The gnome pressed her nose to the bear’s black one. The bear seemed a little perplexed by this, but highly entertained.
“And what’s your name?” She batted her big blue eyes at the bear, laying prone on the distillery’s floor, feet kicking in the air.
“Crapper.” Ringo growled, quaffing a rhapsody malt before spitting foam across the bar as Beli’s hand retracted from a location only wives normally freely grab in public. “OR! We don’t have a name picked out yet! Muradin’s beard, woman, you’re gong to leave me a eunuch! And I need another malt!”
The gnome leaned forward, and began whispering into the bear’s ear. Turning his delicate parts away from Beli, Ringo sipped his new drink, watching the bear and gnome on the floor.
“What’s her story, then?”
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