[before anyone at this party has a chance to recognize him (he knows it is only a matter of time), he takes the hand that Tek had placed on his shoulder and starts pulling the dragon off to the side, past a group of rough-looking teenagers, past an older woman in a shawl balancing three drinks in her gnarled hands, past two shadowy individuals who look so blatantly shifty that people naturally give them a foot or two of space more than normal.
they reach one of the walls of the cave, which is were the bar is serving drinks. the setup is just an old billiards table, though the felt is so stained by time that the surface looks brown and irreparably warped. a line of bottles is all that separates the people sitting at the bar from the bartender, who is a woman with a crooked smile made all the crookeder by a deep scar that runs from one corner of her face to the other. stacks of paper cups are sitting in the corner pockets, and there's a huge crate of miscellaneous glass jars, glasses, and other containers in boxes behind her.
Robin guides them to an empty table, which is actually just three or four pillows on the ground with a flat metal panel in front of it to set drinks on. a few people look at them as they sit, but that's the way it is everywhere. just as Robin settles down on one of the cushions, the band finishes a song, and the crowd becomes more-or-less distracted with rambunctious applause and watching to see who comes up to play next.]
So, let's just run through the list. [Robin starts counting things off on his fingers, casually and cheerily naming all the things that could potentially get them killed.] Teeth are fine, but you have to be consistent. Same with the tongue thing. The eyes...
[those predatory, already-glowing eyes... Robin has to think for a moment, considering the worst that could happen.]
no subject
C'mon, we'll talk about it.
[before anyone at this party has a chance to recognize him (he knows it is only a matter of time), he takes the hand that Tek had placed on his shoulder and starts pulling the dragon off to the side, past a group of rough-looking teenagers, past an older woman in a shawl balancing three drinks in her gnarled hands, past two shadowy individuals who look so blatantly shifty that people naturally give them a foot or two of space more than normal.
they reach one of the walls of the cave, which is were the bar is serving drinks. the setup is just an old billiards table, though the felt is so stained by time that the surface looks brown and irreparably warped. a line of bottles is all that separates the people sitting at the bar from the bartender, who is a woman with a crooked smile made all the crookeder by a deep scar that runs from one corner of her face to the other. stacks of paper cups are sitting in the corner pockets, and there's a huge crate of miscellaneous glass jars, glasses, and other containers in boxes behind her.
Robin guides them to an empty table, which is actually just three or four pillows on the ground with a flat metal panel in front of it to set drinks on. a few people look at them as they sit, but that's the way it is everywhere. just as Robin settles down on one of the cushions, the band finishes a song, and the crowd becomes more-or-less distracted with rambunctious applause and watching to see who comes up to play next.]
So, let's just run through the list. [Robin starts counting things off on his fingers, casually and cheerily naming all the things that could potentially get them killed.] Teeth are fine, but you have to be consistent. Same with the tongue thing. The eyes...
[those predatory, already-glowing eyes... Robin has to think for a moment, considering the worst that could happen.]
Those are trickier. We'll need a story.