‘you’ve got to be shitting me.’ + kara to erik ..
he breathes harshly through his nose, each exhale rattling his chest. more due to lingering fury than any real physical exertion. a tavern brawl, and a very undignified one, split knuckles and a bruise on his cheek — he was careless, his form less than acceptable, his temper lashing out like a child throwing a fucking tantrum.
he should know better. they've taught him better. kara has every right to be disappointed, angry. and maybe even ashamed. erik sniffles once, feeling blood somewhere in his nose, wet and uncomfortable. he holds himself rigid, too stiff, still taut as a tightrope.
'' they started it, '' he mutters, scowling. but of course it isn't strictly true and he trains his gaze towards the uneven cobblestones, slick with rain; the insults came first, slurs not at all unfamiliar to witchers everywhere, but erik had swung first, with vicious punches and kicks, never with his blade.
he lifts his head again, jaw set. he suddenly looks very young, a fierce indignation burning in his golden eyes.
'' i don't care what they say about me. but you— they were saying such— it's not right. i had to do something. ''
