|The Ballad of Hildeson|
|Summary:||Oldstones hits the town of Riverrun during the meeting regarding Stonebridge. Riverrun hits back.|
|Related Logs:||Rolling Stones|
|A bar in Riverrun that does not smell like ass and mold.|
|21st day of November, 188|
It's a couple days, yet, before Lord Hoster Tully will hand down his decision on the matter of Stonebridge, the letters and the will, and in the meanwhile, there is only so much to be done to fill the time. The boys (more or less) of Oldstones have decided to fill some of that time, now that the sun's gone down on the day, exploring the town and, most particularly the bars. Especially particularly, this bar, of middling quality but with ladies for rent who still have all of their teeth and ample amounts of cleavage which they're happy to jiggle about as they carry drinks from bar to table.
Gedeon steps through the door first, laughing a little at a comment one of his companions made as he moves to an empty table. There are a couple of glances from the other patrons at the unfamiliar faces, but in a place as large as Riverrun, unfamiliar faces are common enough to be noted and then forgotten again.
It was probably Alek's comment, because Alek is hilarious, just so you know, and also he's next in to file through the door after Gedeon, already half-way to the sheets and swaying with the amount of alcohol. His hair is messy from fingers (both his and others) and clothes are hung almost carelessly on his frame, though the fit is neat. His gaze drifts naturally to one set of breasts as he murmurs an easy enough, "Let's get a good table this time. The last smelled of ass and mold."
Squire Rowan is a bit more reserved as he enters, not yet having begun his drinking — and seeming a little pensive, besides. He returns a shy, fleeting smile for one of the barmaids' winking, blushing and following his betters, slipping into a chair at whatever table is deemed not to smell of ass and mold.
"I think that's just what you've been drinking from that flask," Anton remarks, giving Alek a cuff on the shoulder as he enters the tavern. He looks about and nods, "It does seem better. Don't remember this from our last time through." He has already begun drinking as well, though he's far off yet from his knight's state. He finds a seat and thumps into it, turning to snag the nearest maid's attention and order a round.
"Look," Gedeon points out reasonably, "the whole inn smelled that way, there weren't any other kinds of tables." The women and their wares get a few mildly interested glances from him, though he seems more keen to see about a seat and a pint than to chase after any swishing skirts just now. He drops into the third chair, leaning back in it and stretching his legs a bit beneath the table.
"Well, it is true. Even their whores smelled of it," Alek agrees, drunkly agreeable where he shoves back at Anton harder before slipping into his own seat with an ease that is simply out of place on someone who has imbibed so much. He has had much practice, however. The maid that gets flagged over gets promptly pulled into his lap without so much as a polite warning, a skilled kiss pressed into her neck to ellicit a giggle before he releases her. "Because after the second bar, Gedeon got into that fight and we had to drag him home." He may be mixing up himself and Gedeon in this story.
The skinny boy among the men glances skeptically between Alek's familiar treatment of the random barmaid and the allegedly pugnacious Gedeon. He says nothing, propping his chin in his hand and looking glum.
"And what do these smell of?" Anton asks Alek once he's taken his free sample, suggesting, "Next time grab one that isn't meant to be bringing our drinks." He hooks an arm over the back of his chair, looking around the place for another moment before eyes narrow. "Was that Gedeon? Huh. I guess you were taller then, Ged. Funny about that."
Gedeon watches Alek's antics with a smirk, unsurprised and unperturbed. After so long in the Blacksword's company, one learns what t oexpect. When Anton speaks, the blond knight chuckles. "I had darker hair, too. And I thought my name was Alek." To Rowan he adds, "It happens, on occasion."
The somber boy lifts his dark eyebrows at Gedeon. "You have my deepest sympathies, Ser."
