SPARKS WILL FLY
THEY IGNITE OUR BONES
The night was still fresh, albeit it came sooner this time of the year, but Iskra was already heavy on his seat and leaning a bit too aggressively on the bar for support. He'd come in earlier than normal from hacking at tree trunks, the promise of a fireside much more inviting than the idea of shaking his bones against the axe handle over and over. He might have gone to the hot springs instead to heal the aches of his body, but the bar was often his hospital of choice because it promised to heal the aches of his soul, and those always felt a lot worse.THEY IGNITE OUR BONES
"HEY!" Iskra shouted suddenly, leaping to his feet and nearly toppling his seat with the process. "A toast," he drawled, raising his glass and glancing around the room with a giddy showmanship, "to the only family that's never done me wrong." Although he didn't spell it out, he clearly meant liquor. What was that diddy he liked the sing?
A longneck, ice-cold beer never broke my heart.
"SHOTS FOR EVERYONE, ON ME!" he thumped the table as he sat back down, somehow managing to keep his stool from bucking him off. He grabbed for the shot glass the barkeep slung his way (it was pure water), and tipped it back with an exaggerated gasp of air afterwards. He slapped it back on the table, upside down, and grinned.
Meanwhile, Goose waited patiently outside. He was curled up in a ball of fluff. He preferred the cold, especially compared to the smothering aromas and stifling heat of this locale. So it was habit by now, for Iskra to waltz in, gleefully greeting the other regulars, while Goose slouched down in his spot by the door; close enough to keep an eye and ear on Iskra if need be, and it let the dog sneak inside with someone when it was time to drag Iskra out by the arm.
WHEN THEY STRIKE
WE LIGHT UP THE WORLD
WE LIGHT UP THE WORLD
