Again Fenris’ eyes found themselves looking at the ceiling in exasperation. Why he continued to travel with this elf he would never know (or never admit). It was a miracle that the two of them were still alive, given that these sort of situations happened too often. Fenris proceeded to deflect multiple punches from one thug while giving many in return. He managed to kick the man away just as Zevran intercepted his ambusher. Ah, and the weapons were drawn.
The elf didn’t want to admit that Zevran’s little mistake had stung a bit. Not that he cared if the Antivan found him attractive, of course. Quite the opposite, in fact. But really, if Zev had taken one look at the rest of that woman’s figure, he never would have touched her… Maybe.
Fenris narrowed his eyes at Zevran for an instant. They snapped open in alarm and quickly shoved the assassin out of the way of an incoming throwing knife. Fenris danced out of the way as well and sprung into action. His speed cleared the distance between himself and the knife-thrower in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the back of the man’s neck, slammed his stomach down onto his waiting knee, and did it again. Fenris sent the man flying, but not before grabbing one of his throwing knifes. With a deadly grace, the elf spun and threw the knife. It knocked the sword right out of another man’s hand. That man made the smart move and bolted.
No one was left in the tavern save for the two elves and the barkeep. Fenris rejoined Zevran, glaring slightly at the elf. “Perhaps I’ll forgive you… If you can find us a decent place to sleep for once.” He walked away from Zevran, but not before reaching down and giving his ass a little smack.
The assassin had only just made it to his feet as Fenris spoke, after being treated to such a scintillating display of martial skill, and the impact on his admittedly appealing posterior actually stole his words for a moment, leaving him blinking at the other elf in bemused approval as he finally gathered himself enough to laugh.
"You say that as if we make a habit of bedding down in common alleyways, my dear-- you must admit our accommodations in Antiva, at least, were magnificent, even when held against those of royalty. The waterbed alone--" breaking off with a pleased sound, Zevran drew a discarded pouch from beneath a table with the toe of his boot, "would have been worth its weight in silver." Kicking the pouch into the air, he caught it and bounced it briefly in his palm, assessing its contents.
"At least, it would have been so before we were done with it. After it was more of a casualty to the very best of carnal causes." Sighing in patently false regret, his eyes gleamed in amusement as he tossed the pouch to the openly distressed bartender along with a sweeping bow of apology. "Now if only you could be persuaded not to wear those lovely gauntlets of yours in bed. As enticing as they are against your bared skin, they are somewhat of an environmental liability."