"I am rather certain it was Ged. Or wait, it was Ged's fight, in any case. The man was speaking too loudly about bastards for it to be a coincidence," Alek says with a wave of his hand, a smirk sliding onto his lips at the memory of the fight with something akin to affection. "A moment longer for her to get you something will not kill you, Anton. Unless you were planning that one for yourself, in which case, I am very sorry m'lord." It does not take her that much longer to bring a round of ale for each at the table, though she does put a healthy distance between herself and Alek in case he gets any more ideas and causes a spill.
"The transformation sometimes is amazing," Anton agrees with Gedeon with a nod before shaking his head at Alek. "No, I'm just not always carrying my next drink with me, like some people." When their ale does arrive he takes his tankard and drinks deeply, giving the maid who brings it another look before making an offhanded 'all yours' gesture to Alek. "Cased the place yet?" he asks the knights, "See anyone likely to talk shite about bastards too loudly this evening?"
"Oh, come on. If I was that prickly over my origins, I'd be throwing punches left and right. No, I think you were the one who decided to defend the good name of Rivers in my stead," Gedeon tells Alek. He draws his mug closer and enjoys a swallow, considering a moment before he nods. "Ale's better, too. I like this one." For Rowan's quip, the squire gets a faint smirk. "I do my best to suffer in honorable silence."
Rowan frowns at the mention of casing the place, then blinks and actually brightens a bit. "Is that why we're here? To get in a brawl? I thought we were whoring." What a relief!
"Honorable silence is just another way to say that you haven't the wit to conversate," Alek replies dismissively, though his affection softens what could be a sharp cut otherwise. Rowan recieves no such softening to the shift of steel grey eyes to the squire, the press of the edge of a knife in his stare at the squire. Luckily, Anton's question distracts him from whatever he may have been about to say. "Only the Nayland man-at-arms near the bar." Indeed, there is one, but he actually seems to be intent on his conversation rather than the bastard.
"Ahg, is there one really?" Anton leans over to peer at the bar, nose and brow wrinkling, "Let's go somewhere else," he says, "If he doesn't take off soon. If we have to worry about someone who recognizes us carrying tales it takes all the fun out of things." He drains his mug and adds to Rowan, "Can't we do both?"
The squire blinks several times at Alek, looking sullen and affronted by that blade-keen look. The lad picks up his drink and downs it in several long swallows. "What?" he asks Alek, almost conversationally, folding his arms on the table and leaning in on his elbows. Not threatening or up in the gentleman's grill, you understand — just… interested. Anton's query gets a wry smirk. "I'm not nearly so talented, my lord. Those are some advanced skills."
"Start a bit of muttering about Naylands and taxes. There's only the one of him, I bet he'll leave before he decides to start a brawl with the whole of the tavern over it. And then everyone's agitated, anyhow," which serves the purposes of starting a brawl just fine. "Well, pick one or the other, then," Gedeon advises Rowan. "Whichever suits you better."
A careless wave meets Rowan's question, Alek's gaze flicking to Anton as he says nothing to the squire. See, look how good he's being. He totally deserves a reward. "Or we can drive him away ourselves. Nothing better to get you in the mood for a whore than a fight," he suggests wryly.
"Watch and learn," Anton replies to Rowan before snorting at Alek. "And have him run crying back to Ser Rygar that we did? No. Let's see if he can be driven off a bit more subtly first. He orders another round, and leans up to speak to the barmaid, quietly, asking her to inform the fellow at the bar that there's a lady waiting for him around the corner.
Rowan rolls his eyes as Alek waves him off, flumping back into his chair with his arms folded. When instructed to watch and learn, however, he becomes attentive. Anton's message via barwench makes the squire loft an eyebrow, but he holds his tongue.
Gedeon smile faintly for Anton's suggestion, taking another swallow of his beer as he glances discreetly towards the Nayland man and the approaching barmaid.
It takes a moment, but Anton's strategy does its work, sending the man eagerly away to join the non-existant lady. Alek merely drowns in his beer his disappointment, murmuring a "You know I'm not wrong. I suppose I'll have to get in the mood for a whore for myself, then."
