<div class="floatleft">(http://i43.tinypic.com/2aif2na.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Alexander Emerson</strong></span><br/><em>Murphy's Tavern<br/>Day one - Night<br/><span class="bbc_u">Tag</span>: Aryanna Murphy</em><br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/>'Eighteen in three days.' Alexander's furious search for morality sent his mind into a meltdown. He did his best not to cough when she admitted her age. It... almost worked, a soft gurgle escaped through his closed lips.<br/><br/>It was as if two loud mouthed middle-aged men were shouting at each other in Latin, Alexander was in such a conflicted state. As he attempted to think of a response for her to chew on, he stumbled over his own breathe and closed his eyes to regain composure. He had to forget about all these questions. Even if she were thirty-seven, he would treat her the same. 'Too much respect,' for women to rake them. It was a process to Alex, and never a work of passion. His soft eyes burned into a solid wall of reflection. Eventually, his name swindled out of his mouth: "I'm Alexander. Kind of funny for me to, uh-..." His mind was still scrambled. "...I forgot that we never exchanged names. I always do that with people of your particular profession."<br/><br/>He allowed himself to relax as she asked about his room, it felt like a counter-intuitive reaction. For his stomach turned upwards and flopped down, back into place. He was drunk enough, every connotation, and every word meant something profound, and every concept seemed to be on the fringe of sanity. 'Remember that she isn't drunk at all. Most of the things that you are saying will be interpreted by a sober mind.' His mind seemed to blank as it responded to itself: 'She's young though, Alex. At this point, It's pretty much the same damn thing.' He had to think of the sound: 'Shh', it allowed him to quiet his inner-monologue.<br/><br/>"I ended up reserving a room on the 2nd floor. I don't remember the number though." He laughed at himself, his cloudy awareness didn't allow the memory to form, and it had even denied a receipt after the transaction, 'real thinker, this one,' he thought to himself before continuing to speak. "I talked to May about it, is the room number on the key?" The thought occurred to him as he spoke, so he reached into his tight jean pocket to pull it out. As he begin to listen, the key dangled in front of him. Alexander took time to inspect the key quietly.<br/>