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CHAPTER 67 My Constitution Was Kicking Me in the Assets

CHAPTER 67

My Constitution Was Kicking Me in the Assets

Rufus

The bimbleberry mead was fruity and nutty but smooth. The unique undercurrent of honey brew meant it had a natural light sweetness that went down easy. It was like drinking freshly pressed berry juice without the bitter or tart flavors so commonly mixed in. It was also strong enough to give my Constitution twenty-four a challenge.

Still, my greatest vice was a fine glass of wine. Or mead, as the case may be. I enjoyed a long sip before setting the glass down on the table. My fingers played with the rim of my glass.

“A game?” I asked. Brownie eyed my hand, distracted. The mead had already hit her, I could tell, causing a rising blush to creep up her neck and flush her face. Her prominent cheeks, often dusted with glitter, were bare save for the heat.

Settle down, tail . I was lucky she was even still talking to me.

“Yes.” Bronwynn wagged a finger at me.

I liked her fingers. No, concentrate . “What kind of game?”

“Fifty questions!” she stated. “Actually, twenty questions. I don’t want to be here all night.”

The hair raised on my arms and my tail curled, but I remained poised. The show of a confident general was a skill that came in handy in all areas of life, but more so now than ever. “I don’t think we have the time—”

“You can ask me anything . And I’ll answer the truth,” Bronwynn whispered seductively. Or maybe she was just speaking normally, and I was overthinking everything.

I took another sip. Somehow, my glass was already almost empty.

The facts remained, I’d lied to her, stalked her, and taken advantage of her hospitality. I didn’t know if she would be able to trust me again, even if she understood where I was coming from. Which it sounded like she did. And there were so many things I wanted to know …

Still, better to play it safe. “Ten questions each.”

“What … is your favorite song?” Bronwynn asked so quickly that she almost cut me off.

The answer was obvious. “Any song you sing.”

She slapped the table. “That’s not a real answer!”

“Fine.” I thought about it. “‘Balthorn Rose.’”

“Really? Why?” Bronwynn raised an eyebrow, then quickly waved her hands in front of her. “Wait, that wasn’t my second question! Hm … When did you first hear me sing?”

“The first time I heard you sing was in Peldeep last year. You were playing at Herman’s Club,” I recalled, remembering the night my entire world had changed. “And I’ll tell you this for free: I love ‘Balthorn Rose’ because, even though I can barely understand half the lyrics, I love the harmonies and the melody. It gets stuck in my head all the time, and it drives me crazy that I won’t get to hear you sing it until hopefully the next concert.”

“You could always ask,” Brownie pointed out.

I was spoiled. And I was an idiot. Because I’d been asking for specific songs all the time, I’d missed out on hearing the songs that I didn’t know about.

She offered and after I nodded, Brownie refilled both of our glasses.

The second glass hit harder than the first, but I had impressive stamina. I’d accepted the second glass, but I wouldn’t accept a third. My king was always talking about my monstrous Constitution; little did he know I didn’t min-max my stats. I had a healthy amount of points distributed among my attributes.

Name: Rufus Triever Occupation: Commander General Level: 54 Experience Points: 13397/13500 Hit Points: 616/616 Mana Points: 900/900 Class: Commander

Titles: [Beastfolk], [Protector], [Mediator], [General], [Commander], [Connoisseur] Attributes: Strength: 26 Intelligence: 30 Dexterity: 19 Perception: 30 Constitution: 24 Charisma: 19

Hey, I was about to level up. Anyway, my “impressive” Constitution was heavily reliant on the fact that my predictive attack meant I could mitigate damage while pretending to take hits. And while I enjoyed the taste of wine, I never drank to excess. Most wines were made for the common-level folk; those who had an average Constitution of fifteen.

I looked away from my character sheet and back at Bronwynn, who had just finished refilling her third glass. If my Constitution was kicking me in the assets, I couldn’t imagine what she was suffering.

“Are you even drinking that wine?” The words were out before my mind caught up to me, and the minstrel looked up at me with shock.

“Not very much, no,” she grumbled. “I’m good at pretending to drink. And I’m not using a skill or perk, just basic Dexterity and my storage ring. Most don’t notice.”

“Why?”

“Because this is my revenge for stalking me,” she said, taking what I assumed to be a real sip of the mead. “And that was two of your questions!”

If I was paying attention, I could focus on watching the liquid fall past her rosy lips … and her tongue licking her lips afterward.

“We’re going to have a rousing night, and you are going to be a mess tomorrow when dealing with my uncle, and I will feel better about you taking advantage of me. Also …” She paused. I had to wrench my lascivious eyes away from her lips and drag my eyes up to her own. “Are you just being nice to me because you’ve been ordered to?”

“No!” My fist hit the table as hard as hers did earlier … Alright, maybe a little harder. Our waitress appeared at my elbow.

“How are your desserts? Can I get you the bill?” The foxkin stared at my fist, and I self-consciously withdrew my hands into my lap.

“Everything is delicious,” I said, before realizing I hadn’t even taken my first bite of my lavender scone. I hurriedly did so now .

Bronwynn came to the rescue. “We’re almost done, promise. You can bring the bill anytime. I’ve got it.”

The foxkin nodded. “Two gold, four silver.”

Brownie handed over three gold, and the waitress left them smiling. The amount was exorbitant, and I stared at the half-empty bottle of bimbleberry mead that’d cost my bard two gold.

Speaking of my bard, she was beaming at me despite my outburst. Brownie took a bite of her scone, then appeared distracted for a second as she closed her eyes in obvious enjoyment.

“I was going to buy dinner,” I told her. “At least let me pay for half?”

“No, and that’s another question.”

“Wait, no it wasn’t—”

“My turn.” She finished off her scone. Then she leaned forward across the table. “Rufus …”

She so rarely called me by name that it startled me. I drew back and asked tentatively, “Yes?”

“Can I pet you?”

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