This is not a scene from my original fic, but it's something that could have happened to the main character before the story starts. Maybe when I get to an appropriate place I'll reference it.
Comments are welcome, of course. And please do remember that I'm on drugs right now.
Gerard was the owner of the tavern, the only one in town. He was also a man on whom alcohol had a spectacularly negative effect.
It was a paradox of a sort, but not a troublesome one… until Gerard made the poor decision to partake of his own wares. He didn’t do it often – he wasn’t a complete idiot, and his wife was vigilant – but when I walked into the storeroom that morning and my eyes watered from the sudden astringent scent of alcohol, I thought that it was going to be one of those days.
My guess was confirmed when he threw a bottle at my head.
No time to yell or curse; I simply dropped, and heard the explosion above me, and felt the shatter of glass all around. Little bits caught in my clothes and hair, and I knew that I’d be picking shards out of my skin for a long time to come.
Assuming, of course, that Gerard didn’t kill me.
It would be an accident, of course. Gerard was an occasionally violent man, when the spirits took him, but as I said before, he wasn’t an idiot. If he killed me he would have to go and find some other poor boy to work for him. That would involve interviews, and training, and if his new employee was less desperate than I, possibly higher wages. Gerard, in a more sober state, would be eager to avoid all of these things.
Of course, if he killed me accidentally, I would still be dead.