Darmariq hated people grabbing him without his permission, especially strangers. He glared at the impudent pointy earred woman, despising everything he saw. "Do that again," he replied, and then something familar claimed his thoughts. He unclenched his fist. His throat tightened such that the air was too stubborn to swallow and too craven to leave his mouth. He glanced at everyone and back at her. 

"I will not die for you people," he finished before leaving the tavern.