Rincewind screams. He's largely drowned out beneath the roar and the music and the sudden, swear-filled shouting. A bottle of liquor shatters on the floor as the bartender abandons it and his post, phone already in hand as he flees; not all captains elect to go down with their ships.
The scream helped. Rincewind doesn't feel any better, mind, but he does feel more focused as he scrambles backwards, gibbering with fear while desperately trying to reconcile this hulking, ursine figure with his only sometimes unkempt friend. He'd clearly been too late to stop it, whatever happened. Maybe the glass rammed into Jorah's face was laced with a potion, and that transformed him. If that's the case, Viserys would probably kick himself later for not choosing a smaller animal. ...Well, provided he still has legs to kick with by then. Chances are looking increasingly slim.
All of this commotion manages to claim the attention of a chest on legs. The Luggage bursts out violently from between two men in its path, causing the first to drop his beer when the second trips and cracks his skull against him. The response is a vulgarity, followed by a shove, which is in turn followed by a left-hook from a third party because these fuckers are blocking his view of the fight. Things domino quickly from there, leather jackets turning on leather vests, bandanas barreling down on braided beards. Even on the laziest afternoons this group's a powder keg waiting for a spark, and a grizzly bear mauling a blonde twink makes for one hell of a bonfire. The Luggage, as always, ignores any havoc it strews behind it as a hundred feet rush to reach its master. It decides to take a shortcut.
Said shortcut runs behind the bar and (inconveniently for Viserys) through a dragon.]
no subject
Fancy that.
Rincewind screams. He's largely drowned out beneath the roar and the music and the sudden, swear-filled shouting. A bottle of liquor shatters on the floor as the bartender abandons it and his post, phone already in hand as he flees; not all captains elect to go down with their ships.
The scream helped. Rincewind doesn't feel any better, mind, but he does feel more focused as he scrambles backwards, gibbering with fear while desperately trying to reconcile this hulking, ursine figure with his only sometimes unkempt friend. He'd clearly been too late to stop it, whatever happened. Maybe the glass rammed into Jorah's face was laced with a potion, and that transformed him. If that's the case, Viserys would probably kick himself later for not choosing a smaller animal. ...Well, provided he still has legs to kick with by then. Chances are looking increasingly slim.
All of this commotion manages to claim the attention of a chest on legs. The Luggage bursts out violently from between two men in its path, causing the first to drop his beer when the second trips and cracks his skull against him. The response is a vulgarity, followed by a shove, which is in turn followed by a left-hook from a third party because these fuckers are blocking his view of the fight. Things domino quickly from there, leather jackets turning on leather vests, bandanas barreling down on braided beards. Even on the laziest afternoons this group's a powder keg waiting for a spark, and a grizzly bear mauling a blonde twink makes for one hell of a bonfire. The Luggage, as always, ignores any havoc it strews behind it as a hundred feet rush to reach its master. It decides to take a shortcut.
Said shortcut runs behind the bar and (inconveniently for Viserys) through a dragon.]