It wasn’t the first time Aldari had been firmly shown the door. Lurching dangerously, the old mer surprisingly kept his feet as the bouncer shoved him into the cold night air, managing to stagger to a halt before running into the canal’s railing.
“Y’think they’da nev’r heard th’song afore,” he slurred to himself, swaying dangerously as he straightened. “E’rryone knows th’one abou’ th’guar.”
He moved as if to bring a bottle to his lips, looking disappointed when it came up empty. He’d been depressingly low on septims since his apprentice had been captured, meaning he’d had to deal with more than a few sober nights since their rescue mission. Only when a kind soul spared a few septims—such as tonight—did he get some relief from reality.
Of course he had promised himself he’d cut back on his drinking; it only rankled that he’d had no choice in the matter. Lurching down the street, the old mer decided he’d had enough of this nonsense and would head back to his home in the Ratway—assuming he could find it, in his drunken state.
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