"Lysander, I simply don't know anymore."
The elven maiden continued to fasten her horse's reigns to a post just outside the location. The Jolly Hippogriff. Her uncle's sin. She'd [i]told[/i] Pucksy to keep him off the stuff. She'd told him more than once. Corinne had told the man a billion times, and still she doubted he'd even paid heed to her beyond joking about it to make her feel better.
"He better not be buying the 'nectar' he speaks so fondly of again. I don't know what I'll do if he keeps going on like this. There'll be a day when the hunt isn't good, and there are better hunters, and...and we won't make it then."
The stallion blinked over at his rider with big brown eyes, and she moved a little closer to stroke his muzzle, gazing off towards the tavern blankly with a dozen or so thoughts all taking her mind at once. The one day when they wouldn't have enough. What kind of lifestyle would they lead then? Shork might be able to put her up for a little while, but not the entire family. By no means three extra mouths to feed.

She sighed and after a little nuzzle into the horse's neck, which elicited a little whinny from him, she steeled her nerves and made it to the door. "Cherry, I believe it'll be a long evening." she'd murmured before she disappeared behind the doors.
The tavern was busy. As always. But always busier in the evenings. That's when all the foul birds came out to play. She made her way through drunken assaults by strange men, with her nose upturned in disgust at the sheer smell of the pungent liquor that fell over the room like a sheet. Blue eyes scanned the area, keen and alert to anything that looked, or sounded like her uncle.
And sitting by the bar, there he was, making merry and inebriated as all hell above. It disgusted Corinne. How could anyone let that become of themselves? It was absurd. It was crazy. It was...
...so [i]human[/i] of him.
"Uncle..." she cautiously made her way to the man, like she had done on quite a few nights before, and grabbed his arm to shake him back into a more tangible reality, in which she existed and was shaking his arm for him to find his senses again. "Uncle, it's me, Corinne. We have to go, it's getting very late, and I..."
Her voice trailed off. What did she have to do? What did she want to say to him, anyway? "Please, just let's go. I don't have the time for this, not at a-"
The man in his unwillingness to listen, and with a hearty laugh and hollow, glassy grey eyes, pushed the elf away and it made her pout in frustration.
"Uncle, please! We have to go! Now!" she whimpered, grabbing onto his arm and attempting to drag him right out of the tavern manually if she had to.
Evidently, little but difficulty was had in getting the man near anywhere out of his seat. He didn't even have to be alive and animated and kicking for it to be a struggle. It was equally as bad when the drink made him sleepy, and lethargic and heavy and stiff.
Long ago, her uncle was meant to take care of her. And now she had to ever so politely return the favour.
It wasn't in her top then things to do, to say the least.