The old man beside him looked up at the sudden disruption, staring into Bram's eyes.<br/><br/><strong>"The who?"</strong>he replied all too loudly, his voice echoing all about the large chamber. He pushed up his glasses and whipped his head about to look at the poster, leaning closer and closer until his nose was nearly pressed against the paper.<br/><br/><strong>"Crimson Devils you say?"</strong>He continued loudly, causing a few others to flinch and cover their ears.<br/><br/><strong>"Saw them with my own eyes, I did!" </strong><br/><br/>He turned to look at Bram again, leaning forwards. The stench of liquor hung onto his clothes and his breath; dirt and grime covered his face. The man smiled a toothy grin.<br/><br/><strong>"Pissing in the street?!"</strong>He yelled, bewildered. His voice suddenly dropped into a whisper.<strong>"You saw me? Keep quiet about that, won't you? Can't have another run-in with the authorities, you know?"</strong><br/><br/>The few other bystanders had already cleared out from the loud, seemingly drunken old man, and escaped to a safe distance.<br/><br/><strong>"Don't remember where they are, but they can't be that bad I reckon."</strong>He spat.<strong> "Everyone in here is stuck up anyhow, all hissy about cleanliness and morals and such. The spireguard come in every morning to post the bills, sent by the Bishop herself."</strong><br/><br/>A scurry of feet sounded down the hallway, as a small team of priestesses ran towards the pair.<br/><br/><strong>"Did you spit here again?</strong>" A womanly voice yelled.<strong>"Don't let me catch you, you damned old man!"</strong><br/><br/>Bram's new partner in crime turned to the door.<br/><br/><strong>"Ask the guards if you're that curious, my friend!"</strong>He called, before running as fast as his old legs could take him.