This guy doesn’t know what an interrogation is, does he?, Lafitte thought sardonically at Peino’s equally acidic reply. Lafitte, of course, had every intention of applying more pain to get that information from his adversaries, the wound actually being a further weapon in that scenario.
But when Jeneyeru called for quiet, Lafitte decided to bite his tongue. Though he was prone to temptations of temper, his wasn’t one easily shown, at least not anymore so than any other of the norm. Instead he marched up the steps of the embassy just as well as the others.
But that was where their similarities abruptly ended as the Prince called for his arrest. “Traitorous coward!” he cursed beneath his breath as he went for his machete. Well, they won’t be getting me without a fight! he thought, but no fight was to come. The brother of the Prince just as suddenly called off the guards. Well, at least the whole family isn’t devoid of honour, he thought, a simmering anger just underneath his purposeful steps towards Jeneyeru’s apartment.
When Ionas arrived to join the group, he merely nodded, “Monsieur Farseer.” He felt bad for what he felt was rudeness to a crewman and friend, but he wasn’t in the mood for talking. Instead he also nodded at Jeneyeru in thanks, both for the offer of refreshment and clothes, as well as to his calling off the guards his brother had sicced on him.
Going towards the room pointed out to him by Thimble, he saw a new set of clothes on the bed. He scowled but his own garb was soaked due to a battle in the still driving storm outside the window. It took him a little while to get into the, to him, odd Aeldrethian clothes, but he managed, and it wasn’t long before he was dressed in the tight fitting britches common to the world, a white (overly frilly to his sensibilities) shirt, as well as a deep blue jacket and a grey sash across the golden-brown vest.
Well, at least I look the part, he thought with a smirk as he saw the get-up in the mirror. He made a mental note to get back in his normal clothes as soon as they were dried; he felt too much like he was in costume.
Entering into the common room he saw the brothers looking out the window discussing the pounding storm.
“Yeah, she’s an angry one,” he said grabbing an ale from the tray. He took a swig as he continued watching the storm. Weather had always fascinated him, whether it was because of his operating in the elements, or merely through having spent many a night as a child sitting out on the porch watching them come up, he didn’t know.
Thunder broke the quiet in the room, but not the tension. Despite his anger at Peino, awkward silences always bothered him, he decided to take a stab at breaking it.
“Well, at least it wasn’t a total bust,” he said, “The cards definitely changed hands in that bar, and the bartender was in on it, guy named ‘Ashcat’,” he continued. “Though, exactly how or in what capacity he was involved, I can’t say, but I believe it was he that ordered those gangsters to attack us…”