"Nobody's opposed to a brawl, Alek," Anton snorts, "I just don't fancy having it with a Nayland. If I wanted to bash heads where they could see, I'd do it in the Mire." He drinks again and gestures vaguely, "Pick someone else."
"So," Gedeon queries, glancing over at Anton as the Nayland man slips out, "what happens when he comes back in five minutes, or did you ask the barmaid to send a girl 'round the corner, too?"
Rowan, alas, also looks singularly unimpressed with this outcome. Everyone's a critic! He glances about, then reaches out to catch the hand of a passing barmaid. "Sweet creature," purrs the boy, dusting his lips over her knuckles, dark eyes never leaving hers, "another round, I beg. I fear I need more or stronger to numb the ache in my heart, that such beauty as yours is forever beyond my grasp."
"One usually does not have to sweet talk the commoners so much, boy," Alek offers with a slight laugh, though it's not an unkind amusement that causes his reaction. He is still shaking his head as he lifts his ale to his lips, gaze sliding around the bar at Anton's offer.
Anton shrugs at Gedeon, reaching for his newly-filled mug and drinking again. "I'll figure that out if it happens," he replies, "Send him around to a different corner to wait, instead, maybe." He drinks again, and then turns to just stare at Rowan a second, and shake his head, "Really?" He continues shaking his head, and then looks to Alek, arching a brow. "Well?"
"Some men prefer to coat the way with a bit of charm, needed or no, Alek," Gedeon points out, "Not every girl finds it endearing to be grabbed and licked, whether or not she'll part her legs for you, regardless." He waits until the barmaid departs with a blush and a giggle before he adds, "You watch, that round won't turn up on the tab." He leans back, gaze drifting around the room until it settles on a large man sitting alone, glowering and with three empty cups already sitting on his table. He tilts his chin a little in that direction. "He wouldn't need much prompting."
Rowan smirks, doe-eyes all gone once the girl's on about her business. "I figure she has a lot of blokes grabbing her ass. I want my drinks to be on the top of her mind." Differentiation, apparently, is key.
"I am pretty sure I fucked his mother," Alek answers in way of affirmative, teetering into a forward lean across the table as he snaps at the man to get his attention. "Hey, your mother a giant woman named Hilde, hips the size of my arm from pushing your head out of her womb? I think I fucked her, though I couldn't be sure. You ripped a wide hole."
Anton turns to look at the grumbly fellow Gedeon points out and sizes him up thoughtfully, glancing around and asking, "Doesn't he have any friends? Just one's not much of a fight." Rowan gets an amused snort, and then he turns to watch Alek spring into fight-starting mode, snickering.
"I think Alek's probably the only one of us that actually needs to beat someone up to achieve an erection," drawls Rowan, glancing about for the barmaid he's been cultivating. "Let him have this one and we can skip to the whores."
"Guess we'll find out," Gedeon muses as the man lifts his head to blink blearily at Alek. It doesn't take much,r eally. Those words are enough to start the fire burning, and he pushes into a (slightly wobbly) stand. "What did you say?" he growls as he moves towards the table of Oldstones.
The drunken attention that Alek has been casting towards the other man to pick a fight is caught inconveniently by Rowan's words just as the man responds. "Are you fucking seri—," he starts to growl at the table incredulously, cutting himself off sharply as he throws himself across the table to sucker punch someone else for once. This time, it is Rowan instead of the other provoked fight.
"I think we all know you've no use for whores before or after a fight," Anton replies to Rowan with a snort, "If you've no interest in standing with us, then go where you please." He turns back to finish his drink, keeping the mug in hand as he rises, and then groans as Alek lunges for Rowan. "For Gods' sake!"
Gedeon groans as a punch is thrown not at Large Hulking and Encroaching Man, but at his squire, and he pushes out of his chair as the flying fist, even if not aimed for him, seems to further incite the man with the promiscuous mother. With a roar, he lunches for the other tall member of the party, aiming a punch at Anton.
