Brawling and Dealing Beneath The Stars
"Have at you then." "I deal mercy for your age." Tristan boldly mocked, as Grayson lept forward, and he reached for the blade in the floor, only to feel the intense pain as his knuckles sheered by a series of much smaller, and extremely sharp objects that embedded the flesh before Tristan went for the blade himself.
"Oh, you are crafty!" Grayson hollared raising his heel, and kicking Tristan to the floor, then digging the blades out that kept his fingers from wanting to move properly then he grasped around the handle but felt an elbow ram the side of his head, knocking him clear away from the sword, then Tristan grasp through Grayson's hair, and he beat him against the bar top repeatedly. "Give it up, you're out of shape!"
His words angering his elder, he felt his feet being lifted from beneath him by Graysons toes, then with a turn and flick of Graysons forearm he crashed against the floor, then harsh toes collided against his ribs, sailing him over the top of hung decor, and Grayson took hold of the sword, yanking it from the floor, and throwing it violently at Tristan who narrowly dodged it by ducking with his entire midsection to a slump at the floor, and finding that heavy stone buried into the wall.
"Father, come quick!" This voice brought Grayson who had been in heavy step toward Tristan to freeze in his tracks, and his attention turned to the wild haired youth who appeared much the same age as Tristan. "We'd gotten word on this prick, whom she intends to wed Rae to. He's here." "Rae?" Tristan muttered coming up from the wall, and dusting himself off. "What business is it of yours, stranger, you have your bar, and your sword." "Not yet, I don't. Take me with you to meet this man, I would like to see to it, he does not breathe on this earth."
Now Grayson and Tristan were staring eye to eye, the elder narrowing his eyes. "If it were the time, I might ask why a thug has interest in intervening with my daughters life, but, at a time like this, a thug just might be what she needs. Come on."
Tristan began to follow, but then stopped for a second, ripping the sword out of the wall, and yet rather than dragging it with him, he twisted it to the bottom of his palm, and held it out to Grayson. "I want you to understand though. I will take that from you later, for calling me a thug."
The night grew quiet, the sound of waves crashing against the wood, had danced most of the crew of the Rue to sleep in its sway, and still Gregor stood at its helm, with Vastiel ever cautiously watching over him, then Gregor turned his head toward him. "You know, this plan, you boys have, it could work, but it could also be a major disaster."
Suddenly his heart skipped as though it were coming out of his chest. "W-what do you mean?" "I may be an oaf, but I am not blind, son. You and your brother share similarities, but differences in your eyes aswell. And you've been staring at me so long, I think I should only be thankful that you found rational thought enough not to cut my throat out here under these stars."
With that said, Gregor turned fully to Vastiel, and he fold his arms. "I've spent these last few hours, contemplating that if you were to kill me, you would have done so already, so then, it is not my death you wish for with this hawks eye of yours, what is it?" "You're pretty keen, for an oaf. Tristan wishes to remove Mary from her throne, and it would seem he wishes to use your ship for that purpose." "I will not hinder you, but I cannot offer you her aide either." "I've not been given the circumstance to offer you choice." "And circumstance or not, The Rue only does as The Rue command, you are not one of us, and you have not killed in our name, so, we will not offer you our aide. Unless.. You were willing to be made useful, once we hit land."
"I think you will find, Captain, that I can be quite useful indeed, especially, if you would wager your unending loyalty to our cause."
"Then when morning comes, prove it, and stop breathing down my neck."