Them Basement-Dwelling Blues

[Smol Rumblehide]

To Smol Rumblehide, the plan was foolproof.

To her traveling companion, Grumble, it was only the beginning of another migraine.

"Run this by me again," the orc muttered as he slid a couple fingers up the bridge of his wide nose in attempt to ward off the coming pain.

The kobold peered at him over a growing wall of empty, dew-coated glass mugs. "I'm not sure what's so difficult about this, Grummie." Smol took a moment to collect her addled thoughts and stuff another hunk of juicy turkey into her mouth. "We need money, right?"

Grumble grumbled. "Yes."

"And, as mercenaries, we earn gold whenever we can, when the opportunity presents itself, right?"

He could not argue that. "Yes."

Smol threw her arms wide, knocking one of her many mugs onto the tavern floor with an errant swing of a turkey leg. "Sometimes, you just have to create the opportunity yourself!"

Grumble watched as the little one continued to gorge herself on roasted meat and slightly watered-down tavern ale. For the fifth time that day, he wondered what he did in a past life to deserve this. It wasn't that he hated Smol--in fact, his feelings fluttered somewhere around mild tolerance--it was that he constantly stood by while she made terrible decision after terrible decision, and always stuck around to help her clean up the mess. Sure, she was incredibly handy in a fight and usually had her wits about her, but when she mixed desperation and alcohol...?

The huge orc rose from his chair. "I think I'm going to turn in for the night."

Smol followed him, her red eyes glazed over. She leaped onto her chair, slamming her claws on the table and knocking over a few more empties. "What? You can't go," she howled over the din of the patrons. "I need your help! This bill isn't going to rack itself up!"

"I'll be behind the stables," he said as he collected his pack.

"You're just going to leave all this food here," Smol slurred.

Grumble eyeballed the half-eaten sandwich left on his plate. The meat had long since gone cold, the lettuce had lost its crispness, and the bread hard and stale. "It's yours," he grumbled before turning towards the door.

Smol shook her head, trying to clear the haze in her eyes and that awful buzzing in her ears. She opened her mouth to protest her companion's departure, but by Drokar's balls did he say 'free food'?