[Streets of Zeltiva] The Monster In The Sky (Montaine)

[Erudite]

A part of her wanted to witness him down the alcohol and finish it off with a satisfactory sigh, while the other part of her didn't care one bit about the quality of the wine she'd picked out. It might've been her overachieving side that strived to see her succeed in quenching his thirst with something good, while the rest of her preferred to contemplate the detriments of the storm.

"Keep them safe," she closed her eyes and prayed to Avalis, to Laviku, to Rak'keli. She only had so much of her family left, and no storm was going to take them away overnight.

"Does it matter? Nothin' we can do about it now, by any account," he turned to her with a raised eyebrow. The Konti merely shrugged, "I suppose you're right."

Her mind wandered into a distant memory, one that left her ears and eyes momentarily blind of the current situation. The storm felt and sounded distant, and instead of their lantern's warmth, she felt the bitter cold winds of an early morning at the White Isle. She couldn't sleep; she lay in her bed for hours, thinking, imagining, and yet no feeling of drowsiness came. Her eyes never felt heavy, and her head never felt light. She went outside to for some fresh air, only to find a pair of bickering sisters instead. Her sisters, specifically.

The past evaporated at the sound of choking cough, followed by a grunt and a mutter. "Vile," she heard Monty mumble, after having taken a deep swig. Disappointment mingled in with her amusement, and she found herself wanting to have a taste of the drink as well. "Let me try," she offered, smirking as she pried the red bottle out of his hand. She peeked into it curiously, watching the crimson liquid before bringing the bottle to her mouth and taking a long swig. Her face went sour at the taste.

"This is disgusting," she managed, shivering at the horrible after taste, "is this really how it's supposed to taste?" she cleared her rough, burning throat as she returned the bottle to Monty. "Never again," she swore. It would be her first, and her last. There was silence, for a moment, as she found herself lost in her thoughts once more, until he spoke.

"Way I see it, just got to sit tight and make the most of it," he said, turning towards her traveler's chest, "You picked a bad time to be visitin' Zeltiva, lady." The honorific had her chuckling once more. "Lady, that makes me sound so old," she thought humorously, before turning to him with an amused smirk. He was a rather handsome man, though she found him a little bit odd, a little bit different. She hasn't met a lot of people, let alone other men, in order to make a comparison.

"I didn't know I would be coming in to this," she turned towards the windows as the storm continued to wreak havoc and brew chaos. She wouldn't be surprised if a god was causing all this mess - maybe it was. "I just came here to study."

[Montaine]

Monty accepted the bottle back with a shrug and drank from it again, his face cringing once more as the fiery liquid burned down his throat, ‘University lass eh? Should’ve guessed I suppose,’ he spoke with a huskiness from the last swig but a small cough brought back his usual tones, ‘Well, let’s see if I can’t teach you something, thing about alcohol is, it ain’t supposed to taste good, not to me at least. You don’t drink it like it’s water or-or whatever fancy-arsed drinks they have up at the school, you drink it to get drunk,’ The sailor had been the first person to give Monty alcohol and he hadn’t understood it. Admittedly, he had been only eight years old at the time, and only had a drop or two. It was another four and a half years before he’d truly come to appreciate the wondrous stupidity, the magnificent obliviousness of complete inebriation. He briefly considered downing the whole bottle then and there but a sense of decorum before his guest, or more specifically Gadger’s cellar’s guest, won out. There be time and a half to drink himself numb before the storm finally wrenched the pub from its foundations and exposed them to the elements. He put a hand on the floor to steady himself. The ground was cold and uncomfortable, but at least he was stable. So the girl was one of the scholars, not surprising Monty supposed. She was well dressed, her case sizeable, and why would someone like her be in Zeltiva otherwise? Monty a certain respect for the academics. They brought in a lot of business to the old city, be it through their studies, their rare exports, or many imports. It certainly didn’t hurt that they always had uses for glassware of all sorts. ‘So, what’re you studying then?’ Monty looked to the poorly secured cellar door, rattling in the wind, ‘Or what were you planning to study, I s’pose, given the chance? Seems to me a lot of them up there do studying that doesn’t really help much, studies for study’s sake,’ Monty gradually pushed himself to his feet, taking care to ensure his balance before attempting to move. He’d had episodes like this before, and he’d have them again. At the very least they appeared to be becoming less physically disabling as he grew older, if not less frequent. He took a couple of steps to the wall, then turned and leaned back on it, using his free hand to move some of the hair that had been plastered to his forehead by the rain. She looked like a djed user, but maybe that was just because she looked so foreign, and the mystique generated by the two often intertwined in Monty’s mind. He took another drink and looked at her.

