Mutual Hate [Nic]

[mortmerrik]

Getting dastardly drunk was a habit Mort had picked up from his father. Imbibing vast amounts of ale was high on the man's list of priorities but unlike his father, he only spent what he could afford on the drink. Considering he had no family to support and he ran a good business from his farm, Mort had a fair amount of coin to spend on ale every other night.

His father on the other hand had drunk away most of their family farms profits, with barely enough to scrape together for tax and food. It was no wonder -- as he'd just got wind of -- that his youngest brother had been arrested and hung for stealing food. This had happened months ago, but Mort had heard nothing until a fellow drinker had by chance mentioned his brother's name when talking about the cruelty of the Sheriff and his men.

Mort had never been exactly close to his brother, but he did mourn his passing and out of respect, drunk a hell of a lot of beer to his memory. The resulting effect was tunnel-vision, nausea and a comforting numbness in his limbs. Sat now in the corner of the tavern with just enough motor function to nurse his drink, Mort glared at the other patrons mostly to keep them away, and partly to try and distinguish one shape from another in the gloomy lantern-lit room.

Lifting his tankard to his lips, Mort was confused to find that it was empty. After holding the container above his head and staring into the empty well where beer should be, Mort grunted and dropped the wooden mug on the table and staggered to his feet. Groping around in his pockets for more coin, he practically walked into the crowd of other boozing peasants surrounding the bar and barged his way to the front to the sounds of many an angry word, none of which he paid any attention to, and most patrons knew not to push their luck with the surly farmer as even when drunk, flailing fists could do damage.

Leaning heavily on the old oak bar, Mort grunted at the bar maid for another drink, and tried not to sway too much. "Gi-- Gimmi." Mort snatched the full tankard away before the barmaid could set it on the surface and he slapped the remaining few coins on the bar to cover the drink. Weaving his way back through the punters, Mort staggered ans sloshed his drink as he turned to see what everyone was looking at over by the door. Mort managed to discern that the sudden lack of chatter by the entrance was due to someone coming in who wasn't quite expected. Quite pleased at his conclusion, Mort started back toward his table, quite blind to anybody who make the mistake of getting in his way.