So, this is the new Balphagore's Belly? Interesting.
Loved by the great [Loli]Loli himself.
I like this thread.
Nice story Ekamo.
Would he even bother if he was unbanned again?
Don't even know if he still lurks.
A man as witting as I would never be so foolish as to re-enter this place. But circumstances considered, it seems Michael Burge has no other choice.
I enter the tavern with as much modesty as I could muster. I can't have that pesky Apostate catching me so soon. The guise won't last long, though.
The burly looking ragamuffin stares down at me like a big-boy bouncer. "Don't make any trouble, kid."
"I shall try my best, sir," I say, then head to the bar.
YawningAngel looks as scraggy as always. His hair is unkempt, and he hasn't shaved in at least two weeks. He looks up at me with dejected eyes and says, "Haven't seen you here in a while."
"I haven't a clue what you mean, sir. I am merely a visitor in town and wish to acquire by means of barter some of your brandy."
He is clearly fooled by my act. I can see it in his eyes. They look at me with this wonderful bewilderment that only Michael Burge can implant.
"Are you high, Burge?"
"Who's High Burge? I'd just like a brandy, thanks, then perhaps a room for the night. Do you have any spare?"
He grumbles. My subterfuge has him at his wits end. I'm completely undetected. He starts filling a glass from the tap.
"Maybe. You'd be crazy trying to sleep here, though. Chavo'd come down on you with the fury of a thousand gods if he found you in 'ere."
"That's quite all right, then. Gods don't seem all too revered in this place anyway."
He hands me the glass of what is clearly ordinary beer.
"What's this? You call this brandy?"
"Does this place look like we got brandy? Something tells me you ain't got **** for cash to be making orders with, anyway, Burge."
I push the glass aside. "I'm no longer thirsty. What about that room, then? And whomever this 'Burge' character is, I can assure you I am not."
He sighs. "There's a spare upstairs—third door on the left."
I get up and move away, but then return to take the beer. "This one's on the house, right?"
He doesn't answer.
I head off upstairs. Third door on the left, yes? Counting to three might be a difficult task for a lesser man, but it is no challenge for Michael Burge. First comes one, then two, then... aha!
I step into my lovely new abode to see... ProfessorOak... and—
"It's not what it looks like!" Octavia yells, jumping up and trying to cover herself.
I close the door in a weak attempt to save my eyes, but the scars are already there, the image burned into my irises like a nineteenth-century photograph. I walk away from the door as nonchalantly as possible. I saw nothing.
The door bursts open, and Octavia comes brawling out. She pulls on my rags. "You can't tell anybody! Nobody!"
"I will till the day I die try with all my mind to erase the memory."
She breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she says, still puffing. "It's just that nobody could really understand. It was just some fun, you know?."
"We all have our vices. I understand."
By now ProfessorOak had shrivelled his way out. "Look, it was just a little fun—nothing serious. It was just a Stephen Fry shrine. I'll admit it was a little over-the-top, but, you know, you can't deny Stephen Fry is super hot."
It was a solid argument. "I agree."
"So you wanna make out?"
I'd sing you a song, but
I'm just a little hoarse.
These stories greatly amuse me :>
"What is freedom of expression? Without the freedom to offend, it ceases to exist.”
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