[Erudite]

Erudite watched as the man took another swig from the bottle and cringed, wondering to herself why he continued to drink even when it didn't even taste good. "University lass eh? Should’ve guessed I suppose," he said hoarsely, clearing his throat of the gruffness afterwards. "Guessed?" she thought, eyeing him curiously, "did other Konti frequent the university?" It wasn't common knowledge at the isle, at least, it wasn't so to her. She'd spent most of her days cooped up, studying, training, or spending time with the elder women. The girls her age never appealed to her to be good company. Would the other Konti at the university be any different?

Monty's words shook her out of her reverie. "Well, let's see if I can't teach you something, thing about alcohol is, it ain't supposed to taste good, not to me at least. You don't drink it like it's water or-or whatever fancy arsed drinks they have up at the school, you drink it to get drunk," he said. Erudite had never heard anybody speak in such a manner whilst sober; it was so casual, so informal, yet it didn't sound disrespectul. It was amusing, interesting, perhaps even endearing. His company was becoming more and more of a comfort for her.

"Drunk?" she repeated, as if she'd never heard of the word before. "I've never been drunk," she added softly, her gaze falling towards the dusty floor, her eyes tinged with a little bit of embarrassment. It felt a lot like her days at the White Isle, when her sisters and their friends would look at her bewilderingly as she would blatantly admit to favoring studying over their art and music. Perhaps she'd stuck to the wrong crowd, and the other Konti who would appreciate and understand her were never around to defend her. They were a race that favored so many things, but her love for knowledge bordered obsession, and that alone was enough to get everyone eyeing her strangely. It was never comfortable, but neither was it ever a let down. She wasn't different, it wasn't wrong. She found bliss in learning, and they never once ridiculed her anyway. Though, it would've been nice if they'd been more accepting of her. Still, she may have been too quick to shut them out, and after just a handful of incidents with her sister's friends, she had completely abandoned all hope and possibilities of having other Konti her age as friends. She often pondered how things could've been if she hadn't been so reclusive.

"So, what’re you studying then?" he inquired, his words almoust indecipherable as the howling wind rattled the worn cellar doors. They looked rotten and ready to give in, but it remained closed even so. When the winds had settled down and let the cellar doors rest, Monty spoke once more. "Or what were you planning to study, I s’pose, given the chance? Seems to me a lot of them up there do studying that doesn’t really help much, studies for study’s sake."

"M-Medicine," she mumbled, a choking fear rising up towards her throat, causing her to stutter quite a bit. "Herbalism as well," she said with a hint of excitement, "I'll be taking those two for the entire year, and I'll be adding more in the next. Philtering, botany, philosophy, I have a list." For a moment, she pondered on showing him her medical journal, and the lengthy list of courses that she was interested in taking, but decided against it. If he was interested, he'd ask - besides, he didn't seem like the type to be.

Her eyes turned towards Monty as he managed to get himself standing up, his feet no longer weak and trembling, seemingly. He'd stabilized himself and sauntered off to lean against the wall with his drunk-inducing liquid. "I wonder what that feels like," she chuckled, rising up to her feet as well. She approached Monty slowly, as if any sudden movements would anger the storm and have it sent even harsher gusts of wind towards them. With a mischevious smirk, she wrapped her fingers around the bottle and pulled it out of his grip. "I'd like to feel it," she said softly, as she closed her eyes and took another long swig out of the bottle. Her eyes watered and her throat burned, but strangely enough, it was starting to feel a little good. Her head began to grow a little light, a little bit as if it had been filled with hot air. Never before had she acted so boldly, but it had to happen one way or another.

