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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Dyme" data-source="post: 695061" data-attributes="member: 1868">The man walked into the tavern and looked around. The sights and sounds in this place, nay, this entire city, were amazing to behold. People in the streets dashing to and fro, talking, laughing, smiling. The tavern was even more interesting. He had never seen so many different bottles with different colored liquids.  The chairs at the bar looked large and comfortable. Placing his belongings at his feet, the man sat down.  "Ale," the man said, shifting himself on the stool. The cushions were a luxury he had only seen a few times before. He was pulled out of his fixation by the barman's voice.  "What kind?"  The question took the man by surprise. "I'll try something new. Give me your favorite." The bartender reached into a shiny box behind him and got a bottle. He opened it and placed it in front of the man.  The bottle was odd. First off, it was brown. Second, the bottle said Miller Lite on it. Third, it was the coldest bottle he had ever put his hand around.  He sipped the beverage. It was watery and not very good. The grains the miller named Lite had contributed to this brew were dull and lifeless. However, the coolness was refreshing. He had been walking around the city all day.  Not long after, another man sat on the stool next to him and nodded a greeting. This man ordered a Crown and Seven. After he got his drink, he turned to the first man. "So, you here for the game, eh?"  Ah, yes, The Game. The whole reason the first man was here in this city in the first place. He found the idea of this game offensive. Pitting two groups of animals against each other for sport and entertainment grated on his sense of morality. He was most definitely here for The Game.  "Actually, yes, I am here to look into this battle of the great cats," he told his new companion.  The second man grunted. "I'm not, believe it or not. I'm here for a meeting, so I'll probably miss the game. Eh, who cares anyway? Bengals and Lions. I can't think of a more boring contest."  The first man felt his anger rising. The other man's cavalier attitude toward these noble species was appalling. Apparently, most of the other people in the room shared this attitude as they talked excitedly of their belief that the lions would kill the bengals, or vise versa. Some claimed to have made wagers on the outcome. The man had never heard of anything so barbaric.   The second man extended his hand. "The name is Stu. Stu Nodd."  "Stu Nodd?" the first man asked, the surprise showing clearly on his face as he shook the offered hand. He then sighed and shrugged. "I'm sorry," the first man said as he picked up his pack. "I'm in the wrong Story Hour."  And with that, Nigel Meadowbrook walked out the door and into the night.</blockquote>

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