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Post by Reckony Pike on Apr 15, 2011 22:09:55 GMT -5
Merciless. Unyielding. Demonic.
It was now officially the most aggravating slab of wax the barkeep ever had the misfortune of chipping off his counter, and he wasn't happy. Reckony levelled a heavy brow at the candle-spit and tossed his rag down more forcibly than intended.
First, there was the gaggle of witches, that insisted on three rounds of coven karaoke to the detriment of his other patrons' hearing. Then there was the incident with the gillywater, again with said witches, and their insanely convenient knack for losing a horny toad in the distillery. But the one act that sealed their fate - their one doom - was the wax. No one threw candles at a Three Brooms' server, and no one dared get wax on Reckony Pike's perfectly polished countertop. No one.
Reckony caught the tossed candlestick before it hit little Nelly, the smallest of the servers, in the temple. But the wax that spattered forth from the sudden stop landed down the barkeep's arm and all over his immaculate workspace. He grunted, as quiet, introverted men with tremendous ire sometimes do, and leapt without effort over the bar, walking with great purpose towards the caustic coven and demanding they leave the establishment. The inebriated coven cackled at his orders and that gave him cause to pick up the thinly-framed mavens by their middles and escort them out the door, all to great applause.
Reckony cut his losses by closing out their tab, but not before checking on Nelly (kissing her on the head), sending out a round to his patient patrons (on the house), and adding the coven queens to his carefully crafted "DAMNED TO SERVE" list. With a heavy sigh, Reckony set out on chipping the wax. It really was the beastliest wax ever.
"I mean, what the hell?"
He'd need something the Muggles called "dynamite," to get the blasted crud off.
Then it started to rain.
Reckony let his forehead rest on the counter. Brilliant
"Last Call, mates. Get yer orders in before M'er Nature washes all a' us away."
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Post by Curse Kameren on Apr 16, 2011 1:14:13 GMT -5
Curse Kameren was going to have a good night if it killed him.
It had been a long time since the Potions Master had had time to himself. Since the discovery of Cain, Curse's priorities were spread thin; not only was he teaching at Hogwarts, but doing research for the Ministry, trying to figure out the origin of the Beasts, and now trying to find who--or what--kidnapped Cain. And obviously, on top of all of that, he was still taking care of Max. Tonight was his night to unwind, or at least try to.
He came to the Three Broomsticks because it was the closest; though he was looking for an escape, he still needed to be close enough to Max in case the boy needed him. Naturally, he was less than thrilled to walk into the Hogsmeade bar to find it was karaoke night. Curse sighed, taking a seat at the corner of the bar. "Should've gone to the Hog's Head," He muttered to himself.
The Professor ordered a drink and lit a cigarette; one of the joys of living in the Wizarding World was the lack of smoking laws, since no one in their world regularly smoked. If there was one merit to the rambunctious coven of witches, it was that they made the Broomsticks' people-watching fascinating. Not only were the exploits of the witches amusing, but the annoyed reactions and the staffs' battle to keep control made it almost like a loud, drunken game. A test of wills, possibly; the potions-master smirked crookedly as the barkeep finally escorted the women out the door by force. He joined along in the clapping, chuckling lightly as he flicked the ashes from his cigarette on an empty plate next to him.
"Last Call, mates. Get yer orders in before M'er Nature washes all a' us away."
Curse downed his drink, standing up and approaching the barman with his head on the counter. "You know what works," the professor placed his hand on the counter with his fingers spread, his fingertips turning a bright red. The wax on the table melted into liquid, easily able to be wiped away. "My ten-year-old spills wax all the bloody time, I should be a master of it by now." Curse wrinkled his nose at himself, taking another puff of his smoke. He had become one of those parents; even when he was away from his child, he was constantly talking about him. His emerald eyes met the barkeep's and he smiled crookedly. He held up his glass. "One more round?"
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Post by Reckony Pike on Apr 16, 2011 19:27:45 GMT -5
Reckony looked up from Curse's handiwork, silenced by a mixure of gratitude and awe. Immediately, he snatched the outstretched glass, grabbed a clean one, and slid it back across the bar with a new bottle of whatever the Potions prince was drinking.
