"There's a back door, just up ahead," Mercutio finally observed, his hand coming up to twirl his rabbit's foot around. No signs of guards,<span style="font-style: italic">and</span>there was a back entrance. That merchant might not have been so full of shit, after all. "Now the question is, do we trust it?"<br/><span style="color: #0080FF"><br/>Halam scratched his beard, his hand coming away with another strip of bacon that he promptly ate, all while considering the suspiciously easy path ahead. <br/><br/>"Something doesn't smell right," he said gruffly, eyes fixed distrustfully on the door. "Shouldn't be so easy to waltz right in through the back door. Not all the moose scrotums and rabbit's feet in the bloody world should make it so simple. Could be a trap."</span><br/><br/>Merc rolled his eyes, sighing deeply before looking down at his companion. "Halam, the only thing that doesn't smell quite right is your beard bacon."<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">"I wasn't going to say anything, because I'm a nice guy, but one of the whores last night said your crotch smells like cheese. Or maybe it was mine, I can't remember." </span><br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Cheese</span>? She's the one that smelled of fucking seasnail," he protested. He made a noise of dismissal, opting instead to weigh the pros against the cons. On the pros, if it really<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>as loosely guarded as it appeared, it made their lives one hell of a lot easier. As for the cons, though... He rather fancied his life, and all of his limbs in tact. "Besides, we have no other option. It's not like there are a lot of windows in a temple like this."<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">"Aye, we probably must, but it doesn't feel right. Still, either this or we fuck off and go home, eh?"</span><br/><br/>"So I take it you'll be fucking off, then."<br/><br/>Mercutio looked down at Halam, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What?" He hadn't even registered that the voice was not his partner's until he felt a heavy weight on his shoulder. A hand. A gauntlet-clad hand, to be precise.<br/><br/>Not even at their destination yet, and they'd already been caught. Some fucking rabbit's foot.