What do I look like, A Priest? A sexy one, Maybe.

Mind the rum! Bastard! his free arm shoved him back, legs quickly regaining his footing.

Ruth glared at him, hand curling into a fist. His back straightened with those words. Yep, cos you’re fuckin’ it up, Nairn. You’re bein’ a lil bitch. He shot back before eyeing the street and then returning to focus on the chest piece. Lifting the bottle of rum to his lips, Ruth swore luridly in dalish taking a long draw of the sweet nectar.

No magic o’ course, wiggling a finger at him and shaking his head, I fuckin’ hate you, I’mma break my fuckin’ hand!. Groaning, Ruth set the bottle down and squared up to Nairn, slowly wandering closer. It didn’t take much to stir the elf’s quick fuse, especially so inebriated, fist first appearing to be going for his nose until his other followed.

A hard jab landed across Nairn’s nose, breaking it before his other landed heavily against the plate, a curse and grunt of pain cracking and echoing through the street.

Motherfucker what fuckin’ metal even is that! You fuckin’ dickhead, I broke my fuckin’ wrist!