What was the most reassuring sight a drunk, physically unimposing man could come across in this state? A rainfall of rose petals? One lone, friendly cat brushing gently by him? A fancy lady's dropped purse, just spilling out with sovereigns?

These were none of the things ahead of Anthony. Instead, down the road walked a giant of a man, heads taller and broader than him. Glasses glinted in the lamplight, and his steps slowed.

Ropati worked with alcohol. He had made a point in his life to not make a living out of something he might love, and wine just happened to pack into that part of his life. It also took far more than economically feasible to get to this stumbling young man's state. Alas.

Did this fellow even know where he was headed? Whose estate sale had he gotten that ... unique choice of attire from?

"Excuse me," he called from a safe distance, hands in his pockets. "Do you know where the inn is?"