"Bottle's on the house.
Reckony nodded a grateful 'Thanks' before starting to wipe away at the wax.
"So, dad," he continued, "when yer not saving yer house from destruction, what do y' do that requires such a skill as wandless magic?" Reckony's brow arched and he smiled, intrigued. "Or did ye' lose yer wand in the heat of it and learn to adapt?"
Although Curse's display may have seemed basic to some, it was entirely impressive to the half-muggle barkeep, whose mind had jumped from wax to "chisel" before thinking of using a wand. Even to full-tilt wizards, however, wandless magic was a skill - a gift - learned only by the very best.
It was at this moment that Reckony considered another talent the patron possessed: height. He found it somewhat disconcerting that even seated, Curse was still taller than he. It was hard to miss the man when he entered the establishment and Reckony was impressed by the wiry giant's build. Curse was no twig, mind you. The barkeep bet he was a bloody tree trunk when the chips were down.
Somewhere, the Potions master's image and demeanour tweaked a memory: of a character in a recounted tale. Reckony wondered if he was one and the same. Weren't too many out there that screamed acutely controlled chaos theory.
"Are you a professor?"
Reckony smiled at his once-again perfect counter and filled the last few orders before grabbing a firewhiskey of his own and taking a seat beside Curse. He spent a great deal of time looking in to the amber liquid. He didn't like infringing on a customer's space, but it was hard to ignore that it was the quietest end of the bar.
"Ya have to appreciate those nights when y' can get away. Even fer just a few minutes."
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Post by Curse Kameren on Apr 16, 2011 20:16:11 GMT -5
"Bottle's on the house."
Curse cocked a brow in surprise, smiling crookedly at the bartender. "Thatnks mate," he said as he took a drink from the glass. He wasn't quite sure what it was; he had told the waitress 'stronger than butterbeer, but weaker than firewhiskey'. He couldn't take firewhiskey anymore, it didn't go well with his medicine. This was good, though.
"So, dad," he continued, "when yer not saving yer house from destruction, what do y' do that requires such a skill as wandless magic?" Reckony's brow arched and he smiled, intrigued. "Or did ye' lose yer wand in the heat of it and learn to adapt?"
Curse arched a brow at the man, wondering if he was serious. Someone in the Wizarding World actually didn't know everything about his business? What a relief! He smirked, leaning over the bar and flicking his burnt-out cigarette butt into the garbage can. "Nah, I didn't realize I knew how to clean a house until a few months ago." He chuckled, taking another sip of his drink and leaning on the bar. "I was an auror for a few years. Lost my wand on the front lines there, rather than on the front lines of my living room. Not sure which is scarier, honestly." He looked the man up and down, surprised he didn't recognize him. "When did you start working here? I've been here often since we moved, and I'm surprised we've never met."
"Are you a professor?"
Curse nodded. "Potions." He took another sip of his drink, reaching a bony hand into the chest packet of his jacket to retrieve his cigarettes. He took one for himself and extended it towards the other man, who now sat by him. Curse didn't mind; it was nice to have a conversation with another adult every now and then. "Smoke?"
"Ya have to appreciate those nights when y' can get away. Even fer just a few minutes."
"Oh, God yes," He laughed, looking up at the ceiling as he lit his cigarette with his thumb. "I don't know where all my bloody time goes anymore. Thought I was going to be bored when I moved out of the Ministry..." He chuckled. He smiled at the man. "Name's Curse Kameren, by the way. Pleasure. You got a name, mate?"
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Post by Reckony Pike on Apr 16, 2011 20:40:24 GMT -5
"When did you start working here? I've been here often since we moved, and I'm surprised we've never met."
Reckony tore his gaze away from the glass and gave Curse an apologetic look.
"Me as well. But to be fair, I was ou' of country for a spell and just came back t' town. Normally, I know most people who come through those doors. Control the masses and the like. Fate just hasn't been in our favor, I guess. So Potions, hey? That's a good subject."
"Smoke?"
