02.22.09 - Bar Brawl

The time of day most are finished or ending their third meal sees the bar a little less full than usual, with those patrons present being either travelers or the world-weary of the village. Magramba is seated at the bar, elbows propped up on the wooden counter, nursing a mug of coltsfoot and comfrey tea. A tarnished copper coin rests on the bar for the next fill.

Harper is also seated at the bar! He is nursing an ale, slowly but surely. Humhumhum. He glances idly to the side at Mag, "... So." Great conversation starter.

Darcy is back in her normal clothes, scruffy-haired and a little into her cups. She has a flask next to her as she leans over a pool table, the cue in hand, expression focused. There are a few balls left on the table, and she carefully lines up a shot - then sinks a ball. She's playing against a male squirrel who just grins as he's sort of being whupped.

Magramba's eyes flicker open, and roll over to look at the buck, head shifting to bring Harper closer to the center of his focus. "So." After the inevitable pause, the squirrel continues. "How'd that whole dance thing go?"

"Won third," Harper announces. He twists around on his stool, looking briefly Darcy's way. Then turns back. "So why don't you like t'dance?" he asks of the squirrel.

"You think that's great?" Darcy asks her pool opponent with a grin. "Watch /this/. I'm about to beat your arse." She shifts around, leaning, her scut giving little twitches back and forth while she lines up the next shot, ready to sink the 8 ball.

Belliger's not gone yet. He walks into the pub, bringing his satchel of belongings with him. "Oh, fates be darned, I was 'opin' I'd make it in time for cleanup." He snaps his fingers and heads towards the pool table, that squirrel apparently a good pal of his. "'ey! Stripes or solids?" He glances down at the table and the shot that Darcy's lining up, glancing to the squirrel again with a smirk.

"There's any number of reasons I don't like dancing." Magramba takes a big ol' swig of tea.

"Give me two 'n' I'll buy yer next drink," Harper replies.

"Stripes for me," the squirrel replies. He gives Belliger a grin and a nod, leaning into his own cue, just looking on as Darcy draws back her own, then taps it just-so against the white ball. Clunk, clunk. It hits the 8 ball, which bounces off the edge of the table - and sinks into a hole near her. "Hah! Pay up," the doe says triumphantly, and extends one hand. Apparently there was a bet. She grins at Belliger as well. "Evening you!"

Magramba stares at the wall opposite for a number of moments. Then the copper is pocketed quietly. "If you must know." Dark eyes shift back to the Brother, catching and holding his gaze, and the squirrel's voice is quieter, more introspective, almost withdrawn from the room. "I had a life once, you know, Harper. Big, bold plans that'd put me on the unseen wings of the clouds, with my darlin' damsel snug up against me, pretty as an angel." There's a pause for another sip of tea. "Well, I found the angel. But back to the dancing part." More tea.

"Ah, don't tell me ye just got 'ustled, mate..." Belliger chuckles, eyes going to the doe. After just a moment, he nods slowly. "Oh, 'ey. From the party, righ'? Ye jigged." The shrew grins. "I ain't seen ye 'round before," he comments, not quite a query, putting the conversation in her control.

Harper listens, quietly. The rest that's going on in the room, he doesn't pay attention. He just. Gives an ear to Mag, respectfully. He /did/ ask.

Darcy is handed a handful of coins, which she counts out and then pockets. "Great losing to you," the squirrel says with a grin, and she returns it, then switches it over to Belliger. "Yes! Yes I did. And you showed me how. Darcy." Her hand is offered out. Somewhere off to the side there's a bit of an argument starting up over a game of cards.

"That angel had /feet,/ man. Feet like you wouldn't believe. The way we danced made the world go in slow motion." Magramba takes another long sip. This time the mug's empty. "And, as you can see, the angel no longer walks among us. Hence, no dancing."

Belliger's is offered as well, and he shakes, firmly. "Belliger. Nice to /properly/ meet ye." The shrew's eyes glance off to the side at the argument, then roll. "Around 'ere often? Like I said, I ain't seen ye."

"My sleeves're rolled up! Where could I hide a card?" one of the arguers grumbles.

Harper's ears have flattened back. Harper lets out a long sigh, reaches into a pocket, and slides a copper across the countertop. Signals the bartend. "Refill for m'friend, here." And then he falls silent for a bit. "I'm sorry, Mag."

