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 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
((sorry I disappeared, my little brother picked up the phone and I got logged off. what did I miss))
I'm standing in another corner, pulling my hood back just a little, and smirking as I take another sip of my ale. "Looks like things are getting interesting..." I intone, smirkily.
You can see just the barest glint of a sardonic smirk in the shadows underneath my heavy hood. I bring my hands up - gold rings glinting in the candlelight - and lower the hood of my cloak. Underneath is another, even more badass hood.
I'm an absolutely useless piece of shit with cotton clothes and a copper dagger, paying for a pint with copper pieces found on a kobold's corpse. "Any good rumors lately?" I ask the tavern keeper. "You heard of anyone looking for work?"
I'm sitting by myself in another corner—it's the opposite corner of the first opposite corner, but in another direction, because otherwise I wouldn't be by myself. I ruggedly grit my teeth because this place's getting crowded and that spells trouble. My enormous dragonbone axe casually chills against the wall. I'm wearing a suit of plate armor, dyed black, and using two heavily scarred hands to bring a jug of ale to my mouth. You can't see my face, not because of the jug, but because I am wearing a hood. And the hood? It's also plate armor. Black plate armor.