One Irish Guy Walks to a Bar Action Post 0003 - Poly
Keats was not one to perpetrate stereotypes on a regular basis. However, sometimes they had a grounding in something. Hands in his (his OWN, thankfully) pockets and a cigarette burning in his mouth, Keats made his way to the bar. Now that he was a gainfully employed "researcher" who asked little questions, he was getting by. Robin was seemingly in good spirits and would hopefully not scold him for having a meeting with Aurthur Guinness.
The change in the seasons was actually what prompted his walk and his predilection for dark beer guided him along the streets to the local pub. Keats himself was used to changes from warm to cold, never really hot and sometimes quite chilly. He didn't, however, assume that the city would move on his country's calendar. Already it had been far too hot for his comfort more than once. Maybe it just had mood swings. A day without curses was almost as uneasy as a day cursed in that it allowed the brain to wander.
Some beer would slow it down. He lit another cigarette and allowed the smoke to blow from his nose. "Yer puttin' too much thought into this today, Keats." He muttered aloud.
The change in the seasons was actually what prompted his walk and his predilection for dark beer guided him along the streets to the local pub. Keats himself was used to changes from warm to cold, never really hot and sometimes quite chilly. He didn't, however, assume that the city would move on his country's calendar. Already it had been far too hot for his comfort more than once. Maybe it just had mood swings. A day without curses was almost as uneasy as a day cursed in that it allowed the brain to wander.
Some beer would slow it down. He lit another cigarette and allowed the smoke to blow from his nose. "Yer puttin' too much thought into this today, Keats." He muttered aloud.