A Little Bit of Liquor Helps the Medicine Go Down
Diederich shambled into the bar he frequented in Orgrimmar, still soaking wet from melted Northrend snow he'd never bothered to brush off on his way to Kalimdor. He looked and smelled repugnantly foul, crusted with blood and gore and spittle and slime from fights with Scourge.
It was early, and the only other people in the bar that didn't work there were the most devoted of drunks. Diederich's disgustingness didn't stand out very much.
Gwarla, Diederich's favorite bartender, was filling bowls with cheap bar snacks.
"I need some advice, Gwarla," Diederich said as he sat down.
"Buy a beer first. You ain't paid me enough to listen to you sob yet."
Gwarla slid Diederich a beer, and he slid her plenty of extra silver.
"Alright. Spill it."
"I have a wife and a son. Sort of."
"Alright."
"I wish I could be with my son so hard it kills me."
"Alright."
"I'm pretty sure my wife won't want anything to do with me."
"Pretty sure?" Gwarla asked with a quirked eyebrow.
"I don't think she trusts Death Knights. ...And I was kind of a prick to her."
Gwarla nodded, looking unsurprised. Diederich took a long drink.
"So she ain't gonna want you around her kid. Because you're a drunken asshole."
Diederich glowered into his beer.
"Did it occur to you to quit with the drunken asshole routine and make amends?"
"I don't love her and I don't have any illusions about wanting to be with her anymore."
"Then make amends, and see if she'll let you visit sometimes."
"I don't want to just visit," Diederich said angrily. "He's my son every bit as much as hers. She's gotten the past five or six or however long years with him. It should be my turn."
"Did you consider how your kid might feel about that?" Gwarla frowned at him. "That if his mom's all he's had this whole time, maybe he won't want to get snatched away by some scary, boogieman-lookin' jerk like you?"
Diederich looked at Gwarla, the thought sinking in, for several seconds before dropping his head with a loud thud onto the bar.
Gwarla refilled his beer mug and walked away.
It was early, and the only other people in the bar that didn't work there were the most devoted of drunks. Diederich's disgustingness didn't stand out very much.
Gwarla, Diederich's favorite bartender, was filling bowls with cheap bar snacks.
"I need some advice, Gwarla," Diederich said as he sat down.
"Buy a beer first. You ain't paid me enough to listen to you sob yet."
Gwarla slid Diederich a beer, and he slid her plenty of extra silver.
"Alright. Spill it."
"I have a wife and a son. Sort of."
"Alright."
"I wish I could be with my son so hard it kills me."
"Alright."
"I'm pretty sure my wife won't want anything to do with me."
"Pretty sure?" Gwarla asked with a quirked eyebrow.
"I don't think she trusts Death Knights. ...And I was kind of a prick to her."
Gwarla nodded, looking unsurprised. Diederich took a long drink.
"So she ain't gonna want you around her kid. Because you're a drunken asshole."
Diederich glowered into his beer.
"Did it occur to you to quit with the drunken asshole routine and make amends?"
"I don't love her and I don't have any illusions about wanting to be with her anymore."
"Then make amends, and see if she'll let you visit sometimes."
"I don't want to just visit," Diederich said angrily. "He's my son every bit as much as hers. She's gotten the past five or six or however long years with him. It should be my turn."
"Did you consider how your kid might feel about that?" Gwarla frowned at him. "That if his mom's all he's had this whole time, maybe he won't want to get snatched away by some scary, boogieman-lookin' jerk like you?"
Diederich looked at Gwarla, the thought sinking in, for several seconds before dropping his head with a loud thud onto the bar.
Gwarla refilled his beer mug and walked away.