“Imma pick a fight! Imma pick a fight! I’m gonna trash this guard man thing!”
“Nooo,” a sob “leave the guard alone! He’s my favorite!”
“HOW CAN YOU TELL!?”
“I need you two to move along. Now.”
The guard had his face covered by his helmet, but if they could have seen him they’d see he was making the face one makes when confronted with a turned over cart full of cabbages that have to be picked up one by one, only for some idiot to crash into it and turn it over again. He was trying to herd a violently emotional group of people who faced down monsters and hardened criminals for a living and for fun, people who ordinarily had the organizational skills of an Argonian on Daril and were currently drunker than they’d been since last month, at least. He was doing it as well as a man picked for his job because he couldn’t run, fight or think could do, which meant that Torvar was climbing the roof of Warmaiden’s and Athis had him convinced he didn’t speak a lick of Nordic, “f’lah”.
It got ugly when Njada tried to set the man on fire, it seemed, with the extra exploding lights she’d acquired from the Khajiit under suspicious circumstances. The guard tried to grab her arm and Ria lunged at him, shouting about honor and sisterhood. She was missing half of her armor, but she had the hat that one drunk Argonian had stolen from a bandit camp on a dare.
Vilkas pulled on his arm and guided him to a dark corner behind Warmaiden’s, far from the noise. Ergnir tried to object, with a smile, about abandoning them.
“They’ll be fine. Ria once killed a charging bear with a stick, love, they’ll be just fine.”
“I’m not worried about them –”
The rest of his sentence was cut down by Vilkas’ teeth, biting at him in a kiss that only grew closer. And if the guards or a passing beggar heard them panting in the dark, they left them to it.
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timeasmymeasure
The Marriage of the Harbinger and the Dragonborn and its Celebration (6/7)
Date: 2013-07-17 09:41 am (UTC)“Nooo,” a sob “leave the guard alone! He’s my favorite!”
“HOW CAN YOU TELL!?”
“I need you two to move along. Now.”
The guard had his face covered by his helmet, but if they could have seen him they’d see he was making the face one makes when confronted with a turned over cart full of cabbages that have to be picked up one by one, only for some idiot to crash into it and turn it over again. He was trying to herd a violently emotional group of people who faced down monsters and hardened criminals for a living and for fun, people who ordinarily had the organizational skills of an Argonian on Daril and were currently drunker than they’d been since last month, at least. He was doing it as well as a man picked for his job because he couldn’t run, fight or think could do, which meant that Torvar was climbing the roof of Warmaiden’s and Athis had him convinced he didn’t speak a lick of Nordic, “f’lah”.
It got ugly when Njada tried to set the man on fire, it seemed, with the extra exploding lights she’d acquired from the Khajiit under suspicious circumstances. The guard tried to grab her arm and Ria lunged at him, shouting about honor and sisterhood. She was missing half of her armor, but she had the hat that one drunk Argonian had stolen from a bandit camp on a dare.
Vilkas pulled on his arm and guided him to a dark corner behind Warmaiden’s, far from the noise. Ergnir tried to object, with a smile, about abandoning them.
“They’ll be fine. Ria once killed a charging bear with a stick, love, they’ll be just fine.”
“I’m not worried about them –”
The rest of his sentence was cut down by Vilkas’ teeth, biting at him in a kiss that only grew closer. And if the guards or a passing beggar heard them panting in the dark, they left them to it.