Imp blinks a couple of times, on entering the inn instead of his flat, but relaxes once he realises where he is. This works just as well - better, even.
Within a few minutes, he's all but slumped into an armchair and thought up a jar of dwarf bread. It's...
Well. It's been a long day.

(OOC: I'm cleaning a bit, so I might be sporadic. But I am ( Read more... )

The front door opens, and the smell of vaguely dubious fish and chips wafts through before anything more solid makes an appearance.
Anyone, rather, in this case. A young man in his early twenties is making his way through the door (carrying some of said fish and chips), still talking to someone on the other side ( Read more... )