( for @deepweboutlxws - continued from here. )
Unlike his companion who, despite his own drunkenness, was brisk in and efficient in his mannerisms - the Dollmaker would have been impressed, observing the aftermath of his scuffle with three towering foes, if not for the immense amount of risk that Lucas had just juggled with - the elderly man instead chose to pick his way through the crowd in a far less concise way. Stalking through the gathering with his hulking shoulders shunted before him as to plough any particularly stubborn patrons from his path, each shoulder would collide when necessary and push forth as to ' guide ' them from the bobbing and weaving which way he preferred; with little subtlety to each swaying movement. However, anyone who would turn towards him, swaggering and bristling with the intent to snap or swing at his towering frame; as though everyone within the bar's confines appeared almost animalistic, the alcohol swimming within each and every vein pumping to their dulling brain. Ernst would simply GLOWER at them, as though daring them to strike at him -- a sneering expression toying his features. He was old, but evidently far from helpless.
Finally, the hitman maneuvered away from where he had plastered his entire weight to the bar, sweat and blood beading upon his skin and glistening beneath the glaring yellowed lights spilling from above them. Each movement he made as slow and every gait was uneven and stumbling, the toes and heels of his shoes caught upon the debris scattered over the ground, so much so that the Dollmaker took a few more steps forth as to intercept the man as they met in the middle. Instinctively, the older man slipped an arm about the other's back, tentatively cradling him there - holding him to his own steadying frame, acting the anchor.
" Hello, mein pfirsiche, " from over the wiry man's head, Ernst scoured the crowd as to gaze upon the men who had just assaulted Lucas. They, of course, were staring bug-eyed back at him and so he glared yet harder - boring deeply into their nervous, bemused expressions. "I suppose it must have been a lucky coincidence, for you don't look in the best state to walk home, especially alone after such a scuffle. " Turning his gaze back away the men who had just attacked his peach and back down to the lean man himself, he pet the other's head lightly. It was a lie, the Dollmaker was merely an unnervingly talented tracker and discovering the hovel in which Lucas chose to drink was simple enough for a man as experienced as himself.
Head inclined to better meet the other's eyes, he offered a gentle grin. " Well, either way, I'm glad to see you could handle yourself but I'd much rather you leave before - before anything else occurs. " From under the flickering of lights, the Dollmaker could see the bruises blooming and cuts splitting Lucas' features, none severe but unpleasant and under risk of infection nonetheless. " You seem a little... bleary, mein fruend. "
