[hr][hr][center][h2][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h2][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern, 2F Private Room [/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] Sana, [i]even more awkwardly[/i][/center][/b][hr][hr]

	While it seemed a bit sarcastic on Sana's part, Keystone didn't mind a little verbal sandpapering. It was even endearing at times. Especially the incident she brought up. "Hellhound in a Tavern" wasn't a colorful, colloquial phrase, like someone might describe a horned, male bovine inside of a storefront distributing fine ceramics. That actually happened. Just as real and urgent as the pressure still accumulating on the inside of his bladder. Maybe even moreso. 

	Keystone fondly recalled the event. It happened the day that he and Sana met; they were both reluctant plane-hoppers. Though they did not arrive at the same time exactly, nor by the same means, they found themselves in a tavern that night, set upon by a Hellhound of proportions larger than the itinerant Pugilist had ever heard of. The damned thing was bigger than a draft horse. Much bigger. The big man himself even got the killing blow in, though it seared off a good portion of the skin on one hand. Another side effect of the incident, he lost something dear to him. It was a black, woolen, knee-length overcoat; one of the few nice things his mother was able to give him. It caught fire, due to the eruption of flame at the beast's passing. He fought to remove it from his person before he burned away with the tailored wool. Sadly, all he had left were a series of dull, fire-marked buttons. That unfortunate business aside, he could look back upon the evening as the time he met Sana, [i]and[/i] the first time he prepared and consumed Hellhound steak. 

	His little trip down memory lane aside, he still really needed to access that chamberpot. It was maddening. He snatched up the heavy brass container and readied himself to relieve ...himself... but froze. He turned to look at Sana, stretched out on the bed. Now, Keystone wasn't exactly the most mannered individual. It could be said that he was, quite possibly, the [i]least[/i] mannered individual he personally knew. But it didn't stop him from trying. 

	Unfortunately, trying is the first step toward failure. 

	Keystone wasn't 100% sure what the Big Book of Manners had to say about getting his morning constitutionals in front of a lady. He looked around for a screen of some kind, but alas, there was none. No time to set up a fort with the furniture and bedsheets, either. He was not a man bound by shame, ever really, but he did not want Sana to feel uncomfortable. [color=b8860b]"Right then. 'xcuse."[/color] The broad man took himself and his chamberpot out of the room, closing the door behind him. He set the brass vessel on the floor next to the room entrance and dropped trou on the spot, leaning forward against the wall and letting himself relax. The relief was palpable. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to notice that his bedroom overlooked a balcony, and that balcony overlooked the common room, below. The guests were privy to the unsettling image of an obviously scarred, shirtless Keystone, showing off half of his ass as the sound of liquid hitting metal rang out across the Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern. 

	[color=b8860b]"Aw, bloody 'ell, that's the melody..."[/color] he grunted out, sweet, blessed reprieve from nagging discomfort coloring his deep voice.