[h1][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Chris Travis[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]

[@Cherrywitch][@Arya10108909]

Chris entered the tavern with a sigh. He had spent the entire day too hung over to do anything else, and despite having regained his ability to walk his head still ached steadily and his stomach still burned to eject the toxins he had so eagerly consumed the night before. He stormed through the entrance and across the dining room, ignoring all his coworkers and the guests as he did so.

He walked into the kitchen and hung his backpack on the back wall. Tying the apron behind his back, he looked at Art.

"Alright. I'm here. Where do you need me?" He asked, seeing that the task of skinning squirrels had been taken. He was never too squeamish about blood, and neither was he ever compassionate about animals, especially not squirrels. If nobody else wanted to skin them, he wouldn't mind doing it.