Work Text:
“...maybe the one about the town's cobbler, the poor bastard. Not to toot my own horn but it is quite famous, you've probably heard it before. Goes a little like:
when the sad sack
leaves for the city, oh, everyone
knows his wife likes
a bit of fun,
whatever else is a poor
innocent bard to do–"
"Shut the fuck up.”
Zalazar was about to rip every hair out of his head. His tail uncomfortably hidden beneath his breeches ached with the need to whip around in anger.
“Just… tell me, where's the rest of your party? I'm sure we will all get along!” He could feel his eyebrow twitching, and hoped his closed lip smile looked authentic enough.
The bard he had found wandering outside a tavern looking lost, finally stopped playing his lyre.
“Well, I don't think it very wise to bring a demon with me so he can take us all out.”
Zalazar froze on the spot, eyes wide.
“Oh, was it supposed to be a secret? You forgot to wear a hat so I can see your horns.”
He laid down on the grass, maybe he deserved to listen to the song as punishment after all.