The poem song that inspired this story is linked in my profile.

Our story finds us in a rundown inn outside of London. The year is 1768. The favored mode of transportation among the rich and elite was elegant carriages and coaches. Although these coaches allowed them to travel in style and comfort, they were also excellent markers of their wealth and standing for the highwaymen who awaited for them on the unguarded roads...

"Remind me why we are here again John?" I didn't have to raise my voice over the loud, drunken raucous behind us. John was one of my kind as well. He could have heard even the faintest of my whispers.

"It's all about fitting in, Carlisle. It's all about fitting in," he said as he looked around to make sure no one was watching as he poured the contents of his mug on the floor. No one would notice he had been pouring his ale out on this disgusting floor. He raised his empty mug at a passing barmaid to signal another round. "And besides, I have a reputation to uphold as the being the best man here who can keep his liquor."

I laughed at John as I leaned back in my chair. I'd come back to England just to see him and he hadn't disappointed me.

"Tell me Carlisle, you've been to the colonies. What do you think?" He flashed a large grin at the barmaid as she sat another mug down on our table.

"I think the people are growing weary of having no say in the government. It would be in King George's best interest to allow this instead of trying to cut off their threats of independence with more taxes." I eyed him and seeing no reaction continued. "If there is to be a war, I could see myself on their side. I've been talking to this man named Garrett who has some passionate ideas about Americas freedom and the country she could be."

John nodded his head in agreement."It's not if there will be a rebellion for these Americans, it's when. Make no mistake about that."

A metal mug came flying toward John and he reached up in the air and caught it and threw back in the direction it had come. He didn't throw it hard, but enough force was behind it so that it landed on the table it had come from and left a deep indention there. The men sitting at the table looked up at us, and seeing the mark on the table, lowered their heads again.

"Brilliant way to remain inconspicuous, John." I chided him, lifting my mug at him.

He slammed his own mug into mine, sloshing the thick, brown foamy ale over the sides. "I told ya, I have a reputation to uphold."

We talked for hours into the night. Slowly, the drunken mob of men began to amble out, making their way to wherever they were supposed to be. Most likely back to homes where wives were waiting to unleash hell upon them for yet another night of drunkenness. John had his eyes locked with a big burly man sitting across from us. They had slowly built up a drinking war between them, and John now had twenty-two empty mugs in front of him. The other man had just nineteen. He was swaying on his seat, but he showed no signs of backing down, ordering the barmaid to bring him one more mug. It was clear he was trying to best Johns mug count.

The harried barmaid slammed a new mug down for him, and he grabbed it with his huge fist and held it to his mouth and began to chug. A slight smile crept from John. I watched as the large mans swaying got more pronounced and giving John one final hard glance, his head fell forward and slammed into the table, shaking the mugs off into the floor.

"We can go now. My reputation remains in tact for another day." John got up out of his chair and strode toward the door. He flipped a coin to the barmaid and tipped his head to her. Her cheeks flushed red. I pulled my eyes off the passed out man who was now snoring loudly and followed John outside.

He placed his hat on his head as he turned to me. "So. Ready to meet her?"

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