[img]http://somewherepostculture.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/48152K13-Apr-4-Tavern.jpg[/img]
[b]Prospector's Rest Public House, several blocks away from 22nd Cleaver St. in the Lost Slums[/b]

Yarik was sitting at one of the bar stools of Miner's Rest, a Dwarf-run and mostly Dwarf-catering Pub that had for several decades been declared as "Neutral Ground" by the major Dwarf Street Gangs, it was one of the places where the Gangs tried to settle interpersonal conflicts without violence (didn't usually happen), and where anyone could go and largely remain unmolested (until they walked out the door). The pub was run by an older Dwarf named Thorr Drakkenborg, a man who prided himself on his establishment, in the middle of one of the shittiest quarters of the city as it was, but then he also wasn't a Dwarf of particularly high expectations. Though he was respected for keeping hot food and alcohol plentiful, and for keeping his mouth shut about "Dwarf business" from curious outsiders.

Though he wore the City Guard uniform under his heavy cloak, Yarik most certainly was not in the pub on official business, he was there to get drunk and get a bite to eat before stumbling back to his bunk at the post on 22nd Cleaver St. He was currently on his second shot of Coal-fire, a Dwarven-brew brought with the descendants of the Miner King's Throng that had become a City-Dwarf delicacy. Most other races could stomach it, though Yarik had heard that Thieflings could drink it like water if they wanted to, must be something to do with their daemon blood. Beside the shot stood a tankard of Drakkenborg's house ale, and a a plate of overcooked pork steak with turnips. Yarik was slowly chewing his food in between swigs of his drink, the alcohol already starting to affect him. The pub wasn't really the best place for lunch, and not that many patrons had come in yet, so the floor was relatively empty. Thorr looked over from tossing a couple fresh pieces of wood in his oven.

[b]"Here I thought getting a job in the City Guard would have sobered you up."[/b]

Yarik glowered over at the old Dwarf. He was probably of a similar age to him, he thought. He swallowed his current mouthful before replying.

[b]"And here I thought you weren't in the business of getting rid of easy customers."[/b]

Thorr responded as he walked back over to where Yarik was sitting, leaning against the counter.

[b]"Customers pay. You run up tabs and tell me to take them up with the City Guard's Exchequer. They subsequently refuse to pay me. You not being sobered up means you just continue to drink me out of a business."[/b]

Yarik responded by downing the second shot of Coal-fire exhaling sharply as he put the glass down to fill another from the waiting bottle next to him.

[b]"Ah, you know I'm good for it, Drakkenborg. Business is just slow in the Guard is all. Look, just wait, if I find anything nice to "confiscate" I'll send it your way. You sell it to a fence, my tab gets clear again eh?"[/b]

Thorr sighed, taking out a short pipe that was smouldering in a small ash tray on the counter and took a drag from it.

[b]"Aye . . . keep forgetting most of you coppers are almost as crooked as the rest of us."[/b]

Yarik buzzedily nodded in agreement as he put another piece of pork in his mouth.

[b]"I like to think of it as the cost of doing business. If the Exchequer won't pay for half-way decent food, what does he expect? I'm not dying of the fuckin' shits like Flinkfinger."[/b]

Suddenly the sound of an explosion boomed outside and the whole tavern shook slightly from the shockwave, causing Yarik to start as he lifted his tankard of ale, spilling some on his beard, and for Thorr to drop his pipe. Yarik swivelled in his stool to look out the window and see the smoking bellowing up from the general direction of the Necropolitan District.

[b]"Fuckin' shit. There goes my excuse for a day off."[/b]

Yarik then stuffs the rest of the pork steak and a handful of diced turnips in his mouth quickly, downing them with some of the ale left over before grabbing the bottle of Coal-Fire and jogging off as fast as his legs could carry him up the muddy street, his buzzed state making his jog only slightly wonky. 

Thorr yelled at Yarik as he ran out the door with the bottle. 

[b]"Hey, that's going on your tab too!"[/b]

Yarik could care less, he was more concerned about his heaving after jogging several blocks to the scene of the explosion. He really needed to get some more exercise and lay off the smoking he thought idly as he shoved his way through the gathering crowd of onlookers near the blown up crypt. He comes in from the intersection to the right of his fellow guardsmen, idly recognizing the young Thiefling and Gnome talking. As he stopped to catch his breath, he spied a small shape moving from the rooftops towards them, probably that damned Goblin who liked explosions on his way here, little fucker was going to have a hey-day.

Walking over slowly, his breath still heavy, and the bottle of Coal-fire still in his right hand, he interjected into the Gnome's statement.

[b]"No, I spied the little fuck's on his way here now, or some other goblin or hobbgoblin hopping over the roofs at any rate . . ."[/b]