Three! Did you hear that? You're a witness to this verbal transaction, this faithful declaration of payment. You saw it here first, ladies and gentlemen.
Alastair signs this contract in pure magic as he stands from his seating arrangement, towering over this disgruntled man with two inches to spare. While intimidating in height, Alastair is soft with a warm demeanour:
"Mellonamin," he coos kindly, invoking his intoxicating magic. For added effect, the bard slips an arm around this man's neck, rough but friendly. "Perhaps you should just forget all about this petty squabble and this ridiculous refund, eh? Don't blame this poor Irishman for his ingrained dimwittedenss! Live and let live, yeah?"
As he's speaking, Alastair guides the customer away from the desk and to the door, who seems ever more step-by-step eerily understanding of Alastair's suggestions; it's as if the man's hazel eyes have completely become devoid of life.
"Yes...yes, it is a bit silly, isn't it," the man drones monotonously, dead-eyed, nodding.
"It's only £5, nothing to cry over, am I right?" Alastair assures as they reach the door, patting the man's angular-cut suit jacket.
"You are right," the man agrees almost earnestly -- almost.
"Yes, right," Alastair confirms as he opens the door, motioning for the patron to leave. "Go on home sir, forget about this whole misunderstanding."
"Yes, thank...you..."
Once the man bumbles out the door dreamily, Alastair shuts the door firmly...just before turning to Bernard expectantly. "Three, I believe you said." And funny how there's three bottles of wine on the desk itself! What fortune has Vergadain promised him today!
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Alastair signs this contract in pure magic as he stands from his seating arrangement, towering over this disgruntled man with two inches to spare. While intimidating in height, Alastair is soft with a warm demeanour:
"Mellonamin," he coos kindly, invoking his intoxicating magic. For added effect, the bard slips an arm around this man's neck, rough but friendly. "Perhaps you should just forget all about this petty squabble and this ridiculous refund, eh? Don't blame this poor Irishman for his ingrained dimwittedenss! Live and let live, yeah?"
As he's speaking, Alastair guides the customer away from the desk and to the door, who seems ever more step-by-step eerily understanding of Alastair's suggestions; it's as if the man's hazel eyes have completely become devoid of life.
"Yes...yes, it is a bit silly, isn't it," the man drones monotonously, dead-eyed, nodding.
"It's only £5, nothing to cry over, am I right?" Alastair assures as they reach the door, patting the man's angular-cut suit jacket.
"You are right," the man agrees almost earnestly -- almost.
"Yes, right," Alastair confirms as he opens the door, motioning for the patron to leave. "Go on home sir, forget about this whole misunderstanding."
"Yes, thank...you..."
Once the man bumbles out the door dreamily, Alastair shuts the door firmly...just before turning to Bernard expectantly. "Three, I believe you said." And funny how there's three bottles of wine on the desk itself! What fortune has Vergadain promised him today!