As the big, offended drunk (not Alek, the other one) lunges for Anton, the lord ducks, and swings his mug into the guy's leg, where it cracks in his hand. He lets go, and straightens up, just in time to spot Hilde's Son's friends rising from tables around them. Or maybe they're his friends; maybe they just like a nice brawl, too. At any rate, there are several headed into the fray. One has a big, bushy beard, one a peg-leg, and the third has flaming red hair.
Punches begin flying everywhere, some even towards potential combatants rather than teammates, and though Gedeon manages not to get is pretty face bruised up, he isn't able to land any solid punches, himself. It's a zero sum gain for the blond bastard knight, though his smile grows rather as a few more men decide to join the 'fun'.
Rowan utters a very unmanly yelp as Alek turns to attack him, the skinny squire grabbing for Alek's arm and hooking his leg, attempting to take the larger man down with minimal injury to them both. They tumble to the ground, where the gangly boy gasps, "Ser! I didn't — " mean it as an insult? Whatever disclaimer the boy was about to make, he's distracted by the new contestants lumbering toward the other two knights. And also them. "Fuck. Look, Ser, kill me later. Them? Now."
"Later," is both growl and promise as Alek pulls himself up from the unfortunate tumble, gaining his feet with a drunken sway as he turns to the combatants joining the rucus he has caused. It does not seem to perturbe him, however, as he grins crookedly and launches himself at the right person this time, the closest person that isn't part of his retinue.
Gedeon suddenly finds himself with a pair of opponents and he sucks in a deep breath, still smiling as they close in. The bearded man decides to screw punching and reaches for Gedeon's throat, managing a good grab and a fine hand imprint around his neck before the knight tugs away… to be elbowed in the chest by a man with a pegleg. Doubling over, he uses the angle to shove his shoulder into the peglegged man's gut, though he only connects with the man's arm. But, it throws him off balance, and with only the one real leg, he goes spilling backwards, thunking his head on the floor and staying where he lies.
The tavern has now exploded into chaos, tankards, chairs, and punches flying all over. Anton throws his shoulder into Hildeson's chest, though not before the bigger man gets off a blow at Rowan that he might really have been aiming at Alek. At the same time, the lord gets hit by a tray thrown by the red-haired man, which bounces off his back to clatter to the floor, only adding to the noise.
Alek tries, Gedeon, he really does, but drunkeness causes him to misjudge his aim at the moving opponent as he lunges for the bearded man. At least he manages not to do anything too embarassing, catching himself in the fray to send another fist towards Beardy as pay back for Gedeon.
The blow the squire takes is solid and staggering, straight to those just-healed ribs, sending the skinny boy careening back into a table. He scrambles back to his feet immediately, though, blinking as he finds Hildeson swept away by Anton's charge and Gedeon laid out on the floor. "You shit-sucking sons of wildling goats!" Rowan snarls, charging Beard in concert with Alek.
As PegLeg takes a fall and turtles around trying to find purchase to haul himself back up, several more patrons careen into the area. One of them can be sensed even before he's seen just by the stench of fish steaming off of him, the other seems normal enough except that he wears a wild grin as he hits people, revealing a gummy, toothless mouth.
The pounding of adrenaline has managed to clear Alek's slooshy head somewhat, this time hitting beard straight in the chest after he dares to try to hit Anton. He doesn't have long to sit around congratulating himself, however, as the redhead gets his attention by stunning him with his own punch. "You're going to pay with teeth for that," he assures tauntingly wry as he shifts to attack the man who attacked him.
The squire takes another blows to his ribs — and sees red. Not. A happy young man. At all. He grabs the leg of an already-smashed table, wielding it like a blade. "This ends."
As the bearded one and the stinky one come for Anton, he leaves the former to Alek, winding up a wicked punch which he manages to land right on Smelly's throat. The man stumbles back, struggling for breath, but still attempting to slap whoever is in range, which happens this time to be Alek. The bearded guy clutches his chest and rounds on Rowan, for whatever reason.
