The bard whistled a jaunty tune, something about purrs and pats and tails, and strode boldly into Buscarron's tavern, immediately taking a seat near the door, and putting one foot up on another chair.
He rubbed his right shoulder; it was still a little sore, but that would pass quickly. The crate had been heavier than he anticipated, and the constant sloshing had made it tricky to carry. The burden was now eased, though, and he clucked his tongue, and tried to picture what he was thirsty for.
It certainly wasn't the Bronco drink. Even though the crate had carried twoscore bottles of the stuff, the concoction still struck him as being a little too dubious. Mayhap it could make a good mix for a rum drink, but he wasn't yet drunk enough to try.
Perhaps tomorrow, he'd find out. The Couerlclaws should find the crate soon enough, since he'd left it practically at their doorstep, right on one of their hunting trails. Maybe they'd toss it out, but perhaps, instead, they might all end up in skimpy outfits like the models on the posters, or, at least, it would make for amusing chaos to spy on them trying to work up the courage to try the stuff.
At any rate, it would make for a good song. He stepped up from the chair, and ambled his way to the bar, eager for a bit of a Colibri Bay mixer, and was humming to himself again of tails and purrs and yowls.
He rubbed his right shoulder; it was still a little sore, but that would pass quickly. The crate had been heavier than he anticipated, and the constant sloshing had made it tricky to carry. The burden was now eased, though, and he clucked his tongue, and tried to picture what he was thirsty for.
It certainly wasn't the Bronco drink. Even though the crate had carried twoscore bottles of the stuff, the concoction still struck him as being a little too dubious. Mayhap it could make a good mix for a rum drink, but he wasn't yet drunk enough to try.
Perhaps tomorrow, he'd find out. The Couerlclaws should find the crate soon enough, since he'd left it practically at their doorstep, right on one of their hunting trails. Maybe they'd toss it out, but perhaps, instead, they might all end up in skimpy outfits like the models on the posters, or, at least, it would make for amusing chaos to spy on them trying to work up the courage to try the stuff.
At any rate, it would make for a good song. He stepped up from the chair, and ambled his way to the bar, eager for a bit of a Colibri Bay mixer, and was humming to himself again of tails and purrs and yowls.
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."
![[Image: 3610850.jpg]](http://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/1266293/pics/original/3610850.jpg)
