I can do this all day.
Zavien was immensely grateful that Deimos didn't comment on Callie's 'familiarity' with him, especially as the ruckus sounded from within. Before he stepped through the door, he addressed the question, "Depending on what we find, we can detain him until he receives a trial, where they can determine his punishment." With that, the Dragoon made his way into Mother Molly's, letting his eyes adjust to the dark interior.
Although he hadn't been inside for many years (too many memories) he recognized the plush seating and low-burning sconces that casted the two figures in deep shadows across the wooden floor. Madame Molly stood off to the side, letting the man rampage through the room, her arms clamped in front of her in a non-threatening manner. Her eyes met his with surprised recognition but only gave him a respectful nod of acknowledgement. In contrast, the man hung on the back of a barstool, momentarily pausing as his grubby hands clutched a glass of sloshing ale. His hair hung in an oily mess, the apex glistening with exposed scalp of aged years. He couldn't be more than fifty, but the years hadn't been kind to him as he obviously hadn't been kind to others. In his disgruntled stupor, he threw the glass across the room, its shattering debris joining the others at the base of the wall. "Shend me ano'er gurl! Tha' one wath too shoft. Shend me one tha' won't cry when I sthpank her!" His slurred words filled the room with violent demand, yet the Madame looked on with exhausted annoyance. Based on Callie's injuries, this had been going for hours.
Zavien made his was forward, his hands relaxed at his side, but ready for action. He didn't expect this man to come quietly. His voice came out calm but firm, the command evident. "That's quite enough. It's time you leave." The drunkard finally looked at the newcomers, his thick eyebrow raising. A rough, barking laugh came from his unkept beard, exposing what little teeth remained in his mouth. "Shays who?" Waving his hand dismissively, he stumbled to stand from his seat. "I'll leave when I geth wha' I came fo'." He looked at the only other woman in the room, Madame Molly, with a lecherous grin. "Even if I gotta thake it."
Although he hadn't been inside for many years (too many memories) he recognized the plush seating and low-burning sconces that casted the two figures in deep shadows across the wooden floor. Madame Molly stood off to the side, letting the man rampage through the room, her arms clamped in front of her in a non-threatening manner. Her eyes met his with surprised recognition but only gave him a respectful nod of acknowledgement. In contrast, the man hung on the back of a barstool, momentarily pausing as his grubby hands clutched a glass of sloshing ale. His hair hung in an oily mess, the apex glistening with exposed scalp of aged years. He couldn't be more than fifty, but the years hadn't been kind to him as he obviously hadn't been kind to others. In his disgruntled stupor, he threw the glass across the room, its shattering debris joining the others at the base of the wall. "Shend me ano'er gurl! Tha' one wath too shoft. Shend me one tha' won't cry when I sthpank her!" His slurred words filled the room with violent demand, yet the Madame looked on with exhausted annoyance. Based on Callie's injuries, this had been going for hours.
Zavien made his was forward, his hands relaxed at his side, but ready for action. He didn't expect this man to come quietly. His voice came out calm but firm, the command evident. "That's quite enough. It's time you leave." The drunkard finally looked at the newcomers, his thick eyebrow raising. A rough, barking laugh came from his unkept beard, exposing what little teeth remained in his mouth. "Shays who?" Waving his hand dismissively, he stumbled to stand from his seat. "I'll leave when I geth wha' I came fo'." He looked at the only other woman in the room, Madame Molly, with a lecherous grin. "Even if I gotta thake it."
Zavien
