Hangover
"If you'll go courting trouble, you're sure to find it!"
Father's last words to him. Liam hadn't ever once intended to listen to a damn word the old man ever said, and definitely never wanted to believe any of them, either. Of course, just like he told his father, he'd heard every one and 'lived down' to them all-- to every disappointment, every expectation of failure and weakness.
Certainly if a man's father had no faith in him, why should a man have any damn faith in himself?
Well, you daft old fool, Liam thought as he groggily began to clamber up to his feet, looks like you were right again.
A pretty face, a pretty head of golden yellow curls, and a pretty plump bosom rising over a tight rich woman's bodice, and he'd followed the lot into that alleyway. There wasn't much Liam remembered about the woman, but then again, as far into his cups as he'd been, there wasn't much Liam would be able to recall. She'd promised him something that had sounded like heaven, and then done... something... that had hurt like the Devil himself.
Liam's hand went to his throat, remembering the sudden pain, but found his skin unmarked.
He looked around, worry rising. It wasn't the alley. Liam had woken leaning against the fence of a small graveyard. It was a humble handful of plots, but the stones were well-crafted, and just on the other side of the yard was a small, weathered church.
"Ah, hell," he spit, figuring that his father had dragged him off from the alley and dropped him here to teach him a lesson. Instead of doing as expected, he instead turned in the direction of the other nearby buildings and began looking for someplace to get a little ale.
Father's last words to him. Liam hadn't ever once intended to listen to a damn word the old man ever said, and definitely never wanted to believe any of them, either. Of course, just like he told his father, he'd heard every one and 'lived down' to them all-- to every disappointment, every expectation of failure and weakness.
Certainly if a man's father had no faith in him, why should a man have any damn faith in himself?
Well, you daft old fool, Liam thought as he groggily began to clamber up to his feet, looks like you were right again.
A pretty face, a pretty head of golden yellow curls, and a pretty plump bosom rising over a tight rich woman's bodice, and he'd followed the lot into that alleyway. There wasn't much Liam remembered about the woman, but then again, as far into his cups as he'd been, there wasn't much Liam would be able to recall. She'd promised him something that had sounded like heaven, and then done... something... that had hurt like the Devil himself.
Liam's hand went to his throat, remembering the sudden pain, but found his skin unmarked.
He looked around, worry rising. It wasn't the alley. Liam had woken leaning against the fence of a small graveyard. It was a humble handful of plots, but the stones were well-crafted, and just on the other side of the yard was a small, weathered church.
"Ah, hell," he spit, figuring that his father had dragged him off from the alley and dropped him here to teach him a lesson. Instead of doing as expected, he instead turned in the direction of the other nearby buildings and began looking for someplace to get a little ale.