Don't be a spoil sport

The door of the West Hills tavern swung open with a theatrical flair, and in stepped a man who seemed as out of place as a Mabari in an Orlesian ballroom. Horus sauntered inside, his steps a little too deliberate to be casual, a little too meandering to be hurried. His hat, tilted at an absurdly rakish angle, bobbed slightly as he turned his head to take in the room. The leather of his coat gleamed faintly in the dim light, its many mismatched patches a testament to years of dubious adventures.

He paused just inside the doorway, surveying the patrons with an exaggerated air of curiosity, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief—or perhaps just the hint of a good story waiting to be told.

Well, well, what have we here? Horus muttered to himself, though loud enough for a few patrons to glance his way before quickly looking back at their drinks. He grinned, the kind of grin that promised trouble, then ambled toward the bar.

The barkeep glanced up, clearly unimpressed by the flamboyant figure approaching. Horus leaned one elbow on the counter, tipping his hat back slightly as he regarded the man with an expression of exaggerated politeness.

Good sir, he began, his voice a lilting drawl that somehow managed to sound both charming and vaguely mocking at the same time, I find myself in dire need of a beverage—something strong, something with character, something that might remind me of the sea and conveniently erase the memory of this dust-choked little town from my mind. In short... rum. Have you got any?

The barkeep raised an eyebrow, his response a skeptical grunt. Horus didn’t seem to notice—or more likely, didn’t care. He drummed his fingers on the counter, his other hand toying with one of the beads braided into his dark hair.

I’ll take that as a yes. Lovely. He slid a coin across the counter, the movement deft and practiced. And while you’re fetching that, perhaps you could also tell me why this fair village of yours has misplaced a rather good friend of mine? Said they’d be here, and yet... He spread his hands dramatically. No friend. It’s most inconvenient, really.

Horus tilted his head, watching the barkeep closely as he waited for both his rum and, perhaps, a bit of gossip. After all, errands were best run with a drink in hand and a story on the wind.

@Aelynthi Loraronna