Location: Balmung Castle | Dining Hall | Mentions: @Lucky
When the second loud idiot of the evening made himself a place at the head of the table, Noelle regarded him with mild curiosity. When he began to harass the elder gentleman at the table, however, she became a bit cross. She waited for him to finish his monologue before she turned towards him, giving him a reproachful gaze. “That was a bit rude, don’t you think?” she offered him.
“Wha, rude? Me?” Ibraham replied, exasperated.
“Oh come now, just look at him: Gramps won’t see the next moon, let alone the return of the Light. He’s soft. They’re soft. It’s a perfect match, really. Maybe they’ll get to the next town over then disband.” he said as he turned to gesture at the old man who was now attempting to get around the scuffle happening at the far table.
“It’s really a bit of a kindness that I’m doing for him, when you think about it. Better that he passes in the arms of the ladies and lads of an Edren whorehouse than in the belly of whatever nasty beastie you lot are likely to run across.” he finished with a smile. Noelle could but only sigh and shake her head. She didn’t approve of the man’s behavior regardless of whatever mental gymnastics he had intended to do, but arguing with him seemed like it would be exhausting and quite frankly, defending some old grandfather’s honor was hardly the hill she wanted to die on. So she let it go and went back to her meal.
As the feast went on and introductions went around the table, Noelle politely offered her name to the group when it came back around to her, but did not offer more. Instead, she listened intently to the woman across from her - Arbora Silasdottir, as she introduced herself - vocalizing what she had been thinking, albeit much more eloquently than she could have managed. When the Mystrel woman who identified as Izayoi suggested heading for Valheim, Noelle’s gaze, which had been fixed upon the Viera for most of the ‘conversation’, briefly flashed over to her. Others chimed in agreeing with the proposed destination, yet Noelle offered neither support nor opposition. If that was to be their destination, so be it.
The ruckus happening at the other end of the table drew Noelle’s attention for a moment, but she soon returned to her meal. When compared with what she normally had, it was…incredible. She would never get used to proper fancy meals, that much was clear.
Despite being scolded by the redhead, Ibraham considered his team trade rather successful. If anybody other than her minded, they didn’t obviously voice that opinion. Ibraham listened on with both glee and morbid curiosity when the people around the table began introducing themselves. While he had seen some of those gathered arrive a bit late, others had been at the table for quite a while now, yet judging by how they were all speaking, it felt as if none of them had introduced themselves prior to his arrival? It tickled Ibraham. For a couple of noteworthy warriors and other dangerous looking folk, they were a bit backwards, huh? It worked for him, anyway, just meant that he didn’t have to go around asking for names later. As each spoke in turn, Ibraham committed their face and name to memory. He didn’t forget people - it was dangerous to forget them. He’d heard too many horror stories of dimwitted con men attempting to hit up previous marks to allow himself to be that careless.
When the other Faye down the table hopped to his feet to cheer for Gil, Ibraham grinned, pointing at the guy.
“For the fucking Gil, he gets it. I like hi-” Ibraham laughed before abruptly stopping when the man dropped the butter. When he saw how the Viera at the other end of the table gazed first at the butter, then to the man next to him, Ibraham couldn’t help but launch into a roar of laughter. It was too much. They were clowns, actual clowns. This was an act, right? He loved it.
The uhh…let’s go with
passionate, Viera woman next to him gave her pitch, making just an uncomfortable amount of eye contact as she gave her spiel. She seemed harmless enough, but Ibraham didn’t really follow everything she said. She was pulling out waaay too many big words for a man who couldn’t read. From what he could gather, she was smart and well-aware of that fact. Which, good on her. Ibraham couldn’t help but be impressed by people that were well educated. He didn’t consider himself stupid outright, but it was clear he was outmatched. He listened to her monologue, downing glass after glass of free wine - the best kind of wine.
As the evening progressed, he continued engaging in small talk as it arose. When the topic of Valheim came up as a potential destination, Ibraham voted for it. Whatever got him as far away from Costa del Sol as possible. Surely the Brightlam Bitch didn’t have minions there. He’d go away for a bit, wait for the heat to die down, then make his way back home eventually. There was no way that a single shitty ring was worth a life grudge, right? Right?
Ah, it didn’t matter. He had decided to wash that little anxiety down with some mead and wine. And maybe a little bit of wine and mead as well. And it’d just be rude if he left without trying the wine. And who could forget the mead. Really, the wine was so good, and the palace was wealthy enough that, by the time the evening began to die down and the guests were escorted to their lodgings for the night, Ibraham was quite thoroughly trashed. And judging by how he deftly swiped a mostly full bottle of wine from one of the other tables on his way out, he had little intention of letting the night end without a proper nightcap.
Noelle Laurents : Part II
As Noelle was guided to her quarters for the night, she hadn’t exactly expected to be grouped with Leifur and Zeidgram of all people, but she didn’t necessarily have any qualms about it. She was tired enough that her roommates for the night didn’t quite matter to her. All she wanted was to lay down on one of the impossibly soft looking beds in the room. She didn’t have much of a taste for luxury normally, but with travel getting far more treacherous as of late, she was hardly of a mind to turn down the opportunity for a little comfort.
When she first entered the room, she moved to her own belongings, checking the case for signs of tampering, then checking on the rifle and sidearm within. After a few moments, she closed the case once more and moved it under the bed. She then returned to her feet and, noticing that both of the men had their attention either on their belongings or the window, she turned her back to them and began to unfasten her leather breastplate. When she was done removing it, she placed the armour on the bed, she silently exhaled, relieved to finally be out of it. She moved to remove the pistol from the inner pocket. She considered it for a moment, then shifted her eyes back to her companions for the night. She moved to place it on her nightstand when her eyes quickly darted away, her body twisting as she raised the gun toward the door, cupping her free hand around the other for support.
