Unless I was mistaken, little sister was resorting to magic in this brawl or else she wouldn’t have gotten that extra bounce on a horizontal throw. Either that or she was really annoyed! I debated whether or not to chide her for breaking our unwritten rules regarding no magic in bar-room brawls, but decided to let it slide. On the off chance that she was simply overly perturbed, such comment would only invite retaliation, and Tananda can be quite a handful even when she isn’t steaming.
By this time, the din inside had ceased and an ominous stillness prevailed. I figured it was jolly well time I checked things out, so I edged my way along the wall and peeked through the door.
With the exception of one lonely chair which seemed to have escaped unscathed, the place was a wreck with everything in splinters or tatters. Bodies, limp or moaning, were strewn casually about the wreckage, giving the overall effect of a battlefield after a hard fight. . . which, of course, it was.
The only surprising element in the scene was Tananda. Instead of proudly surveying the carnage, as was her normal habit, she was leaning against the bar chatting quietly with the bartender. This puzzle was rapidly solved, as the individual in question glanced up and saw my rather distinctive features in the doorway.
“Hey, Chumley! Come join us in a drink to my long over due remodeling.”
Tananda glanced my way sharply, then nodded her approval.
“Come on in, big brother. You’ll never guess who owns this dive.”
“I think I just figured it out, actually,” I said, helping myself to a drink from a broken bottle that was perched on the bar. “Hello, Weasel. Bit of a ways from your normal prowl grounds, aren’t you?”