Just having a drink

[Rug-rug]

It was noisy inside of the Rusty Plough Tavern. It's noisy inside of most taverns, really, but this tavern was slightly noisier than the other ones. The reason for that sat at one of the centre tables in the room: a small group of loud, gruff looking rats, but none were louder or gruffer looking than Rug-rug.

The large rat sat on a stool that seemed comically small for him. His vest was very dirty, and kept getting dirtier each time Rug-rug spilled his drink. Not that it mattered. Rug-rug was accustomed to filth. You had to be, as a mercenary. No-one likes a prissy muscle-for-hire.

Rug-rug's booming laugh travelled through the tavern like a bass drum as one of the other rats made a funny remark about the state of a rat's hair as they walked past. Rug-rug had made many other laughs like that that night, as this group of rats were a funny lot. They had just finished a job together, and were celebrating their success over a couple pints. Rug-rug missed working in groups like these. He was usually hired for bodyguard work, or for teaching dickish people lessons; The bandit ambush had certainly been welcome to break the monotony.

Rug-rug chuckled to himself again, and raised his tankard to his lips. It was going to take a lot to ruin his mood tonight.