You Sure You Are Not Just Fat?

The inn was vacant, save for the lone innkeeper scrubbing off the filth from the table, for they were smeared upon by the patrons long lost and gone in the winds.

Was it the day, or was it the night? For no one knew inside this eternal twilight.

He sighed and sighed, picking up the fracture tankards sprawled on the ground.

They leaked ale, and they leaked brew.

But all he knew were that they leaked coins, and they leaked troubles, as they faded upon into the melody of the sleepless nights.

He heard footsteps creeping upon his hearth, he looked towards the entrance, and his eyes glowed in silver.

The door creaked open, and two figures walked inside.

One of silver and one of red.

One of regal mysticism and one of utter mischief.

The middle-aged innkeeper sighed as he looked over to the one in red, for he knew whom was the epitome of irredeemable annoyance.

“My friend Davon!” Gilbert cheered. “How have you been?”