An annoyed grunt escaped Bartholomew's clenched teeth when Old Abbott disrupted his intimidating display. The old bandit did no more than that, annoyed though he was, since the innkeeper had brought him a formidable tankard and promised that food was on the way. Bartholomew took up the drink and drained a third of it in a matter of seconds. As he paused to lower the tankard and let out a satisfied "Ahh.", the aging Boggart felt a hand gently grip his shoulder. "You're slipping, Bartholomew." His wife's voice came low and concerned from beside him.

"We'll that [i]is[/i] to be expected." Bartholomew said with a shrug of his free shoulder, too engrossed in his drink to be aware of the worry. "I'm getting on in my years, dear. I can't be fierce and frightening forever." He raised his tankard for another drink, but was stopped by one hand over his drink pushing it back down on the table and another hand on his chin turning his head to face the owner of the hands.

"That's not what I mean, my love." Marian said to her husband, the man now fully aware of his wife's concern. "You're [i]slipping[/i], Bartholomew."

Bartholomew took a moment to fully digest the true meaning of those words. Then he sighed and bowed his head in admission. "I suppose you're right." He said.

"Have you paid him a visit since you arrived?" Marian asked, something that caused both other Boggarts at the table to wince for reasons not readily apparent.

"I... No. I haven't. Not yet." Bartholomew said. "I was planning to go see him after breakfast."

"I'll come with you." Marian said as her hand left her husband's shoulder. "I've been meaning to visit him too, but I keep having trouble finding the time. Mouse ranching is busy work."

"I can imagi-" Was as far as Bartholomew was able to get before noticing the Lieutenant heading towards their table. "Does this fucking Fly have a death wish or something?" The old bandit growled in Hearthish.

Bartholomew felt the old urges rise up within him. Urges that only strengthened when his fight or flight instincts kicked in as D'Arcy started making accusations. Before he could do anything rash though, he was forced to shut one eye momentarily as a ray of sunlight glinted off his tankard and into his eye. That reminder of the tankard's presence further reminded Bartholomew that you didn't need anything too grand to throw off a show of saber rattling. And so he simply leaned over the side of the table, spat on the Fairy's boot, and returned to his drink as Artemisia began talking.

[hider=OOC]
Bartholomew failed the Society Will roll and becomes Scared, but removes the condition by facing his fear with a show of absolute disrespect for the weight of D'Arcy's authority.
[/hider]