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Let’s give a general do-we-give-a-fuck check. Hmm, seemed he did.
Dammit, cookie dough wouldn’t have betrayed him like this.
“Dwarves equate a fight to a party, you know that. Of course they brought mead with them.”
“All right, I got the other clan to go away. It leaves us with our clan and Jarek’s inside.” “And humans drunk on dwarven mead.” “I at no point claimed this was a good situation.”
There needed to be a word for this, a word to describe the feeling of being willing to eat a bowl of water with a fork rather than deal with the situation causing him anxiety.
