Hoping to save his wife the trouble, Marcello thought of a quick plan to get the rowdy soldiers' blood pumping. How do you gain rapport with the rugged? Alcohol, and violence. In swift fashion, he grabbed each and every Boscosi flag hanging from the taverns outer walls. "Don't watch what I'm about to do, it'll be too embarassing to stomach." Marcello said to Bruma. He stopped to ponder Reiner the Bastard's ambitions and intent for Bosco. By the time it came to truly test his mettle, it would be too late to stop him. A country of merchants and trade is promising, imagine opening a brick and mortar bakery right here in Bosco. Yet, despite all the promise, Marcello felt a careful dread when seeing Reiner, who never wore his emotions on his face, and never hinted at his intentions or sentiments. It takes a true statesman to act in such a manner consistently. No slips of the tongue or what's on his mind. A formidable intellect would make anyone wonder what else he is planning.
Marcello breathed in, a bundle of flags in hand, and entered the tavern. Whistling a common Fiorian tune, he ignored the glares and huffing and set the flags on the bar where he sat. Cringing internally, he hated the idea of acting tough. It was bad enough he looked like a child. Bruma would probably be looking away in sheer horror.
"Someone vandalized your tavern with these, just wanted to let you know." Marcello said to the barkeep, in a not too quiet but not loud tone of voice.
"Leave." The man behind the bar was an older gentleman, and looked at Marcello sternly. They stared at each other, seeing who would respond properly first. Men's heads began to turn and watch.
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Last edited by Marcello on Tue Jun 08, 2021 9:58 pm; edited 1 time in total