[The evening of the day that the rifters arrive....
Scipio, in the tavern, puts his face into Rafael's upper arm. He is clinging to the bar like a man clinging to the last scrap of decking after a shipwreck, one arm looped around his mug of wine.]
Terrible. [A muffled moan, but Rafa will be able to decipher it. Twerwarbwr.] Terrible, terrible, terrible...
aktchion
Scipio, in the tavern, puts his face into Rafael's upper arm. He is clinging to the bar like a man clinging to the last scrap of decking after a shipwreck, one arm looped around his mug of wine.]
Terrible. [A muffled moan, but Rafa will be able to decipher it. Twerwarbwr.] Terrible, terrible, terrible...