Maren brought the mug down on the table until the wood split under it, so beer ran over the rim in a sheet.
"That piece of shit," he said, slurring the words into each other, "that worthless, no name bastard."
The bar had emptied out hours ago, so the four regulars at the far tables kept their eyes down on their own drinks.
Behind the counter the bartender worked a glass with a rag without hurrying, since he had watched this exact performance a hundred times.
'Fifty silver of my own money went into that guild,' Maren thought, dragging a sleeve through the spill, 'then Yenna took a commoner side over mine in front of everybody.'
The memory arrived the way it had been arriving all evening, which was hand first.
He had kicked at nothing while the whole hall watched him do it, then he had been turned around to face the beastkin girl and made to apologize in a voice everybody could hear.
