Post by ira braddock on Jun 15, 2018 22:30:55 GMT
Ira hated this time of year but then he had never really liked his father and anything that reminded him of his father always angered him. It was the anniversary of his father’s death and the brewery always made a fuss over it. The founding, his birth and his death were the three celebration that were held. Ira understood the first two but the third Ira just found a little morbid but his mother had put her foot down and his sisters had back her up.
It was only on those three occasions that he actually drank the stuff that they made. He absolutely hated Fire Whiskey, all whiskey if he was honest, and everything about it. The taste, the smell, the texture, the way it went down your throat and pooled in your belly. He had trouble keeping it down and despite his age he was always punished in some way if he was even caught gagging on the stuff. His father had always taken pride in the families history of whiskey production and he could not understand why his only son could detest the stuff.
Ira only stayed as long as he believed that was necessary and that meant usually for the family meal and the first round of toasts at the breweries bar unless of course the moon phase was not right in which he would try to get out of the toast all together and sometimes even the meal. He hadn’t been lucky the last time the phase didn’t correspond and was forced to stay for the meal and toasts.
Remembering the last time Ira stopped in his tracks, his glass had been filled so many times at the meal and at the bar that he was sure that a refilling charm had been placed on his glass. A drunk and already annoyed werewolf during the moon phase is not something that you would want in a populated area like London.
Scenes flashed behind his eyes but none of them made sense when he felt a jolt as if someone had bumped him as they past turning he reached out to grab the shoulder of the person.
Tag: benjamin miller
It was only on those three occasions that he actually drank the stuff that they made. He absolutely hated Fire Whiskey, all whiskey if he was honest, and everything about it. The taste, the smell, the texture, the way it went down your throat and pooled in your belly. He had trouble keeping it down and despite his age he was always punished in some way if he was even caught gagging on the stuff. His father had always taken pride in the families history of whiskey production and he could not understand why his only son could detest the stuff.
Ira only stayed as long as he believed that was necessary and that meant usually for the family meal and the first round of toasts at the breweries bar unless of course the moon phase was not right in which he would try to get out of the toast all together and sometimes even the meal. He hadn’t been lucky the last time the phase didn’t correspond and was forced to stay for the meal and toasts.
Remembering the last time Ira stopped in his tracks, his glass had been filled so many times at the meal and at the bar that he was sure that a refilling charm had been placed on his glass. A drunk and already annoyed werewolf during the moon phase is not something that you would want in a populated area like London.
Scenes flashed behind his eyes but none of them made sense when he felt a jolt as if someone had bumped him as they past turning he reached out to grab the shoulder of the person.
Tag: benjamin miller
