i brood in the corner of the tavern. im silent and cool and wearing a hood. i have a ton of knives but no one can see them

I'm in the opposite corner and i don't have a hood, but my face is hidden by the (un)natural shadows that cut across the tavern. I am effortlessly sliding a coin between my knuckles, a demonstration of how smooth I am.

I'm the tavern musician playing a mysterious tune on my vielle, speaking of horrors unknown that none dare face yet. My tip jar is empty

i order another ale and drop my change into the bard’s tip jar out of embarrassed obligation. i get a little self conscious that i’m seemingly the only motherfucker in the room with an easily viewed face and pull my collar up a little.

i eat a big roast turkey leg sloppily delicious

I am drunk and loud and laughing and any moderately perceptive person will immediately detect that I am extremely uncomfortable and just want to be somewhere, anywhere else. Home, perhaps.

I am 8 ducks eating frozen peas from a bowl of icy water. I am absolutely hoovering these babies down, last meal style. What is a tavern

I pin a notice to the public board, then step outside to smoke a long, thin pipe. The rain pills on the brim of my hat and runs in rivulets down to the hem of my coat. The notice reads
DUCKS MISSING