WHO: Fitcher, Marcoulf, Bartimaeus (+) & YOU WHAT: Ye Olde Catch'all WHEN: Nowish WHERE: Kirkwall, The Gallows, le Misc. NOTES: Starters in comments; if you want something/someone who isn't here, just hit me up and I'll scrape something together.
Either she's forgiven him, or she was just playacting at being cold in the first place. How altogether baffling. But, well - Such is the nature of women, he supposes; that's no revelation to him. Even if it is irritating, it is, he supposes, what men live with. (And what a fool he is, to feel the rush of gratitude over her sudden warming.)
(Or maybe the gratitude is just that it finally appears that they've ceased playing around. How depressing it is, to have one's mind always on business instead of play - but that's the nature of his position now.)
"Well-played," By says to the merchant, nodding in salute. Then, as if emboldened by the man's luck, he starts this round out aggressively, throwing down a generous ante.
"Careful, Messer. Have you played much against Antivans?" she warns Byerly, flicking down her modest bet and arching an eyebrow toward their new compatriot. "I assure you, I know a tiger when I see one. One must be very bold indeed to scare them off, isn't that right--?"
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(Or maybe the gratitude is just that it finally appears that they've ceased playing around. How depressing it is, to have one's mind always on business instead of play - but that's the nature of his position now.)
"Well-played," By says to the merchant, nodding in salute. Then, as if emboldened by the man's luck, he starts this round out aggressively, throwing down a generous ante.
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"Alferez," the gentleman in question supplies.