The others quickly sprung to action as well, just in time, it would seem, as the door burst open as men began to push into the room. Three had pushed into the room itself initially, with what seemed like a forth behind. As her companions engaged the soldiers from the front, she was off to the side, having claimed a bed against the hallway wall. She had a clear shot on the enemies’ flank. When the idiot’s spells took hold, she saw the center man stiffen and another crumpled. Noelle for a moment locked eyes with the third man in the room and just narrowly managed to drop her head in time for a bullet to sail harmlessly over her and into the wall behind her. At the same time, she fired off two rounds of her own. The first struck the man in the hand, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon. The gun impacted the ground, firing around round - this one grazing Noelle’s now exposed shoulder, but otherwise harmlessly passing through also into the wall behind her. Her own second round passed through his neck, and going off the dark blood sputtering from the wound in thick, viscous globs, he wasn’t long for the world. Speaking would be difficult. Good. No survivors.
The stiffened man was impaled by the Viera mercenary and, going off what she could hear, it sounded as if he had fired upon a man behind the first as well. They were under assault. By
Valheimian soldiers, nonetheless. It…didn’t make sense, but her expression was too focused to betray her thoughts as she kept the gun pointed at the doorway, ready to fire should another wave attempt to push through.
Everything happens for a reason. For example, Ibraham never got the chance to ask the Limbtaker to slap him during dinner. He had been too involved in the other conversations, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to get slapped in the first place. The man he had made the wager with stared him down as they made their exit, but Ibraham avoided his gaze. Chances are he’d never see the man again in his life, so why sweat it? Besides, it just meant that when it became clear that he would be sharing a room with both her and the other gil-motivated knucklehead, it wasn’t dreadfully awkward. Just, y’know, your casual run-of-the-mill awkward that comes from having to bunk with a war criminal.
He watched as the other Faye, Butter’s Bane, settled in before turning toward his second companion.
Ibraham watched the Limbtaker forgo her bed to slump against a wall with morbid curiosity. It would be clear to most people that she obviously had no intention of talking tonight, that it might be dangerous to push her to do so. Ibraham, however, was not most people - he was an idiot.
“So you’re, what, planning on just…sitting like that the whole night, are you?” he asked, confused as he kicked off his boots and leaped onto his bed, pulling the bottle of wine from where he had it stashed in his clothes and already getting into it.
“Right. Suit yourself. Bed’s ridiculously comfy, but I’m sure the floor is just, mwah, chef’s kiss too.” he added, gesturing a kiss to his finger tips before exploding them toward the ceiling then moving to wipe his mouth against his sleeve. After a moment, he added,
“S’it true that you had a throne o’ cocks during the war?” pausing for a moment before adding context.
“Weaselly bastard I was sitting next to during dinner swore up and down he saw it with his own eyes, but the whole story felt legless if you ask me. Oh. Ha! A legless story about the Limbtaker! Ha!”As Ibraham lifted his bottle of pilfered wine to take another drink, Izayoi muttered something then darted forward. For a moment, Ibraham was sure that this was the end, that he was about to be taken for all of his limbs, when suddenly the door shot open and the Mystel was already on the attack, cleanly slicing through the barrels of the soldiers’ guns. Ibraham hadn’t even had time to react when the first shot tore through the wall beside him, sailing harmlessly overhead toward the ceiling, causing Ibraham to luckily hunker down, just in time for the second shot to tear through the wall and shatter the bottle he had been drinking from.
“WHA-OH, PISS OFF!” he exclaimed as the wine drenched him.
“That was probably expensive!” he whined, rolling from the bed to his feet, swiping his blades as he hunkered down. At Izayoi’s command, Ibraham darted forward, blades held in reverse grip. As he approached the men circling Izayoi, one turned to catch him. Ibraham rolled under the soldier’s blade, nearly diving between the man’s legs before pulling back, biting his daggers into the back of the soldier’s knees before ripping them back, causing the man to lose his footing and fall.
As Ibraham attempted to get back to his own feet, a second soldier was on him, slicing at an angle. The blade cut into Ibraham’s right arm, the thief’s blood splattering against the hardwood, staining it as it moved to pool with the rest of the blood being spilt. The pain caused him to lose his grip on the Mage Masher, but as the soldier pulled the sword back, Ibraham struck out with the Sword Breaker, catching the blade in between its teeth. He twisted his arm, attempting to disarm the soldier, but the other man was relentless, holding onto his weapon for dear life. Ibraham pushed forward with his shoulder, using his now free hand to grab the man’s armour as he hooked his leg around the other’s, sending both men tumbling to the ground and rolling towards the bed and wall. Moving to mount the soldier, Ibraham pinned his foe’s sword arm with his own as he launched a strike with the free hand towards the man’s neck.
The soldier gagged as his throat was set upon with punches. Had it not been for the gorget preventing Ibraham from landing a solid hit, it likely would have been over for him. Instead, the soldier struck back, swinging his gauntleted fist toward the Rogue and landing fairly solid blows, all things considered. One strike likely cracked a rib or two. When it became clear that it wouldn’t be enough, the soldier started tearing at Ibraham, reaching his fingers up toward Ibraham’s head. But when that seemed out of reach, he moved instead towards the cut, digging his fingers into the wound to try to throw Ibraham off-balance. The con man screamed in pain, but still managed to lean just far enough to grab the hilt of the Mage Masher with his free hand without freeing the soldier. Blade in hand, Ibraham ripped back, tearing across the soldier’s neck with the blade once, then, upon realizing that it wasn’t a clean enough strike, doing it a second time to put the man out of his misery.
There would be time enough to unpack his first ever murder later, but for now, a wide-eyed shell-shocked Ibraham shot his head to the side, searching for any more coming attacks.
