That wasn't the line of inquiry Nero was expecting, but he was glad that, whether this Miqo'te was Kink or not, they weren't screaming and running away.
The Wench was starting to get uncomfortably stuffy. Even so, Nero flashed a slight grin at her--a feeble attempt to dissuade any suspicions she might have--and took the tankard that had made forceful contact with his chest. As it were, he was wedged uncomfortably in the melee that was the crowd in front of the bar. As best as he could, Nero jerked a thumb at his formerly unoccupied corner table and also cocked his head in its direction.Â
"I'll buy your drink. Let's talk," he said rather loudly, his sentence almost naught but a whisper in proportion to the incredible noise being generated by the business of the establishment.
The most he could do is hope the Miqo'te saw his gesture and realise that as far as assassins go, Nero would be a very poor one. Struggling his way to the bar took what seemed like an hour, and upon reaching it, the Midlander thrust the empty mug towards the beleaguered Tenfingers.
"Fill this," Nero nearly shouted.
Tenfingers glanced at his empty mug with a sour expression.
Barely containing an impatient growl, Nero slammed a stack of gil on the bar, not even bothering to check if he had overpaid.
"Fill this, please," was the followup, the smuggler's tone being a cross between conciliatory and irritated.
And thus was the mug filled. In his imagination, a standing ovation came from the crowd.
His grand mission of epic proportions achieved, Nero proceeded to struggle his way back to the other side of the bar, hoping beyond hope that the liquid would still be inside the mug by the time he managed to escape the mob...and that the Miqo'te would still be around for him to talk to.
The Wench was starting to get uncomfortably stuffy. Even so, Nero flashed a slight grin at her--a feeble attempt to dissuade any suspicions she might have--and took the tankard that had made forceful contact with his chest. As it were, he was wedged uncomfortably in the melee that was the crowd in front of the bar. As best as he could, Nero jerked a thumb at his formerly unoccupied corner table and also cocked his head in its direction.Â
"I'll buy your drink. Let's talk," he said rather loudly, his sentence almost naught but a whisper in proportion to the incredible noise being generated by the business of the establishment.
The most he could do is hope the Miqo'te saw his gesture and realise that as far as assassins go, Nero would be a very poor one. Struggling his way to the bar took what seemed like an hour, and upon reaching it, the Midlander thrust the empty mug towards the beleaguered Tenfingers.
"Fill this," Nero nearly shouted.
Tenfingers glanced at his empty mug with a sour expression.
Barely containing an impatient growl, Nero slammed a stack of gil on the bar, not even bothering to check if he had overpaid.
"Fill this, please," was the followup, the smuggler's tone being a cross between conciliatory and irritated.
And thus was the mug filled. In his imagination, a standing ovation came from the crowd.
His grand mission of epic proportions achieved, Nero proceeded to struggle his way back to the other side of the bar, hoping beyond hope that the liquid would still be inside the mug by the time he managed to escape the mob...and that the Miqo'te would still be around for him to talk to.