"No thanks." Reckony wanted to ask Curse about being an auror but decided against it, not wanting to ask too much at once. Most people who chose to confide in Reckony did so in spurts over time; he instinctively knew when to ask questions and when to shut up. It was a process. But he was familiar with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His infractions meant dealing with the hitwizards more than anything but it truly was odd they never crossed paths before.
"I don't know where all my bloody time goes anymore. Thought I was going to be bored when I moved out of the Ministry...Name's Curse Kameren, by the way. Pleasure. You got a name, mate?"
The barkeep extended his hand out to the Potions Master for what was guaranteed to be a firm shake.
"Reckony. Reckony Pike. Pleasure's mine. Thanks fer the hand...no pun intended." He smiled wryly before taking a swig of his drink, his expression changing to one of amusement. "So, Mr. Kameren. I hafta ask. When, where, how and why - Merlin why - did you gain a taste for that bottle of business?" Reckony pointed to the drink in Curse's hand. "Y'ar neither dead, in prison, nor a little elderly witch looking for the spice o' life. Tha' stuff - tha' will kill you. Yer one hell of an enigma, friend. If ye' think it's mellow now, wait 'til mornin'."
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Post by Curse Kameren on Apr 16, 2011 21:10:37 GMT -5
Curse shook Reckony's hand as firmly as he could, noticing that his fingers were starting to shake in his firm grip. His poison antidote never held up well at night. He ran a hand through his brown-and-white hair as he took another swig of his drink.
"So, Mr. Kameren. I hafta ask. When, where, how and why - Merlin why - did you gain a taste for that bottle of business?" Reckony pointed to the drink in Curse's hand. "Y'ar neither dead, in prison, nor a little elderly witch looking for the spice o' life. Tha' stuff - tha' will kill you. Yer one hell of an enigma, friend. If ye' think it's mellow now, wait 'til mornin'."
Curse laughed at Pike's description of his drink, smoke streaming out of his thin lips as he did. "Well, actually, I'm sort of all three. Minus the 'witch' part," He smiled crookedly, proudly taking another swig of his drink. "You forgot terminally ill. That's my category, though I'm sure there aren't many of us going out to bars anyway. Firewhiskey messes with my medicine. Anything stronger than this shite, really." He shrugged an took another drink. "I like 'enigma' though. Much catchier." he chuckled.
"You said you were in another country?" Curse arched a brow at Pike, wondering about the life of the other man. "Vacationing? Visiting family? Can't quite peg down your accent."
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Post by Reckony Pike on Apr 17, 2011 10:44:20 GMT -5
"Well, actually, I'm sort of all three. Minus the 'witch' part. You forgot terminally ill. That's my category, though I'm sure there aren't many of us going out to bars anyway. Firewhiskey messes with my medicine. Anything stronger than this shite, really. I like 'enigma' though. Much catchier."
Reckony spent a great deal of time studying Curse's face as he spoke. He found it quite amazing that the man could be so casual - that wasn't the right word - so accepting of his fate that he spoke of it as though it was merely a fact he'd gotten used to. Terminally ill. Shite was only he beginning of it. The barkeep realized he had said nothing for several seconds, and that was rude of him.
"I'm, I'm sorry. That's - shite." Reckony sighed heavily and clapped a supportive hand on Curse's shoulder without thinking. It was a natural reaction, which he tried to recover from by removing himself from Curse's personal space. "Look, I don' know the circumstances and I know you've probably tried evruthin'...I shouldna be telling a former auror this but if you ever decide to explore alternatives - pills tha perhaps don' exist so readily (or legally) out here, lemme know. I have a person."
Reckony usually had advice or words of encouragement to share, but in this case he felt it best to just let the silence fall as it did. Sometimes saying nothing was better than anything. Well, almost.
"Yar drink's still arse."
"You said you were in another country?" Curse arched a brow at Pike, wondering about the life of the other man. "Vacationing? Visiting family? Can't quite peg down your accent."