"No need to apologize..." Magramba glares over his shoulder at the card-players. "...If there's anyone to blame, its me." A grateful nod is extended to the barkeep as the tea is filled once more.

Magramba says, "But next time I say I'm not doing something, /please/ don't press the matter."

"And /you/. Belliger? It's a complete pleasure, so glad I'm sober this time," Darcy chuckles. Winks at him. "Well /mostly/ sober anyway." She shakes his hand, then detaches and reaches for her flask on the edge of the table. A glance goes over toward Harper and Mag. "Just passing through, me and my friends. We're headed for Salamandastron," he explains.

Harper will take that with good grace. "Aye." And then he's silent for a long moment. Long and long. His ears perk at the disagreement behind, but he doesn't pay it much mind. "The last time I was on a trip like this was with m'wife. Flaxpaw. /Seasons/ ago. 'Course we weren't married /then/." He shrugs. "Losin' her, that was my fault, too."

"I don't give a rats arse about your /sleeves/," one of the arguers snarls. There's a 'oompf!' and then a glass travels through the air, spilling liquor in an arc. It smashes into the bar just to the side of Harper and Magramba, shattering.

"That's-" And then the glass smashes and sprays what's left inside all over the pair. Magramba flicks a bit of liquid from the tips of his fingers. Fulminating anger seeps through his undertones. "Sometimes, Harp, I find the best way to deal is to find a scapegoat. Just our luck, someone's just volunteered."

Belliger keeps an eye on that disagreement/argument/fight going on over there, but responds to Darcy rather coolly, conversationally. "Ah, the ol' mountain. Never been /inside,/ but I've seen it from the beach. Wot's there?" The shrew asks, cringing at the shattered glass. "Ah, somebeast's got brambles in their britches..."

"Harper's son and father, and some fr..iends." Darcy's ears quirk. She tilts her head, brows up, as the card game quickly dissolves into shouting and shoving. Coins are knocked onto the floor off the pile of bets. A 'tender comes over to try to break it up but /he/ gets lobbed in the jaw, sending him crashing into another table. "... oh bloody. Harp? You okay?" Her voice is raised - she saw that glass smash near them.

Harper's shoulders hunch and his head /ducks/ at the sound of smashing glass. He grimaces, reaching up to pick a piece of glass out of his headfur. He turns around in his stool, eyes narrowed. "Was that /really/ necessary?" he snaps. But of course they're not paying attention. He glances at Darcy. Just nods.

Belliger snorts out. It's almost laughter. Almost. "Scuse me, Darcy." He pats her shoulder as he passes, sauntering over to the budding fight. Not quite interfering yet, no, but he's there. Just in case.

Magramba, meanwhile, has his swordbelt unbuckled, and leans it against the bar. A glance goes to Harp. "You coming, or do I fight for honor's sake all on my lonesome?" There's a grin to cover the anger.

Darcy takes up her flask to aim across the bar toward Harper and Magramba. As she does so someone grabs up a chair and swings it at someone else. In true bar brawl style it's quickly escalating, and she backs up a step, path blocked by a pair who tumble over punching and kicking each other on the floor. Someone else, drunk and wobbly, takes a swing at Harper. Because he's there or something.

Looks like the fight's not reconciling itself. And what do you get when you have six people fighting in a bar? Twelve people fighting in a bar. So Belliger has to duck a punch rather quickly, backing off and leaning out of the way of even more of them.

Harper's arms have spread in an apologetic manner and he kind of half-grins at Magramba, lips parting in preparation to excuse himself, wheeeeeen. Sock! Right in the jaw. Harper falls backward off his barstool, his mug going down with him. He and it crash to the floor. Fortunately, /he/ does not shatter. Though that would be quite a sight.

In response, Magramba floors the offender with a quick jab to his drunken belly. The squirrel stoops to check on his friend. "Y'alright, Harp?" A paw is extended, one supporting him on a stool, and the look that goes with it makes it clear that assistance is a limited time offer.

"Oy!" Darcy's mood has quickly sizzled to something. Not pleasant at all. She hops up onto a chair to bypass the wrestling guys in her way, draws her arm back, and flings her flask. It smashes on the side of the face of the guy who just knocked Harper down. As /he/ goes down from Magramba's blow. The doe looks mildly smug before a pissed-off otter - apparently a relation of the one she just chucked that at? - reaches to drag her /off/ the chair and chuck the petite girl into another table. ... ouch.

