Quoted By:
"Emboldened to go in and make a fool of yourself, certainly. I can't say I'm surprised."
You fold your arms. "I'm not making a fool— I'm <span class="mu-i">warning</span> these, um, these peasants about a deadly— I'm doing a good thing. Will do. And then if they, you know, by coincidence, offer low-price or perhaps free drinks, that's not—"
"I'm not stopping you," he says.
"I know." You fold your arms harder. "Not that you could. Obviously. Since I am emboldened with the power of— of, um— of heroism, and nobility, and..."
You trail off. Richard waves his cigarette around. "But you're not going in."
"I am— I am <span class="mu-i">going in.</span>" You take a step forward. "Right now. I'm going. I'm going in, to warn, and announce, and—"
"Etcetera. So go on."
He points. You look at the door, all dark peeling wood, probably cursed to the brim with cult-sign and so forth. But of course your magyck can defeat any petty...
...
...Oh <span class="mu-i">God.</span> You should just go in. You squeeze your eyes shut and push the door you've pushed a hundred times previous and nothing special happens and it swings open and you go in.
It is louder inside. It is too loud inside. The entire town might actually be inside: there's dozens of people all crammed together, too many for the already cramped floorplan, so that some are sitting against the walls and others on the listing tables. The lighting is both too bright and too dark, with the bar area glowing sickly green and the far walls, outside of glorb-range, shrouded in shadow. Everything smells like sweat. You could slip along the side and never be noticed. You could sneak into the back room, even, you could get Richard to pick the lock and camp out back there and steal you mean borrow a cask of something, even if it didn't taste like fruit you'd take it— it is <span class="mu-i">so</span> loud. Sound carries. The mood of the crowd seems mostly celebratory, from what you can tell, which is a good thing— is it a good thing? If you're going to announce the cult signs? Are you going to announce the cult signs? You could sidle in, past the ragged hunched backs of people it's too dark to recognize, and find Jacques (surely he's somewhere in the thicket), and tell him privately, and <span class="mu-i">he'd</span> offer you a free—
"HEY! AIN'T THAT THE— THE BITCH ON THE POSTER?"
A man you don't recognize sloshes his glass in your direction. He looks three or four in already, and has either a ludicrously projective voice or perfect acoustics, because he echoes. The din doesn't stop, but it lessens. There's a pronounced 'clink' as half the people in the room set their glasses down and turn their gazes directly upon you.
(2/4)
