“That’s right,” drawls Fassn, his moustache and beard filled with foam. “We can’t be doin’ unethical stuff. Old Ajralan can’t be havin’ his fill of— of that.”
“We stole the necklace that’s paying for that drink,” Shyan points out. It’s not clear whether Fassn has heard her.
“Perhaps I shall just count our takings once again,” Cang says after a moment, uncoiling in an instant like a tight spring or a cobra patiently waiting to strike. Forming a small barrier with his body, as best he’s able, he begins sliding coins between little piles, crunching numbers with great concentration, not even pausing for a sip of ale. Fassn none-too-subtly slides Cang’s drink towards himself and consumes it while Cang counts and re-counts their coin.
whiny, waning, beard wisps greying
phallic fanfic? not complaining
screw the work and get to playing
always down for victim blaming
light beyond my eyelids flaming
fuck this poem, friends are waiting
rewarded, undogged, rigidly plodding
pulling the hairs from my beard one by one
so light it up; not a major occasion
batteries torn out, mastered but dead