Harper's kind of. Dazed. But he reaches out, all the same, and allows himself to be haaaauled up. A paw goes to his muzzle. His lip's split open and is bleeding freely. "... Thanks," he grunts out. And looks around - just in time to see Darcy being chucked. He, ohhhhhh. /Oh/.

Into the fray! Magramba wades out into the center of the conflict, brandishing a broken table plank, ducking bottles, fending off chairs, and generally enjoying himself. The board is abandoned as a hedgehog breaks it further with a chair. The squirrel flees from the spiked assailant, making for less innately-dangerous combatants.

Belliger gets backed into a wall, but ducks out of the way just in time, causing a big (for a mouse) mouse to punch the wall instead of his face. When the mouse turns around Belliger tackles him into the wall, crushing him against it and winding him, grabbing his ears and knocking his head against the wall and letting him fall. He can't revel in this victory as he is then socked in the back of the head, stumbling forward to slump down against the wall, slightly dazed.

The throw of Darcy into a table makes it wobble, plates clattering off it. And she's not very heavy either. The doe grunts out and lashes with one leg, foot connecting with the guys belly, not quite digging into his groin like she wouldn't hoped. A moment later she's backhanded across the face. It's hard enough to knock her off the table, and she kind of rolls, dropping onto her knees, grunting with displeasure and blinking through the stars that collect in her vision.

Is it really any surprise when Harper appears right next to Darcy's attacker and a second later, said attacker is on the floor? No. No, it /really/ isn't.

Speaking of less innately-dangerous combatants, Belliger seems to have shaken off the daze and... His attacker seems to have moved on. So he goes to find someone else who's picking a fight and, lo and behold, it's Magramba!

And then Harper's just standing there, shaking his paw. And he's split a knuckle! He's splitting his seams all willy nilly! His shoulders move up and down with angry breaths, and then he looks down at Darcy. Extends his other paw.

Magramba pauses mid-stride as he sees the shrew advancing on him. An eyebrow raises. What, a shrew? The squirrel mounts a table and tackles a nearby otter. That's more like it.

Darcy sinks into the floor, head ducked, vision swimming. The hand... is extended just as she crawls away under the table, too dazed to even realize Harper's there. She avoids being trod on and makes it a little ways, then reaches for a chair, pulling herself up. Two rather large squirrels are going at it nearby, and a punch to one of them sends him reeling back, colliding with Darcy, who is unsteady enough already that she's knocked over. Again. Growling, though! Small girls are not made for bar fights.

Belliger is /offended./ But he doesn't have time to be offended, 'cause he's under attack again! He stops progress of someone running at him by running back and socking him in the jaw, dropping him to the floor. A bottle's broken over his head, and the jagged edge of the bottle is swung at him, but the shrew grabs that wrist and wrenches it, causing the bottle to drop to the floor.

Why! Do they keep messing! With his girl! Harper's teeth grit. He strides over, /yanking/ the offending reeler out of the way. And then he's lifting Darcy and carrying her behind the bar. Where she is deposited! Behind the bar. Under the counter. "/Stay/," he orders her.

Perhaps Magramba should have gone with the shrew. The otter had more than a few buddies gathered around, who seem to have taken some offense to the squirrel tackling one of their number. With a group shout, the otter squad hoist Mag into the air, and troop him rock-star style at a fast pace to the window, and pitch him through the glass.

Darcy does not, does /not/ protest this. She ducks her head as she's lifted, ears pinned. "Nnh," is her response to being set down, one hand claspig at Harper's arm, then letting go. She's staying. She affirms this with a slight nod, cringing.

Belliger socks the previous wielder of the sharp bottle in the chin, once, twice, three times, four... Oh my gosh he just won't go down! The rabbit that the shrew had been punching breaks free of Belliger's hold and smacks the shrew a good one right on the cheek, then in the belly, before Belliger grabs the paw of the rabbit and pulls him, tripping the lapine so his head collides with a table.

"I will be /back/," Harper reassures her with a firm nod. And then, after catching her eye for a moment, he stands up, And climbs up onto the bar. He puts two fingers to his lips... and /blows/. A shrill and very loud whistle pierces the room. "Oy!" he shouts. "/Stop/ breakin' each other's /faces/!" And he adds, just for the hell of it, "In the name o' Redwall!" Because, hey, who knows? It could help!

