[normally, this is the part of the story where Rincewind runs out the door, into the street, and onward until he can no longer hear footsteps behind him. Escaping danger can hardly be called a comfortable narrative for the wizard, but it is a familiar one. There's a process; there are steps. Sticking around to see what happens isn't one of them, and he's certainly not supposed to stop running just because someone's called his name (or any of his popular nicknames, such as "Get him!" and "Don't let him get away!").
Rincewind's story takes a turn, this time. Partly it's the distress in Jorah's voice, which tugs a tiny, treacherous, and previously unknown to him heart-string. The other part of it's the gathering wall of interested bikers, who are filtering out from the adjacent pool room and blocking the door. Rincewind flicks a look between their various furrowed, bushy brows and the struggle happening at (and at least partially on) the bar.]
Er, here. I'm still here.
[although he sounds unsure on that point, and potentially uncomfortable with it, given the arms crossed high over his skinny torso. Gruff laughter and scattered commentary litters the background. The corner jukebox croons a demand to "play that funky music" while Viserys writhes between Jorah's grip and sticky wood, lending the scene even less credibility. Quite the mess, really.]
I'm all right, if that's what you were -
[Rincewind sees the attempt coming the moment the young dragon's fingers fumble over the glass stem. Before any second thoughts can get a word in edgewise, he reacts, darting forward.]
no subject
Rincewind's story takes a turn, this time. Partly it's the distress in Jorah's voice, which tugs a tiny, treacherous, and previously unknown to him heart-string. The other part of it's the gathering wall of interested bikers, who are filtering out from the adjacent pool room and blocking the door. Rincewind flicks a look between their various furrowed, bushy brows and the struggle happening at (and at least partially on) the bar.]
Er, here. I'm still here.
[although he sounds unsure on that point, and potentially uncomfortable with it, given the arms crossed high over his skinny torso. Gruff laughter and scattered commentary litters the background. The corner jukebox croons a demand to "play that funky music" while Viserys writhes between Jorah's grip and sticky wood, lending the scene even less credibility. Quite the mess, really.]
I'm all right, if that's what you were -
[Rincewind sees the attempt coming the moment the young dragon's fingers fumble over the glass stem. Before any second thoughts can get a word in edgewise, he reacts, darting forward.]
- Jorah, look out!