Someday I'll Make Something Out of Me

He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, head shaking after in a vain attempt to shirk it off. Through the haze of thoughts and pain the voice calling caused him to scoff. Not painful enough? While unsteady, Ruth stood back up, head again shaking. No. Opposite. Not nearly enough…ran out, ugh. At least he could dull the cravings, but he’d run out of rum too though that wasn’t as much of a problem to source compared to the dust.

Ruth swayed, a hand reached out to a fence post in an effort to steady himself, breathing through the stabbing pain in both his head and chest. Every movement was slowed, even his thoughts fogged as she muttered on, the elf snorting again, unable to halt his tongue when the words finally made sense to him. A wide, manic grin swept across his features and he laughed loudly. Ha! Don’t threaten me with a good time, miss but then she was gone, scuttling away. Her strange shuffling action caused merely a raised eyebrow, but he shook it off with a slight stumble in his walk forwards, weaving a path to the agar door.

He leaned against the frame though, hand pushing it wider to peer inside yet remaining firmly where he was, lightly rocking at the threshold. He whistled a meloncolic tune while waiting and though he’d expressed being shot wasn’t off the cards, Ruth meant it in jest. He did not, in fact, wish an arrow in the ass. Not again. Expecting a trap, his brow furrowed heavy with suspicion as his one eye scanned the interior. If it’s all the same, I’d rather wait out here. The last cart I got in the back of, tried to sell me down the road and I’d rather not blow up your wee house. Know how it feels, bitterly.

Though, if you know of a bent Templar, I’m all ears.