theo/open | evening
He fucking hated Bahamut Hall.
The damn place might as well have been cursed, for all that Theo was concerned, and as such, he spent very little time here. But that evening was an exception--and that exception involved enough mead to drown a smaller man. Fortunately, Theo could hold his liquor.
Draining the contents of his cup, he grunted and waited for the next competitor to sit across from him at the table. The last Ranger who had tried to arm-wrestle had already dragged himself away in a pitiful heap. Strength was a berserker asset, after all, and he himself was a mountain of a man besides. It was also a much better way to pass the time than the fistfights he found himself in as a youth (although there were enough senior fighters present who could recall them).
Behind him, the sounds of men and woman laughing and singing drowned out what the mead did not. Bad memories were kept at bay, for now.