RP:Defense Mechanism

Synopsis: Things go a tad awry when Raphaline attempts to investigate the scripture on Trent's arm.

Characters: Trent, Meri, Raphaline, Vaan

Location: Cenril, The Whaler's Bar

Date: Jan. 20th, 2014

The Whaler's Bar

Trent enters. Typical brooding fashion, he slowly stalks toward the bar, head low, features shielded by his leather hood. A safeguard, his hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket; That of which shimmered from the layer of water coating the fabric. Had it been raining? His voice rings out from the veil of shadow, "Water." A few coin are then placed upon the counter with his now free right hand.

Raphaline is relaxing somewhere in the bar, probably at one of the free tables she claimed early on in her visit here. After a few days of some serious business and dealings in Frostmaw, she needed a drink and a real bar. Now the tavern in the ice land is nice and all, but nothing beats sailors, gang members and other rowdy folk. So, she sips on her vodka, hand running over the fine leather of violin case, debating her next move.

Meri trails into the bar not long after Trent, entering just in time to hear the male order water. Meri disapproves. Whole-heartedly. Raphaline is noticed, but Trent ordering water in the bar, that is a serious grievance. How dare he? The blonde stalks on over to Trent, a devious grin on her lips, "Water? What the hell." The woman takes the liberty to correct Trent's order, looking to the barkeep. "Whiskey." Back to Trent. "Cause ya don't order water in no bar." Her words are directed to Raphaline, "Ain't that right, my Muse? 'sides, we don't wanna keep company with no water drinking pansies, do we?" Harsh? Maybe. But the wide-grin on her lips and her tone should make it obvious that she's just having a bit of fun.

Trent started to protest at first, his free hand lifted to halt the barkeep from changing his order. However, as he turns to view the offending party, he smiles a bit. "Meri." A few more coin litter the counter as he corrects payment. "Apologies. Not really sure of the customs in taverns I guess." Trent could not recall the last time he had a drink of whiskey- or for that matter, if he has ever even tasted it. First time repeat? His cold gaze wanders in the direction Meri spoke, a nod offered to the newest stranger in his travels; Mild observation to follow. You looked at Raphaline.

Raphaline offers a wink when Trent looks her way, but when she hops off the table and saunters over to the bar counter, she moves to wrap herself around Meri. "Trouble, my love, whatever shall we do with him?" Her luminous, emerald gaze flickers over to Trent with a similar devious light in them. Canting her head to the side, fiery curls falling about her visage, she regards the man before her. "Customs? You make it sound as if you've never been to a bar." A grin, before she holds up two fingers to the man behind the counter, "Make it two. Both talls for the lady and I, right?" This is directed at Meri, along with a wink of her own.

Meri nodded to Raphaline in agreement on their choice of drink for the night, more than happy to pick up the tab for both herself and her dear friend. A hopeless shrug is given to Raphaline, dealing with the question of what to do with him. While Meri is aware of Trent's...predicament, she was of the mindset that it was his secret to share...but she was not above a good harmless fun at the amnesiac's expense. "Mmm, y'know, I ain't really sure he's much of a drinker. I'm for his social faux pas, we oughta make him have a shot of every type of booze this place carries. Vodka. Tequila. Whiskey. Rum." Cue another devious grin. Trent may have very little choice in this matter.

Trent narrowed his eyes. Caution. Suspicion. His face told no lies. With his new drink in hand, he first addressed Raphaline, "Well. This is technically, to my knowledge, my second visit to a bar. The first was short lived, and whatever ale I drank,tasted like foul goblin piss." Half confusion, half regret filled his features. "Uh. Not to say I have tasted such a thing. Figuratively." A nervous chuckle falls. "Would that really be such a good idea?" he asked Meri. I'm not sure intoxication would suit me well." Finally, after a moment of realization, he lowers his hood so that he could better view the pair.

Raphaline still has an arm languidly draped over the woman as she still eyes the male, her own gaze slow but absolute in what it notices. The suspicion and such are noted, but not reflected openly upon. Instead, she turns to Meri with a smirk, "I like this plan. Are we all in on it? Or," Turning back to Trent, "Just him. I could go for a couple of drinks tonight."

Meri squints at Raphaline. Are we all in? In on this horrible idea of mixing numerous types of alcohol in one sitting? It's with hesitation that Meri nods to this horrible and wretched idea, caving in and subjecting herself to a bit of torment as well. "All in...." she concedes, then makes it worse, "But if we're gonna do it may as well do it right and make a race outta it." The bartender is waved over. "Twelve shot glasses. Four a person. Fill 'em with whiskey, vodka, tequila, and rum. Line 'em up." A handful of coins are tossed on the counter, plenty to cover the request with enough left over for a tip. It doesn't take the bartender more than a minute or two to fill the request...and once poured, the shots could not be left to waste.

