After about a day on arriving to Thisbē, Andrew found a bar. He had gold still from his more adventurous days. Plus some from selling the occasional item from his wares. He may as well use it on a stiff drink. It didn't matter to him what quality it was, as long as he could get drunk. 

Andrew thinks that a stiff drink is the least he deserves after nearly dying. Then somehow gaining magic that he still doesn't quite understand. Sighing, he leans against the bar and pays for his first mug of ale or whatever his coin will cover. He's not picky. Booze is booze. 

Once he gets what he paid for, he drinks. Andrew also keeps his eyes on his mug, not really caring who might be sitting nearby him. 

L

ately, the binds of duty seemed to be constricting Isto more tightly than usual. It was almost suffocating. Nothing new or particularly straining had been happening (apart from enduring a parade of potential brides), just the usual ebb and flow of court life. But the familiar feeling of being trapped had returned, and his latest escapades were the only thing keeping him sane.

But for now, Isto was content. Fueled by mead, Solstice gaiety, and Brelan hash, he reclined in a plush chair with an unnamed woman in his lap. Well, she probably had a name, but he had forgotten it a few drinks ago and she was too busy picking his pockets when she thought he was distracted by her kisses and honeyed words to mind.

Eventually, the king excused himself from his companion and made his way to the bar for a new drink and a new, slightly less nimble-fingered, friend. As he weaved through the growing crowd, he collided with a woman who had been dancing. Or perhaps she had knocked into him. Isto couldn't quite tell and, in fact, was now mistaking a man seated at the bar for the dancing woman.

“Well, aren’t you a forward one,” he giggled, with a flirtatious wink, “Yes, I would be delighted to dance with you.”

TAG: Andrew Johansen

[googlefont=UnifrakturMaguntia]

[attr="class","mizocredit"]

MADE BY MIZO

[newclass=.mizocredit]font:bold 6pt calibri;color:#ffffff;[/newclass][newclass=.invheader] background: #7cb1bb; padding: 5px 5px; color: #ffffff; font: 12px/11px Open Sans Condensed; margin: 3px 2px 3px 0; display: inline-block; text-decoration: none; [/newclass][googlefont=Open+Sans][googlefont=Karla]

A voice breaks his focus on his drink, and Andrew looks towards another man who is clearly already well in his cups. A dance? From him?? Andrew takes a moment to consider it. This stranger isn't bad looking, but at the same time, it may be a little too odd for two men to dance at a public bar. Besides, this other man has likely mistaken Andrew for someone else in his drunken state. 

"Eh, I wouldn't want to disappoint ya mate." He replies, trying to be gentle with his refusal. 

Not that he can't dance, since his mother had taught him before he left his home. 
Nor did he care who he danced with, if they were pleasant enough company. 
Other people present might care, and this stranger might care more once they were sober. 

So it's for the best to just sit and keep a better eye on his surroundings. 

Isto Rivenn