ve heard dhad bevore,” he slurred, ”but most don’t dell me.”
He let his eyes wander over her features again, loving the almond shape of her eyes, even though they were milky and unseeing. His gaze dropped then, a grin spreading. ”You are beaudivul doo.”
She smiled and ran her hand over his nose, examining it with her delicate fingers. ”Oh,” she exclaimed, ”have you been in a fight?” Carefully she felt the bump, frowning slightly.
”Long ago,” he explained, ”vrom bevore I could dodzj. I only ged hurd in fighdz when I’m drunk now.” He frowned slightly, and took a swig from his drink when her hand was out of the way.
”Well, you’d better not get in a fight then.”
Oberan snorted. ”I’m nod drunk. I am only dipzy. Haven’d drunk mudzj.”
She shook her head. ”Of course not.” Her hand searched for her drink, hitting it softly with a finger, telling her of its location. She grabbed it then, and emptied her mug in one fell swoop. Oberan stared at her, then at his own mug, shrugged, and downed it too.
”I’ll ged uz some more drinkz,” he declared, raising from his seat. His legs felt really wobbly, his view of the world teetering sideways as he nearly lost his balance. Then he took a swaying step, and another, moving through the small crowd to the bar. Once there, he found himself in front of two large foaming pints of beer, a welcome surprise. No waiting time? Obviously these were not for him, but Oberan couldn’t care less. He did not see anyone who was waiting to accept these; no-one was looking at them. So he just took them, not caring at all. Returning with those pints in hand proved a bit of a problem, as the people in the crowd bumped into him left and right, causing him to spill many a time. Still, he reached the table safely.
Sadly, that was all he could manage. Just as he was about to put the beverages down, someone shouldered past him roughly. The mortalborn stumbled forward and dropped the drinks, spilling them all over the table. He cursed loudly, turning viciously at the offender. It was a big man, at least one head taller than Bran, but the mortalborn did not care.
”Oi, you piece ov veck! Ad leazd apolodzjise, cund! I nearly zoaked dhe lady!”
The man turned around slowly, looking down on the mortalborn.
”You got a problem with me, runt? Piss off before you regret it!”
”Wa?”
”You heard me, Gentleman McWhoreson, piss o--”
”Whad did you call my modher?” Bran hissed, ”You dake dhad back, or elze!”
The man laughed, turning to his mates, with an expression of “did he just say that?” He turned back then, bending down enough that Bran could smell his stinky breath. Even in his addled state he could smell the alcohol. ”I said your mom is a cheap whore too ugly to make any money!”
Oberan balled his fists, feeling his blood start to boil. ”My modher is a godzdamned queen. I’ll give you dhree--” He burped, surprising even himself. He hadn’t felt it coming.
”Three what?”
”Dhree do ged ready bevore I zlap your zhid boy!”
The man raised his eyebrows.
”One!”
”What, you want to fight?”
”Dhree!” screamed Bran, skipping the two, and headbutting the man right in the nose instead.
