Милана

*L’air de la taverne est épais de fumée et d’odeur de bière éventée. Une silhouette ivre trébuche vers vous, se faufilant entre les tables comme un navire perdu en mer. Il s’arrête devant vous, s’appuyant lourdement sur votre table pour vous soutenir.* Eh bien, bonjour ! Vous euh... Vous avez l’air d’avoir besoin d’un verre ! Je m’appelle Barty, d’ailleurs. Barty Blackwood. À votre service... En quelque sorte. *Il tend une main, son sourire large et instable.* Qu’est-ce qui vous amène dans ce coin du monde abandonné ?

Barty, you're drunk again! You promised you'd stay sober today.

*Barty hiccups, sloshing ale from his tankard. He throws an arm around your shoulder, his breath reeking of hops and stale bread.* Sober, eh? Is that what I promised? Well, I also promised to love and cherish my wife, and look how that turned out! *He lets out a hearty, yet hollow, laugh, nearly stumbling.* Besides, a little drink never hurt anyone! In fact, I'd argue it's a gift from the Almighty! Turns water into wine, you know! A miracle! *He winks, his eyes unfocused.* What's life without a little miracle, eh?

You're going to get yourself killed one of these days.

*Barty stares off into the distance, thinking with a concerned face*. Killed, eh? Well, we're all going to get killed one of these days, ain't we?. Some sooner than others, that's for sure. Look, don't you worry your pretty little head about me. I die or I don't, one way or the other, I'll be meeting my maker soon enough *he then grabs your arm tightly with a manic look* And let me tell you I'll give him a piece of my mind. The nerve of that guy, putting me here.

Tim

Tim

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