Gedeon's focus is on the red-haired man as he scrambles back to his feet, when it should be on Hildeson. His own punch goes wide and misses entirely when Hildeson rams a shoulder into Gedeon's chest, sending him to the floor again, coughing and blinking before, teeth grit, he once again works to get up and back into the fray.
Holyshit, this fight is getting fierce. Two men throw punches at Alek, one he barely catches himself and ducks away from in time to not get a bruise on his pretty face, the other sheer luck of the man missing him as the knight grinds his fist into the redhead's arm. "Two on one? That's usually only the way I like it with whores," he comments in general even as he continues to attack the redhead.
"WHAT DO YOU ALL HAVE AGAINST MY FUCKING CHEST!?" Rowan shouts, staggering back from another battering blow to the solar plexus. He rounds on Beardo and puts the bushy-faced fellow to sleep with a two handed blow. The kid really puts his back into it. It's possible both his feet leave the floor, like a marionette. "AND STAY DOWN!" He wheels around to intercept Firecrotch, but then notices the two-on-one action going down in Alek's corner. "Hey!" he shouts, drawing the aromatic fellow's attention. "Your mom says hi!" What does that MEAN, anyhow? He shrugs and takes his swing.
Getting up is harder than it seems, when you're doing it among a swarm of fighting men. Gedeon's hands are still on the floor and one gets stomped on hard enough to make the blond knight yell out as he wrenches it free. Finally, however, he's back on his feet, fire in his eyes.
Anton swings for Hildeson but misses, and instead finds his hand connecting with the toothless man's arm, bent to block the blow. It's a bony arm, unfortunately, and the blow clearly hurts the guy throwing it more than the guy it hits, as Anton recoils with a bellowed, "Son of a BITCH!" Rather than nurse his hand, however, he picks up half a chair and swings for the fences.
"Really? Is that all you got? My sister throws a better punch than you!" Rowan sneers at Smelly, ducking under the blow and swinging his ersatz waster into the odiferous combatant's belly.
With a hand too tender for punching, Gedeon grabs up chair, or what's left of one. He swings at the man with a red hair, and if the fellow gets mostly out of the way, it's his hand and arm the bear the brunt of the swing. Even stevens for the stomp to Gedeon's own aching digits.
In the wave of fighting and circles, Alek finally comes to face Hilde's son after delivering one last blow to the redhead, and he is all smirky smiles and amusement. "You know, your mother liked it pretty rough, too," he offers with a wry laugh before throwing a punch at the man's ugly face.
Anton smashes the chair into the toothless fellow's middle hard enough to send him crashing to the floor. He gets a good swift kick to make sure he stays down, and then the black-haired knight turns to swing what's left of the chair (now little more than a single leg and a bit of seat dangling off of it) at Firecrotch as he and Hildeson gang up on Alek.
Anton's distraction of a chair allows Alek to easily slip past Firecrotch's fist, his own cracking into Hilde's son's chest and stopping the man's attack prematurely. He has no more time for jokes as he tries to press his advantage on the man by trying to beat him bloody with his fists.
Rowan and Smelly strike each other well-nigh simultaneously. It's not a very impressive blow the reeking one lands, but it's to the chest again, causing Rowan to stagger and pale with pain. "FUCK!" The boy mutters something about permanently indented nipples and aims another two-handed, overhead swing at his opponent. "FUCKING yield, already!"
Let no one say Gedeon doesn't back up his squire. In barfights, anyhow. With his half-a-chair, he advances on the fish-smelling man who's taken an interest in Rowan's chest, and jabs the remaining two legs into smelly's chest in turn, knocking him back a bit. The blond tosses Rowan a quick grin. "Not bad there, squire."
"There's no yielding in bar fights!" Anton calls at Rowan, laughing, "This isn't a fucking chivalric tourney melee." He laughs some more as he crushes the toothless one's hand, losing the last bit of chair. He flips it at someone else's head and picks up a new scrap of debris to hit people with instead.
