bad decisions make for great stories

A rumbling laugh tumbled from his inky lips at her comment about the cold and his nuts, and he waved the notion away with an ivory dipped paw to acquiesce. It was certainly some kind of miracle, wasn't it? Even better yet, she was quick to excuse any quality issues with his brew on the premise of bad crops. Rather than argue the point, citing the unusually long autumn in many parts of the continents and the mild seasons, he bobbed his head in agreement. As his ruddy gaze was cast once more her way, he could see the way her limbs had loosened to collapse against the fur she'd commandeered. The subtle glaze over her otherwise bright baby blues. Despite the ever growing intoxication, they looked as sharp as a blade. One more casual compliment, tossed in his direction with the affable disregard of a liesmith. He tipped the bottle in his grasp towards her in thanks, and let the last dregs flow down his throat.

As he hauled his bulk back onto his paws, he felt just the slightest bit unsteady. Always a good sign. Off he trundled in search of another bottle of mead, or wine. He wasn't too picky now that he had finished the first round. Wine actually sounded really nice. Wasn't there a bottle of the stuff he'd traded all those salves for? Grumbling wordlessly to himself, the titan rattled baskets and shoved aside hides in his pile of disorganized belongings. They were only getting more and more chaotic as he rifled through the mess, disregarding his earlier intentions of keeping things orderly for quick access. Alabaster tipped banner swept across his hocks with increasing frenzy until he finally came up with what he was looking for. The bottle was dusty by now, saved for a fun occasion where he could justify getting trashed. Possibly sappy. Wine did strange things to the brain that mead, ale, and whiskey did not. He might cry about his dead mother for the first time in years, who could say?

Carefully, the giant set his prize aside and plucked a cloth wrapped haunch of salted goat from the back of the cache. Perfect. With a pleased grunt to draw Jack's attention to his treasures, he settled back down by the fire. "Might as well share the good shit with someone who'll appreciate it." somewhere in the back of his mind, it was obvious the drink was starting to hit. The accent was getting even thicker, and soon he would likely stop speaking Common entirely. "My last bottle of red, if you'd like to share." he added with a cheeky grin, tusks flashing in the flickering flames of the fire. Large paws unwrapped the goat haunch and shoved the whole mess towards the fire's edge, letting it cook at its own leisure. The wine's cork came free between glistening incisors, spat haphazardly out of sight as he stopped to savour the first sip. Ah, still good. With a quirked brow, he shifted the dark glass bottle towards Jack.