[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, Group, and a precisely fired end of stale bread[/center][/b][hr][hr]

	The broad man could appreciate Sana's tactless but wholly accurate deduction of what occurred all that time before. And here he had thought he covered his tracks so well, relieving himself from the vantage point of the shuttered window of the upper floor of that strange, little Inn. There were all manner of strange and flesh melting events going on out there that day and evening, so the next morning was taken with the utmost of caution. Propelling a powerful volley of liquid (that to olfactory detection, resembled cooked steak and Dire Bear musk) from the shuttered window of the uppermost floor of the curious, extra-planar building seemed preferable to venturing out-of-doors. 

	His face remained neutral through out the whole event of Sana exiting the room to get an eyeful of him power washing the interior of the chamberpot with his morning ritual of highly pressurized micturition. He didn't so much as attempt to cover himself out of some misguided sense of modesty, as she had to have heard what was going on as she neared the door. Instead, Keystone turned to his roommate from the previous evening, and in a fairly unconvincing voice, baritone out, [color=b8860b]"I got [i]no idea[/i] what you're on about."[/color] Luckily, he was finishing up. 

	As if karma had a hand in the morning, the next instant saw a chunk of stale bread sail through very thin air, pegging Keystone in the back of his head. He moved reflexively, one hand yanking back up his trousers fully as he turned to face his attacker. Unfortunately, the toe of his still boot happened to catch the rim of his brass urine receptacle. A frozen moment of alarm lanced through the brutish man as his chamberpot rotated twice, seemingly in slow motion, before listing fully to one side, spilling the brunt of its contents away from the pair upstairs. More unfortunately still, the horrid liquid seeped and rolled its way to the edge of the balcony - [i]and beyond[/i]. Keystone could hear the splattering white noise of last night's ale striking the wooden base flooring below, almost soliciting a chuckle from the burly, shirtless man. 

	Keystone glared down at Kyra. Damage had been done, not a damned thing he could do to fix it. It wasn't like he could [i]unspill[/i] the awful mess, and to be frank, he firmly believed that this was as much her fault as his. Then he smirked, looking to Sana. [color=b8860b]"Whelp, no sense cryin' over spilt piss, as me old Mum would say."[/color] He extended a hand, offering to carry her over over the spreading puddle of pungent, waterfall-impressioning bladder fluid. Like a gentleman. [color=b8860b]"Umm... Breakfast?"[/color]