Activity

“Hey Ax-Punk. Which of these coins will buy me whatever Snake-Punk’s having?”

I get two responses – namely: “I’ll share mine if you ask nicely.” And Ax-Punk jabbering with the bartender over my coins.

“Don’t look at me like that. I ain’t gotta clue. That last fellow left something odd as well.”

Well, they’re stamped with the images of the consuls – or so I have been told. Actually, Grimm said they are very crappy likenesses, but people still love smashing their mark on coinage even thousands of years later.

“Later than what?” was my question. She told me to not be smart mouthed. Heh. Like I didn’t learn from her.

Okay, I’m pretty sure I’ve always been smart mouthed.

“It tasted like copper.” Ax-Punk announces.

Soooo, anyone want to talk about the fact that someone put my coins in their Abyss-bound mouth? No?

“They are a little larger than a denar. Should be worth the same.” says Barkeep. “Your friend left enough for you to drink as well.”

“Thanks Snake-Punk but apparently I’m good on your coin.” I say in the vague direction of my other companion.

I hear the glass thunk on the table and vaguely feel around for it. I’m keeping an ‘eye’ on the entire room: a drink isn’t worth the effort to split my focus.

Hm. Wonder if I’m legal for drinking here. Well, technically, we don’t know if I’m legal back home. Amnesia kinda makes it difficult to keep track of your age. (That being said, I’m probably legal by now, even if I wasn’t when I started.)

I scratch under my blindfold – the scars ache and pull in all the bad ways.

“The name is Caleb by the way. Caleb Leckie.”

“If ya say so.” I’ll have forgotten it in five minutes even if I want to remember it. “I go by Burn.”

Don’t expect ya to remember it – just call me something other than ‘the blind guy’ please. I am so much more than my affliction.

“Hey, is anyone keeping tabs on Metal-Punk? He’s skulking in a corner like he thinks I can’t hear that non-stop clanking. If we’re gonna do revenge, I bet a hitter would be useful.”