Belliger doesn't really /support/ an end to this bar fight right now. So when Harper starts looking like he's going to try and produce just that, the shrew climbs up onto the bar and runs full-tilt at the buck, using his small frame to get some nice leverage to tackle Harper about the waist to the bartop, scattering empty and half full bottles as he does so.

When the dizziness abates enough, Darcy stands up. /Cautiously/. Behind the counter is generally safe, except for the occasional something being thrown in that direction. She jerks a little and avoids a shattering glass, shards of it flying. One of them cuts her. She winces and searches the crowd for wherever Harper got off to.

Oh hey, Darcy! There he is. He and Belliger slam into the bartop right in front of her! This was /not/ what Harper intended. Or expected! The air goes out of him in a whoosh and his arms go around the shrew, rolling them both off the counter and onto the ground... /away/ from Darcy. Not that he knows that she's standing there.

Belliger is rolled and falls the few feet to the ground with a /thud/ and a loud grunt. He reaches out to either side of him, paws scrambling. Not finding any... Fighting Accessories, he decides to just try and sock Harper in the side of the head to get him off.

Darcy jerks back out of the way when the pair sprawl in front of her. "Harp!" she about squeaks. There is the temptation to vault over the bar and help. Somehow. But until she can figure out what the 'somehow' is the doe stays put.

Why! Always the head! Harper's head /pounds/... He pushes himself up off of Belliger and onto his knees, straddling one of the shrew's legs. "I don't want t'fight you!" he snaps. And a glass shatters just over their heads, glass and spirits scattering. He flinches to the side and away from it.

"Oh!" Belliger closes his eyes, turning his head away from the falling glass and alcohol. He uses this as a distraction to grab Harper and... Rather roughly... toss him off the top of him to his side. One would wonder if this thing's ever going to get broken up, hah.

Apparently what Harper wants... doesn't matter! He is tossed off to the side, his back rolling in the shattered glass. He /grimaces/. Okay. Okay. Fine. /Fine/. And Harper smashes his elbow into Belliger's side. "/Git/!"

Another beast is thrown across the bar, sprawling, flailing on it. Darcy finds asmall cooking pot behind the bar - what? - and whacks the guy over the head with it, then /shoves/ him. He drops off and the doe starts defending her turf, lashing out when anyone gets too close. This is really fairly effective until a rat jumps /over/ the bar and the doe releases a squeak, swinging at him, missing, getting cornered by the rodent. He's wielding a leg broken off of a chair, the end of it all spiky and splintered. "Gah! Back /off/!"

Belliger was /trying/ not to fight Harper! Hence the tossing to the side! Belliger gets elbowed in the side, and yelps in pain, stumbling against the bar with a shocked look of betrayal on his features. He reels back and tries to punch Harper in the stomach, simultaneously going to grab him and throw him up against the bar.

By now some others have arrived, the sober calvary more or less, to start pulling beasts apart and trying to break up the massive brawl that has swallowed the pub. At the bar, Darcy whacks out with her pot to counter an incoming strike, but it's kind of cumbersome. The next blow gets her right in the chest, the splintered end of the chair leg tearing her tunic, cutting along her collarbone. "Arse!" She swings again, catches the rat in the air. He snatches her by an ear, jerks her around. And there's a thud as Darcy's skull connects with the edge of the bar. She drops.

It is safe to say that Harper has not had much experience with brawling, at least not for... a number of seasons. It's not exactly in the Order charter, is it? But he hasn't forgotten everything he learned while he was a recruit, which saves him from the punch, but he has forgotten /a lot/ of it, which sends him sprawling into the bar. He hits it and goes over, landing in a heap next to Darcy and the rat. Convenient!

Belliger hops up onto the bar and kicks the rat that'd been hassling Darcy in the side of the head. He gets a goofy look on his features and then falls to the floor. Just then, Belliger's taken out by the legs, falling to his face on the bar and dragged across it by his shirt, taking out whatever was left on the bar with his face, then thrown off the edge of the bar by yet another big otter.

Darcy is completely out, sagged in a little petite pile on the floor behind the counter. The brawl is quickly becoming subdued as the reinforcements get everything under control.

Hey, well, at least they're sprawled next to each other? At least Harper's not out. He gets up on his paws and knees and just kind of. Shakes his head. Clearing it. He looks first one way - nothing - and then the other. And then he's scrambling over to Darcy, rolling her over and getting her head rested on his lap. "... Darce. Darce?" He lightly taps her cheek with his paw.

