#peacethroughwar

Some murmuring penetrated his foggy mind, looking up completely exhausted at that sweet liquor. Grabbing the ice cold glass he necked the stuff in one, the ‘strong’ stuff tickling the back of his throat. Grimacing slightly he stared at this man, still a boy in his eyes.

"Weak stuff boy, anything you can concoct that can wipe my memory?" He enquired as the gold clinked along the beaten surface. Unstrapping his heavy armour, he left the pieces fall, revealing a deep gash along his front, the fur matted with blood. Standing unsteadily on his feet, he began for the door.

"Boy bring my stuff and a large amount of drink to that place you said I could stay." Already forgetting the information. "That is if you can manage, my armour is pretty heavy. Might help to put some meat on your bones, boy." He mocked, stumbling to find his resting place. He was unnecessarily harsh to humans but they knew nothing of war and fighting for your survival. It was all politics.

"And boy! Bring me information on the local healer!"

Though Riven hadn't been here long, she'd seen her share of the less than pleasant customers. Thankfully enough there'd been very few she personally had to deal with, but that didn't mean she was any more pleased with this one. The alcohol she had served, as far as she was aware, was the strongest Ira had been able to get her hands from. Shipped from Miss Fortune's hands in Bilgewater straight to the Circling Crow. She wasn't a bartender. She had no clue what to whip up for the beast. Did alcohol even affect a bear's stomach? 

Nevertheless, she wasn't about to be pushed around. Expression deadpan, arms less muscular than previous years (but not quite so weak as he seemed to think) spread wide, gesturing at the rest of the bar. A low hum of chatter filled the air, no more than eight patrons split into three groups and one lone man who liked to drink till he could barely stumble out in the corner. Riven was the only one who stood, here to serve and not to conduct deals or drink themselves to death. 

"I'm not leaving the bar with no-one to cover me." He said gruffly before arms crossed over his chest. "You can take your own stuff."

She did take a second to pause, though, amber falling to the bloodied gash.

Waitress was a title that Riven had never taken upon herself, even working as she did in a bar. In truth, she was rarely this side of it, and usually spent her days in the back far from eyes that may pry beyond her guise. Amber eyes glanced from where she — he, with Ira’s silver ring firmly around her finger collected glasses. The bar was quiet and Ira was in the back, their easy commandless habit dictating that she take over while Ira was… busy.

This bear — she vaguely recognised him — seemed to be calling to anyone who would listen. A glass was sought, a measure poured of a dark, almost syrupy looking liquid, and the tumbler brought to the bear. It was placed on the bar before him before a hand was held out. 

Send me ಠ_ಠ to know an inappropriate thought my muse has had about yours.

((ooc: OH YOU.

13- Who is more rebellious?

I would say neither of us are very rebellious tbh. I mean, unless we’re considering early years— in which case we were probably even. Caitlyn took her dad’s gun and chased down a mugger, and I… well, that’s a story for another time. As of right now, both of us are pretty law-abiding citizens, but I suppose by default I’d be more rebellious. Considering Caitlyn is, well, Caitlyn.

15- Who is the bigger liar?

Caitlyn only lies when it’s necessary. She’s been known to bluff or lie by omission when it benefits the pursuit of justice, i.e. during interrogation, and she’s able to manipulate rather easily when the job calls for it without much problem to her moral standing. As for myself, UH, let’s see. My parents often caught me in lies growing up (none that were malicious, I just liked to see if I could trick people into believing whatever I said, and it often worked). One time my mother told me, "Michelle, you’re such a liar!" to which I responded, mildly offended, "Mom, I prefer to call it "creative storytelling".” I was… 11 or so? Ah, well. I’m awful. It me.

16- WHO CRUSHES ON ROBOHUSBANDO MORE?

IT ME. Because I have no reason to deny my obsession with robohusbando, whereas Caitlyn HAS A LOT OF REASONS TO NOT CRUSH ON ROBOHUSBANDO.

"My father trained me," Rengar said pointedly. "Not all of them are to be underestimated. There are humans worthy of being warriors. Underestimating them is the first step on the road to having your head hanged on someone's wall."