[say]"Wished I lived in the bar."[/say] He mumbled, though really he didn't. While Adam had had many fine nights in inns, had told stories and sung songs, found clients and won fights...he'd also lost money, dignity, memories of nights made fuzzy by too much drinking afterwards. While the horn meant the temptation to drink now followed him out of the bar, he found he didn't really miss the sickeningly familiar view of the underside of bar stools.
Surprised to find Amalia seemed to find his words offensive, he shook his head. [say]"No, no, you got me wrong. I'm not knocking it -- look, I've slept in stables or even one time, an alley that was filled with piss and I saw a rat..."[/say] He mumbled off, pulling a face. That had been in the Bad Time he didn't talk about, not usually, with his face half wrapped up and his voice ripped from him, the only solace he'd had a certain kind of herb you could breath in.
[say]"Are we nearly there, though? I feel a nap in my near future."[/say] It would be considerably more than a nap, he knew that, but didn't want to sound like he'd stay for too long.