"Ah, the accent of a mutt. It's a wee of Irish, a slap of Canadian and a pinch of slang I picked up from unholy people in ungodly places." A glint returned to Reckony's eyes as he reached over the counter to grab a small, crudely crafted box. He opened the top and slid it over to Curse. "Help yerself, man. I think it's become a cigar night." Reckony added another inch to his whiskey. "I'm building a cabin in Ireland, just west o' Dunquin. I get up there when I can; it's a slow journey when you hafta use yer hammer. We're a bit opposite, Wandless Wonder. My wand use comes with a handicap."
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Post by Curse Kameren on Apr 17, 2011 14:35:27 GMT -5
"I'm, I'm sorry. That's - shite." Curse smiled reassuringly as the barkeep clapped him on the shoulder. Somehow, he always found himself trying to calm others about his condition. "Look, I don' know the circumstances and I know you've probably tried evruthin'...I shouldna be telling a former auror this but if you ever decide to explore alternatives - pills tha perhaps don' exist so readily (or legally) out here, lemme know. I have a person."
"I'm sure you couldn't provide anything I haven't already tried, but thanks," Curse shrugged as he snuffed out his cigarette on the empty plate still on the bar. As Curse saw it, he was already living on borrowed time. He should have died in Italy. He should have died when he first took the poison. He should have died in prison. He should have died of his mental illness. He simply wasn't the type to live to be old and grey; he was far past his nine lives by now, anyway. He shrugged and took another drink.
"Yar drink's still arse."
Curse laughed. "Yeah, it is. You said you were in another country?" Curse arched a brow at Pike, wondering about the life of the other man. "Vacationing? Visiting family? Can't quite peg down your accent."
"Ah, the accent of a mutt. It's a wee of Irish, a slap of Canadian and a pinch of slang I picked up from unholy people in ungodly places."
"Ah, I'm accustomed to that. Italian-American, myself," He took the bottom swig of his glass, setting it down on the counter. "Don't bother getting another. Don't think I could stand another drop." He smiled crookedly, his emerald eyes following Reckony as he reached over the bar.
Pike took out a cigar box, offering it up to the professor. "Help yerself, man. I think it's become a cigar night." Reckony added another inch to his whiskey. "I'm building a cabin in Ireland, just west o' Dunquin. I get up there when I can; it's a slow journey when you hafta use yer hammer. We're a bit opposite, Wandless Wonder. My wand use comes with a handicap."
"Ireland's lovely. My son's mum is from there. I'd move there permanently if I wasn't with Hogwarts," He spoke around the cigar as he lit it, holding his flaming thumb under Pike's cigar to light it as well. "Wand Handicap? I didn't have anything to do with that, by chance," He chuckled, referring to his title as an auror in humor, "are you a criminal, Mr. Pike?"
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Post by Reckony Pike on Apr 17, 2011 16:17:54 GMT -5
"Ireland's lovely. My son's mum is from there. I'd move there permanently if I wasn't with Hogwarts," He spoke around the cigar as he lit it, holding his flaming thumb under Pike's cigar to light it as well. "Wand Handicap? I didn't have anything to do with that, by chance," He chuckled, referring to his title as an auror in humor, "are you a criminal, Mr. Pike?"
Reckony took a long drag off his cigar and sent the smoke in concentric swirls up to heaven. The air around the men became thick with the scent of cedar and cinnamon; everything else around them seemed to slip away.
"Was. Yeah, a little." Non-chalant. "Thanks," referring to the light. "Naw, the issue with the wand's not so much 'bout my extra-curriculars as it is my lack of magic. Half-blooded going on Muggle. Only recently did I become proud of tha' fact. These are from Canada. Who knew? You should try smokin' a fish."
Reckony swiveled on his seat to face his new friend, finding the man's company to be quite welcome.
"So yer son's mum...ya see her much? What's the lad's name? Sorry, if I'm askin' too many questions. Just wondrin' if I've seen him round. Get a lot of kids here in the day."
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Post by Curse Kameren on Apr 17, 2011 17:46:03 GMT -5
"Was. Yeah, a little." Non-chalant.
"Aren't we all," He replied with a chuckled as he examined the cigar between puffs.
