LMP sauntered back in and passed Wilwa on her way out. He smiled. "Farewell and goodnight, Wilwa! I overheard your poem. Loved it!" She smiled in return and left.
LMP had returned with not only Eodwine tucked inside, but Falco, Harreld and Garreth too from the White Horse Inn, and therefore he had, of course, brought a keg of stout to help continue the loosening of various and sundry inhibitions, codifications, cerebriations, and so forth. And he even decided that if "that's not a real word", he'd start making them up on the spot just because.
He made his way up to the table, set down the keg for the best pouring, straightened his nametag, which still said the same thing as before, which was not entirely unsurprising, since frankly anything can happen in the ether of the barrowdowns (within magical reason and approval of mods of course!).
He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pint glass, and poured it full of the darkest, richest looking stout. He put it to his lips and sipped, and sure enough, it was the darkest, richest tasting as well. He was especially glad that things were turning out to be a lot bigger than first appearances might indicate, because that meant that his capacity for the stuff was certainly larger than in RL as well. Ah, it was going to be a great party for the remainder of the night. He sat down in a comfy and very big chair, and thought up more words that had never existed before.
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