WISE MEN WONDER WHILE STRONG MEN DIE
"Yeah you BETTER run," Neron shouts after the small and fuzzy drunk, his nightvision piercing through the darkness to track the (apparently very disorientated rat) down a gutter and away. There's nothing standing between them and the Kraai now, at least, and he leads them forward like a gentleman through the swinging doors and into the bar. Who is manning said bar is beyond him, given that he's been locked in his room upstairs, but whatever.
"Did you?" He grins. "It's my bar now. But you're welcome in it, obviously. I want to get more Ascended to work here," he tells her, swanning across to the bar to pat one of the stools so he can saunter behind it. Are either of them in any sort of state to be drinking? No, but who cares? They won't get drunk anyway. He smiles sunnily to Wessex. "Morgan is my friend. She's a good friend. A real one. What makes a real one anyways?"
"Did you?" He grins. "It's my bar now. But you're welcome in it, obviously. I want to get more Ascended to work here," he tells her, swanning across to the bar to pat one of the stools so he can saunter behind it. Are either of them in any sort of state to be drinking? No, but who cares? They won't get drunk anyway. He smiles sunnily to Wessex. "Morgan is my friend. She's a good friend. A real one. What makes a real one anyways?"
