He wasn't even listening. Maybe my words lost all meaning since they were literally spoken inside the mouth of the jar, but still, our shaman, who currently looked like a bear cub raiding a beehive, was managing to drive me absolutely up the wall.
"What's the big deal, punk? I smacked the back of your neck a couple of times when we were kids, that's it. What's with the grudge? Holding onto it for years!"
When Sukrucuk wrapped up his thesis defense for a master's degree in adding fuel to the fire, a brief silence fell. Of course, I'm only talking about the few square meters we were standing in; otherwise, the crowd our sub-party and the two female members of our party were holding back sounded exactly like a polyphonic choir.
"What's the big deal? What's the big deal? What's the big deal?"
