...and falling off, rolling along the floor, eventually stopped by a scuffed boot.
Tom likes churches. You'll never find a vampire in one, that's for sure. Or at least you wouldn't back home; he knows things work differently in Baedal. And while he wasn't sure about the greater theological points --or where he stood in the grand scheme of things, as a werewolf-- churches had always had soup kitchens and secondhand clothes, and as such they were always a fixture throughout his nomadic life.
He'd become familiar with the House Ecumenal over the past months when Hal was detoxing, when the money he earned labouring could cover rent at the Valhalla Inn and not much else. They didn't turn him away and, if they knew he was a werewolf, they didn't care and Tom had never thought to say. When he has time, he pays back the favour by doing some of the heavier work. Mostly of it involves lifting large things and deliveries.
The soup can is picked up and popped back on the table with a cheerful if bashful smile. "Whoops, butterfingers." And then he's just kind of hesitating, unsure what he's supposed to do or say next, but familiarity nags at him. "You're at the Inn, aren't you?"
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Tom likes churches. You'll never find a vampire in one, that's for sure. Or at least you wouldn't back home; he knows things work differently in Baedal. And while he wasn't sure about the greater theological points --or where he stood in the grand scheme of things, as a werewolf-- churches had always had soup kitchens and secondhand clothes, and as such they were always a fixture throughout his nomadic life.
He'd become familiar with the House Ecumenal over the past months when Hal was detoxing, when the money he earned labouring could cover rent at the Valhalla Inn and not much else. They didn't turn him away and, if they knew he was a werewolf, they didn't care and Tom had never thought to say. When he has time, he pays back the favour by doing some of the heavier work. Mostly of it involves lifting large things and deliveries.
The soup can is picked up and popped back on the table with a cheerful if bashful smile. "Whoops, butterfingers." And then he's just kind of hesitating, unsure what he's supposed to do or say next, but familiarity nags at him. "You're at the Inn, aren't you?"