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*Lurch* went back his body, righting himself as his mouth wrapped around the bottle neck to toss back a large gulp accompanied by a dismissive "[color=f7941d][b]Of course of course~[/b][/color]" -- for the crisis had been adverted. Alcohol, obtained. Bottled no less, it was less probable to be poisoned. Not impossible, if he began sagging then in his final moments he'd kill Washed Up. But in the realm of probabilities it occupied a lower level. And Street Urchin, she wanted him to promise some lofty thing like a [i]bid of aid[/i] despite them not knowing one another's titles. Prideful.. and useless. Easy to boast yes to.

Just like that. [u]Just like that[/u] he had exited the limelight. Now he just had to slither into the background after this little fortune telling exercise the drunkard elder played with the wound up harlot.. and none would be the wiser. He could resume his hunt. For real sustenance. The true divine, cake, pastries. Yes.

Yet as the honey liquor flooded down his meat hole and washed down his throat carrying through the intricate crevices within the human body, a stillness came to his shaking pupils. Excellent. This wasn't swill. The ex-military veteran turned bar thief who handed him this must not've appreciated the year nor value. Obvious it was they were a thief now, in that they so harshly refused coin; weary of a trail to their misdeeds and more permitting to hand out inventory not theirs to dissuade trouble. Loathsome imbecile. 

Omi was of no noble blood himself, he began at the very bottom in the harsh sands and the brutal treatment of his betters. But that was what fueled his thirst for rising, not succumbing to these... [i]gulp[/i], baser impulses. Least the kind that made you a faux bar patron. 

Lips pulling back in a sharp toothed grimace, the bottle was already halfway down in shocking time. Yeah. He had no special love for the local government either what with being what amounted to a foreign emissary, nor a fondness for their authority and guards entrenched within town limits. But, this tavern was obviously poor. Barely staffed and worse managed. Probably barely getting by with [i]this[/i] clown show on display. Yet he dared rob it anyway? There was no grand display here, no huge bounty. No riches. There wasn't a challenge. It was commoner goods, commoner means, and even that.. wasn't allowed?

[i]Chink[/i] sounded his gauntlet metal grinding against the bottle neck with a bit too much force. What was it then? Lack of empathy for small business owners or.. was it his race? Judging by the clientele and the means, it was likely human owned assuming they still lived. That what it was? Old mangy mongrel of a beast-man seized opportunity, looked down on the human owner, cut their throat, and now's liquidating what ain't able to be carried off before law enforcement arrives? Keeping the illusion of operations afloat until nightfall where he disappears, avoiding consequences, avoiding responsibility? Now that wasn't okay. Think human're cattle now? Think..

[i]GULP GULP GULP[/i] went the burning elixir with a face eerily gaining more lucidity not losing it to inebriation, a stillness in facial features most unnerving, a thousand yard stare fixed not three feet ahead. Suddenly the bottle's base found itself planted on the bar counter with a touch too loud a [i]thud[/i].

[b]No. None of that was okay. Perhaps it was time to play town guard.[/b]