Nothing is missing

Deme swirled the last remnants of his second cocktail, feeling the buzz of the crowd and the tantalizing shift in the bar's energy as the night wore on. He’d come here craving excitement, and it seemed fate had obliged him.

When the man addressed him, Deme’s gaze snapped to the man, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. The accent, the easy confidence, the drink poured with casual finesse—it all delighted him, and he could barely contain his smile.

Deme leaned in, propping his elbows on the bar with a conspiratorial grin.

Ah, *messere,* I do believe it is my first visit, yes. He let his gaze sweep the room, as though savoring a particularly fine wine. And I must say, you’ve made quite an impression. You seem to know your clientele well*.* At Quinn’s mention of the fight, Deme’s eyes sparked with delight, and he leaned in closer, seeming to relish every word.

A wager, you say? *A dread beast of Arlathan,* and it’s just a spider? Deme’s laugh was low, almost giddy. Theatrics! How wonderful. And here I was thinking tonight would be dull. He waved his hand as if swatting away the mere notion of boredom.

Then he lowered his voice, meeting Quinn’s gaze. Tell me, what are the odds in your estimation? Or better yet… Deme tapped his finger on the bar, his grin growing sly, What would you put your money on? After all, you have the advantage of experience, dear friend. Guide me.

Deme took another sip, clearly savoring the thrill of the encounter, the air between them charged with an energy he couldn’t resist—one that hinted at his manic edge just beneath the surface.

@Quintilian Frey