Lucien
The tavern was a terrible idea. But try telling Evadne that and she'd have my balls mounted on a wall.
I couldn't decide if she was attempting to get under the barmaid's skirts or into Valka's pants. Likely the latter, judging by the amount of liquor she kept sliding down the woman's throat.
Cyrus is long gone, slumped on the bench, cheeks flushed and head bobbing like a drunk pigeon. Every time he lurches, Trenton's hand on his shoulder is the only thing keeping him from eating the floor. Humans. I still can't fathom what Valka sees in a man who can't even hold his drink.
To be fair, their bodies burn through wine faster than ours. Still, after the endless parade of jugs the doe-eyed barmaid keeps delivering, even Valka's drunk enough to forget why her clothes are supposed to stay on.
