His smirk only got wider.
“Don’t what?” Arista whispered close to Royce out of the side of her mouth.
Outside of a tavern in Ratibor, Hadrian squared off with a very unpleasant city native. The man, whom his friends called “Mount” because he was, well, a mountain, had refused to move seats in order for the trio to sit together at the bar. After seeing Arista, however, he had a gleam in his eye that made Hadrian’s blood boil.
Mount stood a near half foot above Hadrian’s head, was wide enough to make Elden look slight, and had tattoos on his face and brands on his wrists. His cutlass was his only weapon and marked his time spent on the sea.
The pirate (Royce gathered from the ‘p’ on his left inside forearm) unbuckled and pulled his belt from his waist, setting it aside. Hadrian did the same.
“This is ridiculous,” Royce muttered under his breath.
“I thought you liked watching him beat people up.” Arista cocked her head in confusion.
Royce sighed. “Hadrian has an uncanny ability to tell if the man he’s fighting is going to remove his shirt before the fight.”
Arista pause, forehead scrunched. “So?”
Before Royce had a chance to respond, Mount ripped off his shirt, revealing a grossly over defined chest and shoulders. He tossed the shirt in the same direction as his sword, but Hadrian was too fast. He closed the seven foot distance with a lunge and snatched the shirt out of the air. Before anyone could say ‘mountain’ he had his head through it and the hem hanging mid-thigh. he sauntered back to his original position.
“You know, this shirt might just be too big for me.” Hadrian’s convincing tone made Arista cover a snort with a cough and Royce rub his face in embarrassment.
“Wh- wha- what.” Apparently shirt theft makes pirates stutter.
“If you want it back, apologize to my friends,” Hadrian brought his up his hands beckoning Mount closer, “or come take it from me.”
Royce watched all reason leave the pirate’s face as he ran full force at at the idiot in the flowing shirt. Royce could see Hadrian calculating the man’s steps and shuffling his feet to counter with the most pain possible.
Mount came at Hadrian with his left hand. Hadrian dodged right, grabbing the passing arm with his left hand. He put his shoulder into the man’s abdomen and pushed with his right arm, flipping the pirate onto his back and slamming him into the ground. Mount’s head hit the ground with a sound like a watermelon being cracked. Arista grimaced.
Hadrian turned to the pair, wide grin on his face. “He must have seen how much more handsome I look in this-” he pulled the shirt off, “-than he did and decided he couldn’t handle that.”
Arista laughed and walked arm-in-arm with him back to the tavern. Royce pulled his hood farther over his face and muttered curses in elvish.
One of the people who stopped to watch the brawl dared to ask Royce how often he did that with rejected shirts.
“Every. Single. Time,” Royce growled.
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