Scruffington lowers his now-empty tankard with a prolonged "Aaaaaaah!" and wipes his whiskers clear. Then he lifts the mug again, this time to his bad eye, which examines it suspiciously.

"Hmmmm.... raku, eh? Well, that bastard won't hold up long. Now for that other matter..."

He heads over to the dark corner and peers down at its sole denizen.
"Yore name Leej?"
Receiving an unfriendly glare in response, he adds, "Well, I don't give no rodent's rectum meself, but I did meet pale-lookin' feller out on the trail with his dobro stuck in somethin' unmentionable. Ast me t'pass a message on to one Eb'neezer Leej, so he did. An' I'll take that raised eyebrow for a conf'mation of yore incognito, so t'speak. He said t'say that the deal's orf for now an' ye can carry on with yer prickish ways for another year at least. Says the talks broke down an' the spirits is out on strike since midnight. Says ye'd be happy with the news and that ye'd stand me a drink for passin' it on."




"Or not. Worth a try tho'..."

Scruffington turns and heads back out of the tavern, but stops by the tree. He fishes in the pocket of his gig bag and draws forth a sloppily soldered ornament made with old useless Kyser capoes with the springs broken or missing. He hangs it from the end of a branch, then continues on out of the tavern.