"Naw, the issue with the wand's not so much 'bout my extra-curriculars as it is my lack of magic. Half-blooded going on Muggle. Only recently did I become proud of tha' fact. These are from Canada. Who knew? You should try smokin' a fish."
"Hmm," Curse nodded as he blew the cedar smoke out of his mouth. The smell of this was going to wake Max up like an alarm clock when he got home, he knew.
"So yer son's mum...ya see her much? What's the lad's name? Sorry, if I'm askin' too many questions. Just wondrin' if I've seen him round. Get a lot of kids here in the day."
"No, I haven't seen his mum since we moved. She usually gets him on holidays, but that's about it. She just got married," He paused as he took a breath from his cigar, "we were young when he was born, and she didn't get around to telling me about him until just over a year ago. Think she's glad to have me looking after him now; it gives her a fresh start." He shrugged; Curse didn't really understand Amelia's current distance from Max, but he figured her new husband had something to do with it. For Max's sake, Curse hoped she got over it soon. "His name's Max. He's a bit young to attend Hogwarts yet, but he lives in the castle with me. You might have seen him." He shrugged, blowing smoke upwards towards the ceiling.
The professor looked down at his muggle watch, his brow furrowing at the time. "Isn't this place supposed to be closed?" He chuckled as his emerald green eyes looked up and met the barkeep's. "Don't let me keep you if you want to close up."
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Post by Reckony Pike on Apr 17, 2011 22:18:28 GMT -5
"We're on, what I like to call, flexible hours. Murph's pretty good abou' it; let's us go with the flow of the night. If we have a coven of particularly inebriated witches, fer example, I'm usually closed by 10. If a mate stops by, maybe 1. Depends on the Moon. She's a fickle Colleen, tha' one."
Reckony thought on Curse's son and couldn't help but wonder if the Potions Master had shared his illness with him. Terminal illness. It was big news for wee shoulders. Too big. If Max was anything like his dad, he was likely 10 going on 30. First one parent gone -
"Poor kid. It's hard when parents go away like tha', you know, when they're tryin' to find their legs themselves. I get new relationships but fer Merlin's sake, not a' the loss of yer son. You're a good dad, Mr. Kameren. It couldna' been easy to take tha' responsibility on with everythun else you had to deal with. I bet he worships you. Fathers and sons - tha's a special bond. Hard to break." Suddenly occupied in thought, the barkeep slowly pushed his empty glass towards the back of the counter, watching his hand as though he were signing a deal with the Devil. "Do you have any other family 'round?"
"Look, if Max does go an' spend Easter with his mum - or even if he doesn't - our pub holds a dinner on the Sunday. S'meant to bring together the locals who 'ave no one else to spend it with. Yer both welcome to join us. No pressure. Just know the offer's there."
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Post by Curse Kameren on Apr 17, 2011 23:02:50 GMT -5
"We're on, what I like to call, flexible hours. Murph's pretty good abou' it; let's us go with the flow of the night. If we have a coven of particularly inebriated witches, fer example, I'm usually closed by 10. If a mate stops by, maybe 1. Depends on the Moon. She's a fickle Colleen, tha' one."
"I see," Curse smiled, putting out his cigar when he noticed his fingers shaking again. If it got worse, he didn't want to drop it and burn something. He glanced out at the few stragglers still scattered around the bar, still chatting and enjoying themselves. "Seems I'm not the only one clinging to a couple more hours of leisure." He took a muggle cell phone out of his pocket; it was an enchanted phone, bewitched by Curse to still work even in the wizarding world. No missed calls. "I'm surprised Max hasn't called me yet, really. I swear, the kid's got me tracked." He chuckled, replacing the phone in his pocket.
"Poor kid. It's hard when parents go away like tha', you know, when they're tryin' to find their legs themselves. I get new relationships but fer Merlin's sake, not a' the loss of yer son. You're a good dad, Mr. Kameren. It couldna' been easy to take tha' responsibility on with everythun else you had to deal with. I bet he worships you. Fathers and sons - tha's a special bond. Hard to break."