Belliger gets up off of the floor, shaking his head and... Seeing that things have mostly died down, he touches the growing lump on his head from where he got smacked with a bottle. Ow.

Darcy's whiskers flutter with a slight exhale in reaction. She is really tiny and pitiful. Blood stains her tunic where she was cut just under the collarbone, and her battered muzzle turns a little sideways in Harper's lap at the tapping.

Harper's brow furrows. He taps her cheek a little harder - closer to a light slap. "Darce," he says a little more insistently. Come on. Wake up.

Darcy flinches and her muzzle tugs away on reflex. She blinks, blinks again, and her eyes crack open. "... hi." Her smile is kind of far-off and dreamy.

Belliger touches his head again, looking at his paw. Ehh! No blood. The shrew unshoulders his pack to make sure it's not in disarray (it is) and reshoulders it, looking around as the fight has completely dissipated.

That's /better/. Harper gently lifts. "C'n you stand, Darce?" He goes to help her up, if she can. His eyes scan around. Things've gotten quiet... /also/ good.

Darcy lifts her head and is immediately hit with a wave of dizziness. The doe cringes and sinks against Harper, shaking her head, ducking it and taking a tense breath. "... nnh. Nn-nn. Just.. wait, Harp.." She grasps feebly at his arm. Uhg.

Belliger's head shakes again, and he goes to check on his buddies who were apparently in the bar fight, too.

Harper does just that. He stands there, supporting her weight entirely, just waiting for her signal. His eyes have found Belliger, of the tackling! He. Frowns.

Belliger actually chuckles, good-naturedly, with a friend of his, and gives a hearty hug and a slap on the back before he turns for the exit. Aaaand locates Harper, much by accident. He veers over close to the hare, offering a shake of his paw. "No offense mate. Heat of the moment, 's all." His eyes go to the half-conscious doe leaning on him. "...Good catch, she's a nice doe, aye."

Darcy leans all of her not-very-much weight into Harper. One of her ears twitches and she lifts her muzzle a notch, blinking blearily at Belliger, not really comprehending at all.

The doe's weight is shifted. Harper reaches out, catches the paw. Gives it a brief shake. Releases. "... Yeah." He looks down at Darcy, then. His expression shadows with worry.

Darcy's eyes shut again. "I.. feel f'nny," the doe mutters, turning her muzzle, resting her cheek against Harper's chest.

Belliger winces towards Darcy, spotting her cut. "'ey, she's bleedin', mate. Ye need some 'ealin' supplies?"

Well, Darcy. He doesn't feel so hot either. Harp glances up at Belliger, nods. "Yeah. That'd be good."

Darcy's muzzle crinkles a little around her mouth and nose. "'m fine." She sags a little more. "... 'ey Harp?" The slight difficulty speaking can be blamed on the swelling that's started around her mouth and nose, the whole area tender and a bit bloody. "You're okay righ'?" Her eyes are open again, blinking, expression concerned.

"We should get 'er outside first." Belliger nods, swinging his pack around to his front to root through his bag as he backpedals then turns, heading for the door, tip-toeing around bits of broken glass.

"M'fine," Harper answers - and goes to lift her in his arms again. He follows Belliger out from behind the counter and towards the door.

Darcy huffs out a mumble and leans into the buck's hold. Being carried is especially nice when she is seeing two of everything. Two floors, even.

Belliger leaves the pub, pushing the door open and stepping a few paces outside, dropping his pack to the ground, leaving his other paw holding a small case of healing supplies, which he unbuttons and offers to Harper. "'ere, mate. Have it, it's yers."

Harper settles Darcy on the very bench that he was brooding on just the other day! He looks up as the pack is offered, nods, and takes it. "Thanks, mate." He sets it beside him, surveys its contents briefly. He pulls out a cloth and turns, pulling aside the torn portion of Darcy's tunic to press it to her wound.

"I take it yer with 'er, then?" Belliger kind of stands by. "Goin' to Salamandastron?"

Darcy turns her muzzle aside with a cringe, ears angled back. She glances at Belliger and nods. "Yeah," she mutters, snout scrunched up. "Yeah, she's the.. the friend. Visiting his son and all. Uhg."

Harper keeps the pressure on, to hopefully stop the bleeding. "... This place used t'be nicer than this," he mutters, sounding generally put-out. Attacking a /girl/? Really? "Sorry, Darce."

