What works: the smell is acrid inside the tavern, all sweat and bad beer mixed together (not that, mind you, Hermione knows what good beer is) so it helps to set the mood. Her stern look becomes armour she wears, displeasure at having to be here to drag this dwarf out, at having to be here - what have you.
It's by far not her first time in a run-down tavern, so she doesn't have the deer in headlights look about her this time. She will follow behind Astrid for now, because Astrid knows what she's doing and Hermione does not. In the past, sticking to the side of the tallest and meanest looking woman has worked for her, so she's happy to repeat performance.
The diversity of species here is fascinating, from elves (and elfblooded, she remembers that name) to qunari (which...damn, they are tall), but the dwarves are new. Right now, they are new, anyway.
(Not that much taller, she'd point out to Astrid, but they're busy.)
"Well, off you go," she tells the dwarves lingering at the table with Avigd, raising one hand to make a generic little shoo-shoo motion with it. They do not seem very impressed by this, so Hermione improvises - which has always gone Perfectly Fine in the past, thanks - and leans over to tell them in confidence: "Trust me, you don't want to witness this mess. Jilted lovers are bad enough, but when they're her?"
(Sorry, Astrid, so sorry.)
She lets out a whistle under her breath, to illustrate, and lets the dwarves fill the silence with their own backwards ideas for what Astrid might do to Avigd - honestly, it didn't look like the more sober dwarves are fans, so she's hoping they'll leave out of a sense of pure second-hand embarrassment.
Which, 'lo and behold, they do. As the table clears, Hermione takes a seat across from the drunken dwarf and shoots a quick triumphant smirk at Astrid before letting her take the lead on the chat. She's the muscle here, after all.
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It's by far not her first time in a run-down tavern, so she doesn't have the deer in headlights look about her this time. She will follow behind Astrid for now, because Astrid knows what she's doing and Hermione does not. In the past, sticking to the side of the tallest and meanest looking woman has worked for her, so she's happy to repeat performance.
The diversity of species here is fascinating, from elves (and elfblooded, she remembers that name) to qunari (which...damn, they are tall), but the dwarves are new. Right now, they are new, anyway.
(Not that much taller, she'd point out to Astrid, but they're busy.)
"Well, off you go," she tells the dwarves lingering at the table with Avigd, raising one hand to make a generic little shoo-shoo motion with it. They do not seem very impressed by this, so Hermione improvises - which has always gone Perfectly Fine in the past, thanks - and leans over to tell them in confidence: "Trust me, you don't want to witness this mess. Jilted lovers are bad enough, but when they're her?"
(Sorry, Astrid, so sorry.)
She lets out a whistle under her breath, to illustrate, and lets the dwarves fill the silence with their own backwards ideas for what Astrid might do to Avigd - honestly, it didn't look like the more sober dwarves are fans, so she's hoping they'll leave out of a sense of pure second-hand embarrassment.
Which, 'lo and behold, they do. As the table clears, Hermione takes a seat across from the drunken dwarf and shoots a quick triumphant smirk at Astrid before letting her take the lead on the chat. She's the muscle here, after all.