Curse grinned; that was the best complement someone could give him. He had never worked harder on something than regaining lost time with his son, especially since he knew there wasn't enough time for them. "Thanks. Never really had a dad myself. I do my best with him." He shrugged, his eyes narrowing on his fingers as he clenched his hands into fists and re-opened them. They wouldn't stop shaking.
"Do you have any other family 'round?"
He nodded, reaching into his jacket as he checked his pockets for something. "My brother's an auror in London, and I've got muggle foster parents in the city. My mum passed when I was a kid, but to be honest, I think I was better off with the foster parents." He shrugged, frowning slightly when he didn't find what he was looking for. He stood up, checking the pockets of his jeans. "Ah, there it is," the professor pulled a cylindrical vial out of his pants pocket; a green liquid sloshed around behind the glass, radiating a soft white light as it moved. "Medicine," he explained, throwing the potion back before stuffing the pile back in his pocket.
"Look, if Max does go an' spend Easter with his mum - or even if he doesn't - our pub holds a dinner on the Sunday. S'meant to bring together the locals who 'ave no one else to spend it with. Yer both welcome to join us. No pressure. Just know the offer's there."
Curse smiled, nodding at the barkeep's invitation. "Thanks. I think Max is going to his mum's, but I'll see if I can make it. Who knows, maybe I'll bring some students along." He shrugged. Could he bring students to an Easter dinner? Probably not, but did he really care if he couldn't? Probably not.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Apr 17, 2011 23:37:52 GMT -5
"Sounds like a plan." Reckony got up off his stool, once again stymied by his company's height. He looked at Curse's hands then smiled up to him, sympathetic.
"You know, lad, I don' want to throw you out of my boss' establishment but I'm going to do so anyway. I'm sorry for keeping you up so late." There was nothing but compassion behind the barkeep's dismissal. He caught on to the shaking a bit earlier, but even he could see that Curse was putting up a strong front. It was hard for private folk to spend their time hiding secrets.
"Give my apologies to Max, too."
Reckony decided against a handshake and instead stuffed his hands in to his pockets, standing beside the man - his friend - entirely ready to escort him out.
"Wai', Plug yer ears. THANKS, MATES! THE MOON IS NIGH. GO TO BED AN' COUNT YER BLESSINGS."
He turned back towards the door when an unexpected addition entered the establishment...
"A' Shite."
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Post by Conan Breandan on Apr 17, 2011 23:53:05 GMT -5
Conan was drunk. Of course, the performer spent a goodly part of his time drinking something or the other, but since his friend had helped him climb out of the pit those years ago he had rarely spent his time truly drunk. The signs were difficult for those not intimately familiar with the gypsy to notice, for Conan simply became happier, more pleasant around people. His highly trained fingers only betrayed the slightest trace of trembling, and his muggle wizardry was as swift and magical as ever.
He entered the establishment on a gust of wind-driven rain, his magical cloak hanging heavy and soaked off his shoulders, his hair a dark, wet helmet. Occasional glances at what inside of his cloak was revealed by his movements revealed a sparkling starscape, that wheeled and moved with time.
“THANKS, MATES! THE MOON IS NIGH. GO TO BED AN' COUNT YER BLESSINGS."
“The rain is pouring like buckets.” He observed with a slightly sour face. “But the demons are still out an’ ‘bout.” His voice lilted, both from the Irish and the life’s long worth of experience drawing crowds to his performances.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Apr 18, 2011 0:29:27 GMT -5
“The rain is pouring like buckets. But the demons are still out an’ ‘bout.”
Reckony went from listener to bouncer in less than half a second, moving towards the cloaked, intoxicated Irishman with some haste. His 'whispered' response was loud enough for others to hear; he didn't want anyone getting the idea that live entertainment was about to open up another round.
"The demons are goin' nappy, as are you, Sparkle Cloak. Out!" Reckony took the visitor by the shoulders, spun him 180-degrees and used momentum to steer his course back out the door. He knew that nothing good would come from the man's entry. Nothing good. Just a headache.
"Give my best to Baal. Drink an egg." Reckony gave a gentle push to Conan, followed by a very specific glance over his shoulder: that was code for the servers to cut the lanterns.
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