[Montaine]

Monty smirked as she drank. He should probably have warned her about hangovers. The dreaded thumping migraines of the morning, the occasional gastric expulsion if you’d really had too much. The table leg creaked again. He felt pretty confident that he was going to have too much. But then again, he thought with a grim optimism, maybe there wouldn’t be morning at all. If Gadger caught them down there, if he caught them drinking his wine, he’d probably kill them. Wine was such a rare commodity and the cellars were usually wine in name only. Gadger had recently come into an inheritance and had been bragging about it round the bar, which was not an intelligent thing to do around a bunch of rowdy, inebriated, greedy sailors. Normally the only beverages you could get a hold of in Zeltiva were the off-colour kelp concoctions that rarely sat well in the stomach. It occurred to the glassworker that Calbert’s house had been closer than the Councillor’s Head to where he had been standing when he had encountered this woman. Maybe it was his liver that had guided him here, with the knowledge of the cellar’s expensive contents. Maybe it was Lhex’s divine hand, wanting him to get absolutely off his face before the apocalypse. ‘Take it slow though,’ he said, wandering over to the racks on the far wall, ‘Don’t want to skip any of the fun stages,’ he moved his hand from side to side, tracing the length of the shelf with a finger, before stopping at random and picking up the bottle he found himself pointing at, ‘We’ve got the rest of time to drink in, all of a day I should think,’ a morbid smile flickered over his features. He bit into the cork and pried it free. He sniffed it, the intoxicating fragrance wafting up his nose and setting fire to his nostrils. The scent was so very different from the usual swill that the pubs and bars served in the city and yet behind those deceptive overtones lay the markedly familiar stench of alcohol. He took a taste. It wasn’t so bad. He wiped it off and returned to the Konti, proffering the new bottle. ‘This one tastes better, if you want to swap,’ He looked at her, looked at her properly. She could’ve been any age, he knew that the other people often grew older slower, and some of them supposedly never died, like the sailor. But she seemed a little tentative, a little cautious, a little naïve. She wanted to be a doctor, which was respectable. The world needed more healers and medics, certainly after this storm. He struggled to comprehend the sheer amount of lives that would be lost in the calamity. No one in the city was adequately prepared for it, no one knew how big it was, no one suspected how far it truly stretched. But at least he could go out in a blaze of alcoholic ambivalence.

[Erudite]

"Revolting," she mouthed, as she brought the bottle away from her wet lips. She glared at the drink with squinted eyes, as if it had offended her in some way. "After a while, it'll start to taste good," she told herself again and again, as she began to take sips of the drink, "or better yet, feel good." She examined the bottle and its contents as Monty made his way towards the shelves.

"Take it slow though," he told her, as he looked up to examine the bottles on the far wall, "don’t want to skip any of the fun stages." Erudite turned to him with a confused expression. She shook the bottle casually, listening in on the wine's sloshing and splashing as she did so. She could feel the liquid hitting the glass again and again. "Stages, fun stages?" she eyed him curiously, "what stages are those, then?" Monty did mention that the point of drinking was to eventually be drunk, but was there more to it? She gazed into the bottly and viewed the liquid inside; there was still a lot left, but the warm sensation in the pit of her stomach told her not to take in any more of it. It didn't taste very good, could it have been expired? She turned to her companion and opened her mouth to ask, but he'd already began to speak. "We’ve got the rest of time to drink in, all of a day I should think," he said with a rather sad smile, as he reached up and plucked out another bottle. It was a fatter bottle with a wider lip, and the glass seemed to be thicker than the red bottle. It's dark blue tint had her wondering about its contents, as she could barely see through it.

He loosened the cork with his teeth and then pulled it out, causing a low, popping sound that had her flinching. She watched as he took a whiff of the contents, and then took a sip. "Did he work here, or something?" she wondered, as he moved to wipe the bottle's lip. He seemed to be experienced with wine and alcohol, the way it should taste, and the way it should be drunk. Would it be appropriate to ask? He returned to her and held out the bottle expectantly.

"This one tastes better, if you want to swap," he said. Erudite held out the red bottle and the pair exchanged. She pursed her lips into a little pout as she peered in and examined the liquid; it was more purple than the other drink, and looked richer, more expensive. It probably was better tasting. She brought it too her lips and took a long swig, relishing the rough heat that enveloped her throat and filled her belly. It did feel good, after a while. She couldn't help but taste a bit of sweetness, and a bit of spice, it was a whole other flavor, if alcohol even did have flavors. Perhaps they did. "This is better," she nodded, eyeing the paper pasted onto the bottle's front, but the language was unfamiliar to her. "It must be foreign," she assumed.

