Don't be a spoil sport

The barkeep paused mid-polish, his expression souring as though someone had asked him to eat week-old stew. He cast a sidelong glance at Ael, then at Horus, clearly unimpressed with the latter’s theatrics. With a grunt, he set down the mug he’d been cleaning and rested his knuckles on the counter.

Jarek, you said? the barkeep finally muttered, his tone gruff. Don’t recall anyone by that name. If he’s skulking about, he’s doing a damned good job of it. But then, folk like that usually don’t come through the front door, if you catch my meaning.

Horus, undeterred, clapped his hands together, causing several patrons to jump. Ah, an excellent point, my good man! Front doors—so overrated. Windows, rooftops, maybe even a particularly sturdy tree! All valid options for the more creatively inclined.

He turned back to Ael with a wink. Your barkeep seems the suspicious type, doesn’t he? Charming, though. I’ll take his advice under consideration.

The barkeep shot him a glare, but Horus carried on unfazed. He leaned on the counter again, closer to Ael this time, his voice dropping into a mock-conspiratorial whisper.

And what about you, milady of mystery? You seem to have an eye for the comings and goings of this fine establishment. Perhaps you’ve spotted a skulker or two in your time? Or are you suggesting my friend has entirely forgotten how to be *interesting* enough to be noticed?

He placed a hand over his heart, his expression one of exaggerated dismay. Perish the thought!

His gaze lingered on her, teasing and probing in equal measure, as though he expected her to either crack a smile or throw her drink at him. He didn’t imagine she was holding back on him, but he felt like one extra push was in order, just to be sure. If his friend wasn’t there yet, he’d just have to keep himself entertained until he arrived.

@Aelynthi Loraronna