“How sweet,” Cryda crooned, leaning heavily on the counter top, “You’ve grown soft in your old age, egg-yolk. Tell you what, since you’ve warmed my cockles, I’ll throw in a free scabbard for each.”
“Oh shut it and take my coin already,” Andre grumbled, throwing a heavy looking pouch directly at her chest.
A door swung open and the loud crying, now escalated to screaming, filled the room once more. Gwyn’s hands immediately shot up to cover her ears, a slight scowl finding its way to her face. A ragged, tired looking man poked his head around the corner, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the din.
“Nothing will settle him, Cryda. Not even the rattle.” He turned his attention to Andre, giving him a nod of recognition and a weak smile. “Andre. Thought I heard you back here. Love the beard.”
Cryda groaned and pocketed the pouch quickly, moving to jump over the counter again before Andre’s hand gripped her arm, pulling her back to her feet.
“I’ll see if i can sort him out,” he said with confidence, “keep an eye on those two while I’m gone, will you?”
Gwyn watched as Andre slipped into the back room with the tired man and finally lowered her hands to her sides. It felt a little odd, seeing Andre being so relaxed and familiar with these strange people. That was a silly thought - they weren’t strange to him, they were his friends. She suddenly felt a little sad. Thoughts of her own friends from the circle flooded into her mind. How many had survived? Did any of them have children now?
“Always trying to fix other people’s problems, that one,” Cryda said with an exasperated sigh.
She jumped the counter anyway, crouched behind it and came back up with the aforementioned scabbards, sliding each blade into it’s respective encasing. She slid them both towards Feit with a flourish.
“I believe these are yours, Messere Feit,” she said with faux formality and a grin.
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