[ Ser Jorah slits his eyes at the apology, gold slivers in the broad, brown batter of his bear mug, and sighs like a steam engine, barrel sides heaving behind a furl of hot, beer-scented breath. Rincewind makes him tired.
His reach over the bar leans into more of a slouch, muzzle set down heavy to rest.
At the wizard’s back a brawler wheels a biker ass over ears backwards over the bar top, and Jorah reaches to hook one claw over the rim of a nearby bowl. The mangy, disease-ridden stretch of zombie hide to his elbow would dissuade against sharing, if the fat roll of his tongue deep into mixed nuts didn’t.
He’s just started to masticate through his first mouthful, shells and all, when a wave of renewed upset rises in his warlock friend. Stricken by the desire to close his eyes and dig in all the deeper, he lifts his head instead, reluctant, ears at an unsure slant.
Broken glass flies out of his face with the force of impact; he leaves a vaguely bear-shaped blood smear swiped across the bar behind him when he goes rolling over the Luggage’s hood like a rug on tumble dry.
Sheer instinct sees him digging in to come up on all fours, bristled, braced, and breathing ragged.
The same instinct has some reservations about what he sees that he’s up against, here.
Jaws parted, he rumbles a bowel-watering warning, froth flecked with peanut husk, teeth bared like a bulldozer’s behind the rubbery bluster of black lips. The other fighters around him have already scrambled back out of the way, leaving little room to hide. ]
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His reach over the bar leans into more of a slouch, muzzle set down heavy to rest.
At the wizard’s back a brawler wheels a biker ass over ears backwards over the bar top, and Jorah reaches to hook one claw over the rim of a nearby bowl. The mangy, disease-ridden stretch of zombie hide to his elbow would dissuade against sharing, if the fat roll of his tongue deep into mixed nuts didn’t.
He’s just started to masticate through his first mouthful, shells and all, when a wave of renewed upset rises in his warlock friend. Stricken by the desire to close his eyes and dig in all the deeper, he lifts his head instead, reluctant, ears at an unsure slant.
Broken glass flies out of his face with the force of impact; he leaves a vaguely bear-shaped blood smear swiped across the bar behind him when he goes rolling over the Luggage’s hood like a rug on tumble dry.
Sheer instinct sees him digging in to come up on all fours, bristled, braced, and breathing ragged.
The same instinct has some reservations about what he sees that he’s up against, here.
Jaws parted, he rumbles a bowel-watering warning, froth flecked with peanut husk, teeth bared like a bulldozer’s behind the rubbery bluster of black lips. The other fighters around him have already scrambled back out of the way, leaving little room to hide. ]