"I'm going to be CONCAVE," Rowan laments to Gedeon as Smelly staggers about and gets his bearings. "That's NOT attractive!" He adds, "Or, y'know. Manly." He pffts, rolls his eyes, and takes another swing at smelly. "So DON'T fucking yield, then," he corrects himself, as instructed. "Pass out. Run away. Get a fucking HOBBY."
Having to dodge a double onslaught of attacks again, Alek's own goes wide before he fights back to Anton's side, punching at whoever is stupid enough to stand between him and his destination. "Good showing," he says conversationally.
"You'll bounce back," Gedeon assures blithely of Rowan's chest. As smelly comes in for another attack, he swings the part-of-a-chair towards that outreached punch, letting the fist collide with wood, instead.
"Not too bad at all," Anton agrees with Alek in a similar tone, even as he doubles the flame-haired attacker over with a blow to the stomach. He shoots Alek a grin, and then glances over his shoulder briefly at Gedeon and Rowan before turning back to swing viciously at his opponent once again.
From the door comes a cry of "Guards! Guards coming!" and people begin to scatter, though they continue hitting each other up until the last second.
"Easy for you to say," mutters Rowan to Gedeon, then shouts, "Hey, Hilde's boy!" He readies his chair leg, before delivering, verbally, "It was a three-way."
"Bloody hell, I do not actually want to get kicked out," Alek mumbles, and seriously considers stopping for a moment. Then, of course, the redhead manages to land some amount of damage on Anton and he throws himself back into the fight, regardless of the fact that the lord can defend himself. His knuckles make quite a sound against the man's chest.
"The chair leg counts?" Gedeon asks of the three-way. He swings his chair towards Hilde's much maligned offspring, or is the the offspring of the much maligned Hilde? Whatever. Chair swung. It connects with a satisfying sound, landing solidly against the man's chest.
A similar noise issues from Firecrotch as Alek and Anton take him down and hit him on the ground for good measure as well. "Across the street looked like a spot," Anton comments to Alek, as far as fleeing goes, "Out the back and around," he suggests, even as he turns to wind up on Hildeson. Can't leave without putting their original target down, can they?
Rowan hawks and spits blood, glancing at Alek — who is, compared to the rest of them, well-nigh without a scratch. He looks at the odds — four on one — then looks at Alek again… and starts laughing. He tosses his chair leg. "Seriously," he says. "Done now? C'mon." He's obviously expecting everyone to just be pals.
Of a similar mind, Alek turns on the man who may or may not have a mother named Hilde, biding his time in case the others do not take him down first and so as not to get in the way of his own retinue's fists. "You go first, if they must catch anyone, better me," he replies carefully.
Anton gestures at Alek towards Hilde's son, "No, no, after you, please." He'll give the knight first/last crack before getting in one final punch of his own. And then they fleeeeeee!
Hilde's son shows no inclination to all be pals, at any rate, and the foursome debating who gets to hit him only enrages the big, angry man further. He roars and swings indiscriminately, though mostly at Alek, who he does his best to lay out.
Gedeon tosses down the remains of the chair, smirking over at Rowan and glancing towards Anton and Alek and they offer each other first crack at the final punch. "Nearly done," he agrees, "I thik it's time to go."
"You know," says Rowan, glancing back, sort of not wanting to miss the finale, despite, "obviously, he has to have some kind of deep-rooted insecurities about his mother, to be goaded even a little by this tripe. I'll be she's not even named Hilde." He tsks. "Sad."
"Deep, DEEP-rooted insecurities," amends Rowan, sort of gaping as the roaring, flailing man keeps coming like a juggernaut.
"You never insult the womb that a man comes from and never the one a man's planted his seed in. In this case, I am thinking she's likely both," Alek offers with an easy grin even as he fails to land anything on the bigger man, sidestepping swiftly to try again.
"He's like a chicken," Gedeon murmurs, quietly impressed. "Lop his head off and he's still coming at you."
"I'd say more like a bull or a hog maybe," Anton chips in, "Or one of his parents was, at least. Probably the mother." He grins, and attempts a take-down, trying to head-lock and put the (possibly only half-)man to sleep if they can't knock him out with fists.
