((OOC: This is the thread discussed here! If you were not part of the original four who replied to my "Looking for RP" thread, I do ask that you do PM me before joining, just to help me keep track of who all is participating. Thanks!))
"297… 298... 299... 300!"
Kane Collins jumped up from the road, having finished his impromptu push ups session. Stretching out his arms in front of him, he rolled his head, cracking his neck loudly. He stood in front of a small tavern, with the name "The Leaky Keg" spelled out on an appropriately keg shaped sign. It was nestled in the woods on the side of the path, and buzzed with the quiet hum of life inside. "Push ups do a body good, for sure," Kane said, addressing nobeast but himself, "will make ye a right fine soldier!" He flexed his arms, proudly admiring his own muscles.
Grabbing his drum from where it sat on the ground, Collins marched smartly up to the tavern and opened the door. As he entered, a few of the beasts in the tavern glanced at the usually uniformed otter, but returned soon to their conversations, suppressing a chuckle or two. Kane made it halfway to the bar counter before tripping on the edge of a stool, falling face first and smacking his head into the drum held in his paws. Miraculously, the drum was unharmed, but Kane's face was not so resilient.
He stat up, a grin on his face, apparently unfazed by his significant nosebleed. A barmaid, a young squirrel, ran over to him. Seeing the blood, she gasped, "are you okay?"
"Never been better, for seein' you, lassie!" Kane said with a cocky grin, jumping to his feet. He gave a little bow in the maid's direction. "I'm Private Kane Gilmore Collins, the bravest soldier in Mossflower!" the otter proclaimed, "at your service, and the service of your family, town, an' any dependents. But not the beasts yeh don't like, I don't like 'em any more than you!"
The squirrelmaid gave a curtsy in return, but mostly seemed confused. "Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked.
"Just water, lassie!" Kane smiled, blood still pouring down his face, "soldiers should not drink albatrossic drinks, very bad for yeh stomach!" The squirrel ran off to fetch a glass of water.
When she left, Kane put his hand up to his lip, the blood having run down to his mouth. "Aye, what is this? I've been injured?" he stood confused, "must 'ave been a great battle..." He sat at a stool at the bar, a bit far away from the others, and waited for his drink to arrive. Picking up a cloth used for cleaning the bar counter he attempted to wipe away some of the blood, while desperately trying to recall when an enemy would have attacked him.