[ At the shouting and complaining, Ciri only rolls her eyes and grabs a tighter hold of her mug of ale to keep it from being upended when someone's shoved onto a neighboring table, just in case something bumps into hers. Glass breaks. A pewter mug rolls around underneath her chair, and Ciri lifts her boots out of the way, staring at the ceiling and silently asking it to grant her a bit of extra patience.
Yes, she'd been here for the tournament. But she hasn't been left with any sort of good impression. Now, the two finalists squabbling like mannerless little street urchins leaves her even less impressed, and already making plans to just finish her ale and not return to this particular tavern again. Even having made a couple coins betting on the obvious winner (she's not fooled by the larger man's muscles; the idiot was slow, and not just in the head), it's not enough to be worth the trouble. Participating had been tempting until she saw how paltry the competition was.
Now if only she could just... finish her goddamn ale in peace.
The smaller man turns to leave, and Ciri hears the tell-tale hiss of steel moving through leather. ]
...oh, for fuck's sake.
[ She mutters, annoyed that she's accidentally chosen the table right next to these buffoons, and that she can't in good conscience ignore the lout raising his sword to the back of his unarmed opponent. Just her luck.
The angry soldier charges, and Ciri--
Sticks out her leg. And trips him. She's watching that sword closely, ready to divert the blade if the soldier loses his grip on it. ]
no subject
Yes, she'd been here for the tournament. But she hasn't been left with any sort of good impression. Now, the two finalists squabbling like mannerless little street urchins leaves her even less impressed, and already making plans to just finish her ale and not return to this particular tavern again. Even having made a couple coins betting on the obvious winner (she's not fooled by the larger man's muscles; the idiot was slow, and not just in the head), it's not enough to be worth the trouble. Participating had been tempting until she saw how paltry the competition was.
Now if only she could just... finish her goddamn ale in peace.
The smaller man turns to leave, and Ciri hears the tell-tale hiss of steel moving through leather. ]
...oh, for fuck's sake.
[ She mutters, annoyed that she's accidentally chosen the table right next to these buffoons, and that she can't in good conscience ignore the lout raising his sword to the back of his unarmed opponent. Just her luck.
The angry soldier charges, and Ciri--
Sticks out her leg. And trips him. She's watching that sword closely, ready to divert the blade if the soldier loses his grip on it. ]