Rodin set about mixing another drink, impassive at the opening insult one patron had given to another. Crom looked at the rat-person, and deliberately hunched his shoulders more. He wasn't shrinking back: he just did this whenever anyone pointed it out. It drew more attention to the shape of his spine.
"I reckon I could," he said, and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. He could feel the fruiting bodies want to unfurl from under the skin. Not in here, he told himself. He could let that happen later, when they were somewhere private and equally warm. "But I don't have to. It's fun to process a poison now and again though, wouldn't you agree?"
Two glasses were set on the table, and both of them were lit on fire. Crom watched the hellish flame catch from Rodin's fingers onto the glass, and wished that Dionaea were here. She would have been dancing up on those poles by now, her wild laughter spilling out onto the snow, and the fires of Rakdos dancing in her eyes.
He sighed and picked up the glass.
"But, well, why not? Let's give it a shot. Yorolaie, do you want to keep count?"
He threw the drink down his throat. This time it wasn't as easy, but he still kept it down and felt it dissipate from his blood stream. He tilted his head back and breathed out the poison in a long stream of golden spores.
"Better clean that up," Rodin said mildly from where he was pouring Yorolaie another choccy milk. Crom sighed, leaned into the cloud, and breathed them back in. He could process them outside.
Got an 11
"I reckon I could," he said, and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. He could feel the fruiting bodies want to unfurl from under the skin. Not in here, he told himself. He could let that happen later, when they were somewhere private and equally warm. "But I don't have to. It's fun to process a poison now and again though, wouldn't you agree?"
Two glasses were set on the table, and both of them were lit on fire. Crom watched the hellish flame catch from Rodin's fingers onto the glass, and wished that Dionaea were here. She would have been dancing up on those poles by now, her wild laughter spilling out onto the snow, and the fires of Rakdos dancing in her eyes.
He sighed and picked up the glass.
"But, well, why not? Let's give it a shot. Yorolaie, do you want to keep count?"
He threw the drink down his throat. This time it wasn't as easy, but he still kept it down and felt it dissipate from his blood stream. He tilted his head back and breathed out the poison in a long stream of golden spores.
"Better clean that up," Rodin said mildly from where he was pouring Yorolaie another choccy milk. Crom sighed, leaned into the cloud, and breathed them back in. He could process them outside.