(no subject)

[laughbitterly]

No. Death is preferable to that.

Comments

[wildnobility]

Alastair has been a simple spectator since this haughty man walked in -- surely a human possessing nerves of steel to nevermind the foul stench and unwelcoming gaping smile of The Thing's presence at the door. Or just nerves at all, as far as Alastair is concerned.

But otherwise the bard has been sipping at his blush wine and arranging the discarded pens into various designs and shapes, before the flames of true adrenaline and conflict lap at him as they impose his side of the desk. He doesn't even respond at Bernard's weighty call of his name, except to allow a brow to rise. Very. Slowly.

The customer himself looks over at the bard, expectant for an explanation. Oh great. Alastair in turn shifts his attention to Bernard, ready to spew many various resistant exclamations, how it's not his job, do it youself you lazy slug, et cetera, et cetera. But! But...

This man's all skin with soft insides, an insect easily squished. What can you glean from this quirky Irishman with a heart of coal and a reservoir of alcoholic goods? "....Two bottles and I'll have it sorted out."