Author Here - I think I am addicted to peppermint tea. My tongue has become striped O_o
Ten
The candlelight played on the surface of pipesmoke in the Green Dragon, forming patterns that were at once hilarious and menacing, vivid and laughably obscure. The blacksmith was leaning back slightly in his chair, gazing through the haze towards the ceiling. His limbs were slightly numb and, he felt, may or may not have been still attached to the rest of him. He didn't mind. He was filled with a giddy sort of warmth, and although his eyes wouldn't quite focus, he decided that he was seeing everything in a light that was wonderful and glorious. Everything swam lazily before him - the room, the smoke, the bustling patrons, and he felt a deep and abiding love for all of it.
Well, Will thought. So this is what it feels like to be drunk.
Actually, what Will was truly thinking was more along the lines of: *giddy laugh ... hiccup ... second roar of laughter*, but surely if he had been able to articulate anything properly, he surely would have said something sensible and along those lines.
Dana Flint sat with a comfortable amount of rum inside her as well, though not nearly so much as to cause her to forget the delightful dark-haired company that sat at her side, or to cause her to lift the good-natured but careful eye that she was keeping trained on the heavily intoxicated William. Jones was a more than gracious host and the serving girls were never to be found far away. Several times during the evening, Jones had been clapped on the back by gruff but polite patrons whose burly paws could have easily engulfed the young pub-owner. Jones did not seem fazed by these brief visits, and showed no discomfort when conversing with such monstrous men.
Dana hardly minded the pauses in their conversation, and let her eyes roam over Jones in the interim. His grey short was unbuttoned at the neck, and she fancied she could see the faint twinkle of a metal chain along the bit of collarbone that she could see. She was extremely pleased with how the evening was going, what with an inebriated Will on one side and a blue-eyed darling on the other. Speaking of William, he started to giggle.
"You know what I think?" he slurred slightly. He dropped his chin to look at both Jones and Dana squarely.
"What's that?"
"Well," he went on and cast about for his mug. "Here we are, sitting and drinking ... I think the author's running out of ideas."
Both Jones and Dana laughed and drained their cups as the serving-wench hurried over.
"I'm sure that's not true," Jones replied with a slight smile. His fair cheeks were colored with the blush of sufficient amounts of alcohol. "I'll bet the poor dear's just got too much homework to write properly."
Ten
The candlelight played on the surface of pipesmoke in the Green Dragon, forming patterns that were at once hilarious and menacing, vivid and laughably obscure. The blacksmith was leaning back slightly in his chair, gazing through the haze towards the ceiling. His limbs were slightly numb and, he felt, may or may not have been still attached to the rest of him. He didn't mind. He was filled with a giddy sort of warmth, and although his eyes wouldn't quite focus, he decided that he was seeing everything in a light that was wonderful and glorious. Everything swam lazily before him - the room, the smoke, the bustling patrons, and he felt a deep and abiding love for all of it.
Well, Will thought. So this is what it feels like to be drunk.
Actually, what Will was truly thinking was more along the lines of: *giddy laugh ... hiccup ... second roar of laughter*, but surely if he had been able to articulate anything properly, he surely would have said something sensible and along those lines.
Dana Flint sat with a comfortable amount of rum inside her as well, though not nearly so much as to cause her to forget the delightful dark-haired company that sat at her side, or to cause her to lift the good-natured but careful eye that she was keeping trained on the heavily intoxicated William. Jones was a more than gracious host and the serving girls were never to be found far away. Several times during the evening, Jones had been clapped on the back by gruff but polite patrons whose burly paws could have easily engulfed the young pub-owner. Jones did not seem fazed by these brief visits, and showed no discomfort when conversing with such monstrous men.
Dana hardly minded the pauses in their conversation, and let her eyes roam over Jones in the interim. His grey short was unbuttoned at the neck, and she fancied she could see the faint twinkle of a metal chain along the bit of collarbone that she could see. She was extremely pleased with how the evening was going, what with an inebriated Will on one side and a blue-eyed darling on the other. Speaking of William, he started to giggle.
"You know what I think?" he slurred slightly. He dropped his chin to look at both Jones and Dana squarely.
"What's that?"
"Well," he went on and cast about for his mug. "Here we are, sitting and drinking ... I think the author's running out of ideas."
Both Jones and Dana laughed and drained their cups as the serving-wench hurried over.
"I'm sure that's not true," Jones replied with a slight smile. His fair cheeks were colored with the blush of sufficient amounts of alcohol. "I'll bet the poor dear's just got too much homework to write properly."