[Montaine]

‘Stages, well they vary from person to person, see?’ Monty was feeling the buzz in the back of his head that suggested he was tipsy, he’d learnt to spot that sign early on and adjust his behaviour accordingly, ‘Take my pal Joseph, best, most skilled petcher on the work crew, save for the boss, very calm, stoney-faced sort of fella. He has a few drinks, he reaches stage one, where he gets all chatty, see? Keeps talking about sailing and his old man,’ the glassworker sat himself down, leaning against one of the supporting beams, ‘He has a few more, reaches stage two and gets all sing-song, not singing precisely but starts sort of singing his conversations, you’d think it odd if everyone else wasn’t also drunk out of their skulls by then,’ The cellar doors rattled and for a second Monty thought that someone was trying to get in, but it was just the wind changing direction again. The rotten table leg creaked and started to buckle. It wouldn’t hold much longer, but there was a proper wooden bar upstairs, that Gadger used to look the front door. It would require braving the dangers of upstairs, and unsealing the entrance, but better a quick sortie to the pub floor than risking the cellar doors bursting open on them. They probably had a little more time. ‘Then he has stage three, where he gets on the table and actually sings. He can’t sing but, he tries, you know? Then I suppose, stage four is when he’s lying in a pool of his own-’ Monty looked at his companion and stopped himself from finishing the sentence, ‘Well, Joey could never hold his liquor,’ Monty scratched himself idly behind his ear, ‘Can’t really see the stages in yourself, ‘til you know what to look for, see? But it’s all good fun, for you ‘n’ everyone else,’ His mind briefly flitted to his colleagues, Banden would have been at the temple, and that places was sturdy as anything, and Fogle was a rich lad, his family had a place further in, nearer the foothills, he’d probably be fine. The others, well, who knew how they’d fare? He had to keep reminding himself of the historical precedents, the harbour city would live on. It might take a while to recover but the city could withstand the storm. Maybe. Monty took another drink. It was hard to go easy on the stuff when he knew what was going on outside. He put his bottle down to one side. The door creaked ominously again, louder this time. The wood was beginning splinter, perhaps he had left it a mite too long. He got to his feet just as the doors flew open with a resounding crack, and a calamitous bang. The gale rolled in and Monty’s bottle toppled and smashed on the ground, the rainstorm pouring in through the opening. ‘Shyke! We have to get upstairs!’

[Erudite]

The alcohol was beginning to take effect. The warmth that grew within the pit of her belly remained even when she did not drink, and her body began to burn and swell with a strange, ticklish heat. Her head began to feel lighter and lighter, until it was as if it could burst any minute. She felt feverish, but not sick. Dizzy, but not nauseous. It was a strange mix of sensations, but when placed altogether, it felt immensely good. She smiled as Monty began to explain how the stages were subjective on a person - it was probably based upon their suppressed emotions or feelings.

"Take my pal Joseph, best, most skilled petcher on the work crew, save for the boss, very calm, stoney-faced sort of fella..." he began, as the pair continued to drink from their bottles respectively. She could barely understand the things he was saying already, and even her eyes began to deceive her as she gazed at the man before her. From time to time, her vision would double, and then there would be two Monty's in front of her. She squinted for a moment and tried to blink repeatedly, but it only made matters worse; Monty had multiplied into three.

"... You’d think it odd if everyone else wasn’t also drunk out of the skulls by then," he finished, as he sat himself down and supported his back against one of the wooden beams. Erudite turned her wobbling head at the man and bit her lip. "What?" she wanted to ask, but her sore throat would not let her. "What? What?" her mind repeated over and over, but she could not find it in her to voice the question. Before she could even register the words that she'd managed to take from his story, she broke into a giggling fit. The first stage appeared to be a warm, buzzing feeling, for her, while the second stage was being easily amused, or perhaps, the inability to stop laughing. The Konti continued to giggle at intervals as she continued to happily drink from her glass bottle, seemingly unfazed by the storm and even by her own companion.

Monty had started talking again, but Erudite's mind had locked onto the banging of the cellar doors; she felt threatened. Was her third stage the sensitivity to sights and sounds? She managed to turn her stiff, trembling head back to her companion, who was in the middle of explaining his friend's fourth stage. "... Then I suppose, stage four is when he’s lying in a pool of his own-" he cut himself off and looked up to gaze at Erudite before continuing, "Well, Joey could never hold his liquor." The rattling had gotten worse, and all she could do was shift her gaze from the violent cellar doors and Monty, who was still speaking. But his words went through one ear and came out the other, with her brain only registering tiny tidbits that didn't even make any sense.

"Can’t really ... yourself, ‘til you ... what ... look ...? But ... good ... you ‘n’ ... else."