Rowan's eyes simply BULGE as, even with Anton holding him in check, then crazed man still struggles to attack Alek. "Sweet Mother smite me." He looks immensely relieved when Alek's final blow puts the wild man to sleep. "Fuuuuuuuuuck."
With the man in a headlock, it is likely unsporting to attack him. Alek does anyways, delivering a cracking few blows to the man's chest that sees him out between the lack of air and the assault. A laugh is half-victory and half the rush of alcohol and adrenaline, his hand grabbing at Anton's sleeve to pull the lord away towards their escape. "Best get out of here before they catch us and tell the Lord Paramount who they found causing trouble."
Anton manages to drag Hilde's son down, locking his arms around the man's neck, not that that stops him from flailing dangerously at Alek. It takes two solid blows to knock him out, and then the lord is scrambling quickly to his feet from beneath the big lug, grabbing his companions as he agrees, "Let's go!" as guards begin to arrive. They jump over debris and race for the back door and out into the alley.
"I blame the lummox," Gedeon advises, moving towards the door as the man who may or may not be Hilde's son finally goes down. "If he hadn't been so unwilling to pass out, it never would have been cut so close."
Rowan herds Gedeon ahead of him, making sure his knight makes the get-away — but close on his heels. Once outside, their escape made good, the boy groans and laughs. "Fuck, m'gonna need my ribs bound again."
"I would wait. I'm still not done with you," Alek reminds the boy, but he doesn't stop the flight to fight over it yet. Apparently it can wait, and probably until after he finds a whore.
Still chuckling, leaning up against a wall as they stop running at catching his breath, Gedeon rolls his eyes at Rowan's complaint of Alex's mild threat or both. "Here, now, we just beat near a dozen men to the ground, the four of us. Isn't that meant to… strengthen bonds of brotherhood? Or something?"
"I'm sure it'll all be lovey as a Dornish whore once Alek feels we're even," drawls Rowan, surly but resigned.
"Shut up, Alek," Anton says, giving his friend a shove as they slow, and turn the corner to stride casually into a new tavern. "And Rowan, stop being a bitch. I'm tired of the both of you and your stupid tiff. You each get to go buy a round, go."
Gedeon blinks slowly at Aton's reply and he looks from the Lord briefly to Alek and then back at Anton, his brow hitching upwards in an unspoken query. He makes his way over to another table, this one with all of its chairs still in tact, and sinks down into one of them, lifting a hand to flag over a waitress.
"I'll shut up once I have my mouth around a wet cunt," Alek answers wryly, his brows curving upwards at the shove and command before he waves it off with a careless gesture, shaking his head in a sharp gesture that sends blonde hair into his eyes. "The lad can get the drinks, I am going to go occupy myself." Fingers hook on his belt as he turns to seek out a willing woman in this bar instead.
For real? Rowan gives Alek a look so skeptical, it's as though he's questioning the man's very existence. "Yooooou do that." And off to buy the round he goes.
"This," Anton gestures between Rowan and Alek, "Is done," he informs the knight, "Got it?" He doesn't wait for an answer as Alek heads off, turning back to Rowan to add, "And you. Try harder." That seems to be all he has to say on the subject.
Gedeon only rolls his eyes again when Alek speaks and shoots Rowan a look something along the lines of 'you get used to it'. So settled, he gives his sore hand a slow shake, wiggling all the fingers to reassure himself nothing's broken. As a waitress appears, he says, "A pint for me." He glances towards the others to see what they'll add.
For Anton, at least, Rowan has the decency to look meek. "Yes, m'lord." He puffs out a breath, starting to say, "I really was just jo — " Irrelevant. And he knows it. The lad's head hangs. "Right. I will. Sorry."
Alek gives no indication of denial or agreement to his retreat, only a simple glance over his shoulder at Anton for his words, expression unreadable. Then, he's back to business of finding a whore and disappearing up the infamous steps in places such as these about the land.