Lafayette
Man of Artistic Fingers
I'm having a little trouble with this scene with two drunks having a conversation. Is it believable to you? How can I make it better? Are there any authors that write convincing drunken dialog?
Interlude 1
Interlude 1
In a room with deep, looming massive shadows, two drunken men, one tall one short, leered with blood-shot eyes at the images of the hoverball. The figures swirled and splashed and then evaporated into nothingness.
“Damn it! Damn it! What ‘as happened to the images, wizard?” roared the white-haired man, throwing a whiskey bottle at the hoverball, thus breaking its glass-like shell. “I don’t see anything including that beer guzzling bitch.”
“Unfortunately, my lord,” hiccupped the man in brown, “my spies have all died,”
“That I caaan see, mage, lisped the tall man. “Thanks to that Timberman and that red-haired boy.”
“What I can’t see,” hicced the short man, “my lord, is why you’re show upset?”
“The Vanadon bitch is there, that’s what,” snapped the tall man belching. “What is she doing there?”
“Vadoorah, being there is merely a co-incidence,” purred the mage. “You heard her say she only sought the Olden One for a cure for her cancer. She knows nothing of the object or of magic. You should be elated that she will soon die of her plague.”
“True. True. But now she has allies, a development that gives me discomfort.”
“It shouldn’t, my lord, you do not need to worry,” the small man smiled with cloudy eyes. “The Timbermen are scorn by all Shannamir and this one is no exception. He will fail in his endeavors to help. Vadoorah will do nothing as long as you hold her daughter captive. As for this small band of men-at-arms, they are nothing to your grand army.”
For a moment, the tall one swayed as he contemplated, “You’re correct. They will do her no good, especially when one of them is an unarmed craven fat man. And besides, we heard her and the Timberman say they are lost and don’t know how to get back to Shannamir.” The tall one laughed. “We can thank the redheaded killer for that. If he spared one Ord, they would have talked.” Sighing, he added, “It’s almost too bad, for I would have loved to match blades with the punk.”