She turned away from Monty and kept her eyes fixated on the cellar doors. The wooden bar began to creak and bend, with visible cracks forming along its center. But the information reached the Konti's brain a moment too late. She remained frozen solid even as the wooden bar broke and had the cellar doors bursting open; coupled with it was an overpowering surge of wind and rain that had Monty's bottle rolling away from him and spilling its contents on the dusty floor. As a mixture of harsh gale and water washed into the room and slapped her against the face, she awoken from her daze. "Shyke! We have to get upstairs!" Monty bellowed, in unision to the Konti's bottle shattering upon the ground. As he bounded up the staircase and into the bar, she quickly pivoted around and did the same, leaving the shattered pieces of her drink behind.

[Montaine]

Montaine stood with one hand resting against the wall, the other clutching his torso as his head hung down and his shyking wheezing returned. The shutters rattled against their hinges. Gadger and he had had long arguments about those windows that always ended the same way. Odd thing was, they both agreed that glass would have been far more respectable for an establishment such as his, but Monty insisted he pay full price, and Gadger felt otherwise inclined. The cheap vagik bastard. As such the wooden shutters that adorned much of the poorer, or perhaps a better term would be not remarkably wealthy, parts of town. Now, Monty was thankful for the barman’s parsimony. The shutters were barred and remained sealed where glass would long ago have shattered. His companion was not faring well. The poor girl appeared almost insensible. The biting cold of the world outside flew in through the cellar door and up to the main bar floor. The winds screeched and screamed in a most unnatural way, as though the voices of those dead by the storm had been taken in their final moments and swept up into the air to batter relentlessly against the doors of those still gripping on to survival. Monty eyed the beam that sealed the front door, sturdy. The barman never skimped on security. They’d never be able to get it down to the cellar. While it seemed safer to remain below ground, should the storm get worse and rip the building from it’s very foundations, the glassworker doubted that he had the strength, nor that his companion the fair doctor possessed the stability in her current state, to make it back to the cellar door and keep it closed long enough to force the beam through the handles. Besides, there was a keg of kelp under the bar and Monty was only buzzing. ‘We should-we should put chairs ‘n’ tables ‘n’ things in front of the door,’ Monty yelled over the noise, slurring ever so slightly, ‘Or it’s goin’ to be awful drafty in ‘ere’ The tables were set up around the room, suggesting that the bar had been open when the storm had struck, but the place was in such a state it looked as if the patrons had left in a hurry. Spilt drinks and broken glasses, chairs thrown to the side. Presumably everyone had darted home as soon as it became clear that the weather had taken a turn for the abnormal. The glassworker started to try and heave one of the old tables towards the cellar door, but found it too difficult in his current condition. There were three exits and entrances to the place, the cellar that no longer promised safe haven, the barred front door, and the sealed back way, locked with a traditional key, kept safely and securely in the pocket of Gadger. ‘I’mma go get another drink from the bar, you sit tight ‘n’ no more drink ‘ntil I’m caught up, y’hear?’

OOCFeel free to barricade the cellar door as best you can, Monty'll help if you need it, I'm sure you can push a table together.

[Erudite]

She thought she was still walking, but she wasn't; she wasn't even close to pacing across the room as she leaned the side of her body against the large wooden counters where the bartender would usually stay. Her eyes refused to stay still as they shifted from left to right, up and down, and percieving her surroundings as the swirls of a wild, rocky river. Monty was walking about and talking, but she wasn't sure about what he was saying, or doing. He seemed to be plopping himself over a table and just laying there, with no point or reason, but then he began to move once more. Erudite stared with wide, innocent-looking eyes, as it was the first time she'd ever seen a tabled toppled over, a messy room, or a drunk man.

She focused her gaze well enough to catch a glimpse of the front door of the bar. It was sealed shut and barely moved, even as the wind pushed at it and screamed at it. Were they to leave through there later on? With her mind a mess, she thought of approaching the door and opening it, if only to catch a glimps of the chaos, or hopefully, to see that it had gone and left. She eyed the windows and found that they were closed shut and incredibly secure. Suddenly, she felt a little trapped, and panicked. The sound of Monty's voice, however, calmed her, and coupled with the violent shrieking of the winds and the rain from the cellar door, she was still alright.