Darcy makes a face. "'ey I.. I did okay." Mutter. She peers at Harper, blinking a little. "You 'bout ready to .. you know. Leave?"

Belliger nods. "Aye, think I'll come back when all the party crowd's left an' we've just got the brewers an' village folk agin." He scoops up his pack, fastening it closed again and tossing it over his back. "But aye, I should be goin', myself."

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Harper lifts the cloth, tentatively, to check the bleeding. He puts it back, leaves it there. Digs in the pack for something to cleanse the wound. Finds it. Does that! He fishes out a roll of bandages, next. He glances up at the shrew. "Thanks for the," and he gestures at the pack.

Darcy makes a slight waving gesture when the bandages are brought out. "Eh, leave it. It's not bad, let it have the air. You leaving us, Belliger?" She shoots a sweet, appreciative smile at the shrew.

"Not a problem, mate. I'll get another one," the shrew assure Harper. And to Darcy, "Aye, it's 'igh time I went. Gotta go, uh. See a squirrel about an errand." He kind of bows down a little. "Nice t'meet ye, Darcy."

The shrew who is the reason Harper's back is full of glass! Harper is trying to be appreciative. Really. He puts the bandages away and places a paw to her muzzle, to turn it this way and that. Get a look at it. "Anything feel broken?"

Darcy leans one hand against the bench and lifts the other, making a slight saluting sort of send-off at the shrew. "See you 'round then," she gets out, before Harper handles her muzzle. She doesn't go against the motion, tilting it around to let him. "No. Pretty sure I got off without a broken nose. The guy more backhanded than.. you know. Hit me right in the nose."

And with that, Belliger kind of takes a step or two away then turns and walks forward towards the exit of the town, hmming to himself and checking the lump on his head once more.

"The git," he mutters darkly. Sighs. "... Okay." And he leaves her be.

Darcy lifts her hand, fingers gingerly touching her nose. She grunts and carefully wipes blood away, eyeing Harper. "Your turn. Where'd you get hurt?"

Well, nothing feels particularly /good/. Harper touches absently at his lip, which is split. It, at least, has stopped with all that bleeding nonsense. "I don't think you should be doin' anything righ' now."

Darcy frowns a little. Just a little, her muzzle is sore. "I'm okay. I can check you over.. return the favor." Her hand touches his upper arm. "... and then get us both some painkiller?"

"... You c'n check me over if you let me get the 'painkiller'," Harper answers after a piece.

Darcy makes a 'hh' sound at him and nods. "Fair's fair. We both need ice if there's any left around. Where'd you get hurt worst?" Her hands both lift, one cupping the underside of Harper's muzzle, the other picking a fleck of glass out of his hair as she looks over his features. "... the good news is, you're still handsome as anything."

Harper's muzzle twists in a faint smile, though he winces. He lowers his paw from his face, letting Darcy do her thing. "... Thanks." As for his damage? "Rolled in some glass, s'all." His whole body aches, but unless she's going to kiss it better, he'll wait on the painkiller.

Darcy does kiss him, briefly. Her mouth brushes his cheek and then she leans a little back, and gestures at him to turn. "That's kind of a nasty business. Let's see how torn up you are, hm."

With a resigned nod, he turns. He's kind of craning his neck to see over his own shoulder, curious at the damage himself. He knows it /hurts/, anyway. Glass shards of varying sizes have punctured through the fabric of his tunic. Anything really large has since fallen out, fortunately! There are various little blood stains, mostly small. There's only one that's really more than superficial, where a larger chunk of the drink glass cut him.

Darcy mutters, "Ech," and reaches for a piece of glass. The ones that remain she tugs free, dropping them on the ground, eyeing his back as she does so. Briefly she fingers a hole in the tunic and then drops her hand. "Take your shirt off. Or should I save your dignity? And we can go somewhere other than the middle of the street."

"Let's head back t'the rooms," Harper suggests. "I'll go inside real quick 'n' get us somethin', first. All right?" And he's turning, taking a step towards the tavern door.

Darcy blinks mildly. ".. what something?" But she shrugs and watches him go, staying seated.

"Pain killer," he explains, wry humor in his voice. "Go on. I'll meet you back at the rooms." And in he goes.

Darcy snorts, and shakes her head. And, standing slowly, she waits for him there by the door, looking sort of tired and amused.