Closing Time (Bar Fight Thread – Open to All!)

[FennWenn]

BooooooOOOoooooze.

Fenn loved a busy tavern like the Minister’s Alehouse, buzzing with patrons and heated arguments. People were so distracted in crowds like these. Who bumped me? Why did someone throw up and not clean up after themselves? How can anyone argue politics that badly? Why is everyone yelling? The young puck thrived in the chaos barely contained. It was glorious, for distractedly crowded people yielded the easiest steals, and more frustrated confusion than loud outrage when things disappeared after the brief presence of a passing gust of cold air, after the dead-silent wandering of a tiny brown-cloaked figure with his hood up.

Things like, say, thirteen mugs of ale, five pints of beer, a couple fancy wines, and some glasses of very strong spirits that he didn’t recognize in the least (but didn’t taste too bad when mixed with the wine, actually).

These drinks and a couple of empty plates surrounded Fenn in the space underneath a covered table. He didn’t mind the dusty, crummy nature of the floor; the sticky spills and stains from today that had yet to be mopped up. It was comfortably dark under here, and the stiff black tablecloth muted a lot of the tavern’s racket, which his sharp ears were starting to take issue with. In a sense, however, perhaps the raging storm of noise was a good thing. It completely drowned out the hiccoughs the little fae was desperately failing to smother. Didn’t matter how long he held his breath or held his hands in front of his mouth (as if that’d stop them from leaping out). They just kept coming!

He couldn’t steal more shit like this!

His ears pulled back in irritation, the little fae peered underneath the inch of gold light filtering in from under his table, trying to ignore the jolting of his chest and the bitter smell of the wood polish his antennae picked up on.

Lets see… he’d taken shit from that table, raided the bar a few too many times for it to be safe to visit again, stolen some of those ale kegs out from under the nose of those rowdy dwarves… where hadn’t he taken from? He squinted through his blurry vision. Maybe that table with — hic — all the emptiness except for the one pair of feet. They were very small feet, very dirty bare feet, not quite touching the ground…

Wait. The fae blinked. Another kid? In here?

Green feet stomped past his table. Oh! So loud. The force of the footsteps clattered the empty dishes gathered inside Fenn’s table-cave, knocking over the tipsy wine glasses. A flash of cold anger filled the drunken fae. Like what he needed right now was another distraction when he was trying to think amid all this noise and buzz, damnit. In a swift motion of pure spite, the tiny frost sprite stuck his leg out from underneath the tablecloth.

Orc face, meet floor! That’ll teach you to be less of a stompy fucker!