"We should... chairs an' tables... front... door," she heard him say. They were only slurred snippets of his actual sentence. She stared at him with furrowed brows, as if he'd just asked her to break her skull in half with one of the broken chairs nearby. "Or... goin'... awful... in 'ere," he added, as the howling winds escalated. Erudite continued to stare in shock. She eyed him in silence as he attempted to lay himself in on top of one of the fallen tables once more, when he was actually trying to drag them towards the cellar doors in order to close them. He failed to do so.

Reality seeped through her barely coherent brain and brought her back to life for a moment, enough for her to notice that the cellar doors produced an ear-splitting bang as it smashed against the wall and almost broke into pieces. She jerked her head from facing the opening to facing Monty, who'd approached her once more, seemingly out of breath but obviously almost drunk out of his mind. Almost.

"I’mma go get another drink from the bar," she heard him say. It was as clear as day, thankfully, but her eyesight continued to percieve him as triplets. Suddenly, her brain reduced to a drunken mess once more. "You sit... no more drink... caught up... hear?"

Again, the words barely registered. She blinked at him silently as he moved away from her and began to rummage through the selection by the bar. Reality hit her once more and she was brought back into consciousness and coherency. "My goodness," she muttered, as she rushed towards the nearest fallen table and struggled to pull it all the way towards the cellar door. For a table, it was quite heavy; she eyed the thick legs and the even thicker flat surface and wondered how old they must've been for them to break underneath the weight of even a fat sailor. Ancient old things, and their rot only aided in their weight.

She huffed and panted as she got the table close enough to the door. It hadn't been a long journey, but it was enough for her to break into a sweat. All this sudden physical activities were putting a strain on her muscles and making them quite sore. Quickly, she pushed and kicked at the cellar doors to close them, and in a flourish, dragged the table against it until it fell silent.

With a huge sigh and a wipe of her forehead, she collapsed against the table and sighed. "G-Got it," she exclaimed with a slur and a stutter, as her tired eyes found Monty's crouched form hunting for more alcohol. She couldn't blame him now; being drunk felt great. A rumbling in her stomach, however, didn't feel quite right, and for some reason, something seemed to rise up and lock around her throat. Was she about to lose her breakfast?

OOCErudite's probably going to have sore muscles from all the physical activity, and a headache/hangover from all the drinking. Tomorrow, just tomorrow, I think!

[Montaine]

Monty cheered when he found a clean mug. Well, it was cleanish. It was cleaner than those that littered the pub floor and would make for a serviceable container for beer. The contents behind the bar were cluttered and seemingly rather disorganised yet Gadger never appeared to have any trouble finding what he needed. Perhaps there was a bartending secret, or perhaps the giant simply always knew where his things were. Monty stared at the array of assorted items but couldn’t figure out the code. There were a number of odd objects and miscellaneous knickknacks that looked out of place besides the cups and bowls and cleaning rags that, the glassworker assumed, must have been confiscated from rowdy patrons or taken in lieu of payment. Monty even possessed some fuzzy, half remembered memories of a few of them. That was surely the dagger with which a furious and decidedly inebriated tailor had threatened to slit Gertrude’s throat should she continue to play her music, and lying next to it was the sliced open squeezebox she had retaliated with, that every regular prayed she didn’t replace. Among the other, more mysterious items were a painted eye, a small wooden tube, an ornate brass mirror and a pair of muddy brassieres. Montaine raised an eyebrow and poke his head over the bar. The fair doctor did not look to be in a good way. He grabbed a sizeable bowl a placed it on the counter. There was probably enough time to fill his mug too. He sauntered over to where the keg had been placed earlier that morning and held his mug underneath the tap, casually flicking it open. This wasn’t so difficult. Surely it would be cheaper to simply buy a keg and bring it back to the apartment? He could cut out the middle man and get decidedly slaughtered without having to leave his room. He could invite people over to drink as well, for a small fee. This job was easy! Oh petch, the mug was overflowing and splashing on the floor leaving little wet marks on Monty’s shoes. He struggled to turn the tap off, whilst simultaneously keeping his other hand steady, not wanting to lose another drop. He slowly, carefully brought the full mug to his lips and drained a half inch from the top. The stuff was unpleasantly warm, but it would do. He turned round and grabbed the bowl, a sizeable thing made of pale, brown clay. It would fulfil the requirements for the job. The glassworker walked back to his queasy companion and offered it to her. ‘Just in case,’ he took another drink, ‘You’ll feel better once it’s out, ‘m sure’