False Identities (Open to Defiance and Myself)

Ehhhh. How long had he been out? Asleep, upon a box of unknown commodities; the mid-afternoon rays attempted to punish those beneath, however the ever nurturing breeze caressed the flesh ever present and had it not been for the curses upon a disgruntled woman's lips, he may have slept further on into the day. It was true -- the ale of this territory was magnificent; a nectar upon the tongue and a remedy of troublesome times or memories of the night before. Speaking of... he couldn't recall the last... several hours, even days perhaps?

Yes, he was still in Bernia -- he'd come to this little village a week or two ago, there was something he needed... or was it someone he'd come to meet? The details were fuzzy, hazy... actually... there were no details. The purpose of his visit had completely escaped him. A result of the village's ale upon the brain? If such was the case -- he'd be sure to order by the boatload in the future; alcohol of such caliber would presumably burn most abundantly. Slowly, eyes moved down to the mug that finger's curled about -- contemplating the actual usage of this ale, and the massive kegs it resided in, as a combustible, before immediately [well, almost immediately] dismissing the fact based purely on compass of what a waste of good alcohol that would be.

Horn carved mug parted from lips, eyes slowly rose down the street to where the disgruntled curses disappeared somewhere beyond where he'd care to extended his curiosity. It wasn't long after that that another figure would emerge from the building he had been propped up against. A man of apparently lanky stature; complete with flamboyant hair, clothes and demeanor that sought to conquer the world that lay before him as outstretched arms would attempt to gather the horizon from one end to the other. Or his assumption could've been completely wrong -- and the man could've just been stretching out before returning home to a pot-pie or something. It wasn't necessarily his place to judge the ambition of a bystander. However, if he didn't move relatively quickly out of the sun's warmth -- it wasn't going to matter how ambitious the man was. There would be trouble in little china.

"Keep it down will ya? People are still tryin' to sleep, ya know?" Say what? It was probably closer to being well-after afternoon, and well... some people just shouldn't sleep that much. Especially the ambitious few. Up and at 'em. Yeah, that wasn't this guy; especially with the whole "can't remember why you fell asleep here to begin with" thing. Normally when you've lost your initial motivation, it'll keep you down for a couple extra hours before you've resettled on something different.

There wouldn't be a moment for the fancy hair-do to make a response; the disinterested bum upon the crate would fold arms across chest, head slouched and hair masking further inspection -- still, note should be held upon the dexterous way that the mug wouldn't lose a single drop of that treasured ale in the exchange. A true alcoholic.