It's a dragon attack...
When she wakes up from her catnap before a planned night of music, alcohol, and... things that go with music and alcohol, she feels muzzy, and a little like her skull shrank a size when she wasn't looking.
A quick dinner was definitely out of the question, the grease-coated pizza looking even more revolting than usual.
Gazza had already started when she wandered out into the gathering hall of the Heartbreak, and she half-heartedly acknowledged the cheer with a wave as she found a packing crate that was more in the shadows then not, since the lights were up too high tonight.
And someone would have forgotten to close one of the upper doors. The draft was bloody freezing.
She accepted water, since she felt like she hadn't had a glass in entirely too long, but passed on the home-made rotgut a couple of the Bohemians had figured out how to brew. A couple people swore up down and sideways that it tasted better than the last twenty batches, but since she could still smell it from half way across the room, she decided it really wasn't worth it. She could get better, later. Instead she picks out the harmony to go with Gazza's melody, adding power chords and riffs where needed. She was just about to duck out on the evening, considering a couple hours good enough before finding either Millways or a bed or both, when someone asked ehr for a song.
No one will probably ever forget her impression of a drowning frog, she's very sure. In the somewhat stunned silence that followed, she picked up her guitar and headed out. She's not sure what's wrong, but she knows where to go to fix it.
A quick dinner was definitely out of the question, the grease-coated pizza looking even more revolting than usual.
Gazza had already started when she wandered out into the gathering hall of the Heartbreak, and she half-heartedly acknowledged the cheer with a wave as she found a packing crate that was more in the shadows then not, since the lights were up too high tonight.
And someone would have forgotten to close one of the upper doors. The draft was bloody freezing.
She accepted water, since she felt like she hadn't had a glass in entirely too long, but passed on the home-made rotgut a couple of the Bohemians had figured out how to brew. A couple people swore up down and sideways that it tasted better than the last twenty batches, but since she could still smell it from half way across the room, she decided it really wasn't worth it. She could get better, later. Instead she picks out the harmony to go with Gazza's melody, adding power chords and riffs where needed. She was just about to duck out on the evening, considering a couple hours good enough before finding either Millways or a bed or both, when someone asked ehr for a song.
No one will probably ever forget her impression of a drowning frog, she's very sure. In the somewhat stunned silence that followed, she picked up her guitar and headed out. She's not sure what's wrong, but she knows where to go to fix it.