Trent seems a bit hesitant as he studies the pair, the now present drinks almost intimidating him. "I... suppose there is no refusal in this?" A light smile, the shoulder attached to the still buried hand lifts. "Very well. I suppose a little fun is in order."

Raphaline grins, she likes this plan. Given her race, which is evident when she tucks her curls behind her ear and reveals the slight point, might give her a slight advantage in drinking. "First one done gets to pick the song I play. And, seeing as we are drinking, I might even sing for you all." She takes a hold of her four glasses, slips around to the other side of Trent and lines up before her. "Here we go." Starting them off by reaching for the first and tossing it back.

Meri loved to drink but normally kept it to one form of a drink a night. She would be feeling it in the morning. Meri also reaches for the first shot, tossing it back, managing to keep pace with Raphaline until about the end of the second shot. The taste of vodka is gross enough to cause Meri to make a face, creating a bit of delay between the second and third shot. Once she is past that little hiccup, the tequila and the rum go down fairly smoothly.

Trent would most likely be the slowest, given that he was 'one handed', and stuck using the weaker of the two. A stern nod and a look of determination, he lifts the first to his lips. Vodka, smooth. Rum would follow next and with it, his face scrunch a little. So far so good! The whisky was next. This one made the blonde haired male gag slightly, face almost pained. However, he wanted to try and keep pace, with the two women and quickly moved on. A hard swallow, and the tequila was brought to his lips. First, the foul smell almost made him put it down, and once he tipped it past the threshold, he wished he had followed his instincts. The strength made him cough with a portion of the liquid still in his mouth. Up and out the nose it went flying, sending him reeling. "BLOODY HELL!!" he shouted, his face now buried into the back of his hand. He gagged and sputtered, snorting hard.

Raphaline finishes off her shots without a second thought. As the fourth glass is flipped and set on the counter she catches wind of Trent's choice of words. Swallowing the rum, she tries not to sputter with laughter at the sight. "Guess you and tequila aren't ever going to be friends, love." She turns to Meri then, a grin spreading over her lips, "I'll let ya pick, whatcha want to hear tonight darling?"

Meri pats Trent on the back, as if this would somehow help all the gagging, sputtering and snorting. The blonde shakes her head, amusement held in those baby blues. Those baby blues lazily shift back toward Raphaline, already starting to feel that warm and tingly feeling, the signs that those four shots had given Meri a good buzz. A lopsided grin plays at her lips, "Sing me somethin' purdy 'bout the sea. Ooor a bawdy sailin' songs. Ya know I love them too."

Raphaline gives a little chuckle of her own before rising, and making her way over to where her instrument still is. Carefully, she plucks it from its case and without warning, places bow to string. She plays a bit of the melody on the instrument, allowing her own musical voice to rest, that is until she comes to a part and the violin comes to a still. For a silent moment it seems as if she might not, but then, her voice rings clear, melodious and filled with the efforts and training of someone who has lived long enough to learn to sing with something more than effort. The language is elvish, as she renders on the people watching a tale about a sea maiden, lost and alone on the currents on the sea. She is trying to find her way home, but it seems at first nothing to be found.

Trent started to calm down a bit, the pat on the back causing the man's face to redden. "Hardly." he mutters to Raphaline, disgustedly pushing the offending shot glass away. "Excuse me." he offers next to both women. At least he had some form of manners! Wiping the bit of drool away from his mouth, he would ask "Sing? A musician I take it?" A light smile, another light finishing cough. "Interesting." he adds, soon falling silent as he takes to observation once again.

Meri chuckles faintly at Trent, swiveling about in her bar stool so that she can watch Raphaline's performance. Meri winks to Trent, her voice hushed so as to not disturb the performance, "Aye. A very talented one." She gestures to Raphaline with a toss of her head, non-verbally suggesting Trent also turn to watch. It wasn't her first time watching the bard, it would most certainly not be her last, and Meri was no where near bored with listening to her friend's musical prowess. A smile curves at her lips. She couldn't understand the language but it sounded lovely either way.

Raphaline sings for a bit longer before picking up the violin once more and delving into the notes plucked from the strings. It roars through the bar as if the ocean herself has come crashing into the bar, but as the bard moves, dancing as the bow slides over the strings, creating the effect of water swirling and churning until the music slows almost to a stop. Her body comes to a stand still once more, and as the last few notes echo, a smile form across her lips. She takes a bow, brandishing violin and bow, as she rises and turns to her companions. "And what did you think for your first hearing?"

Trent was in awe. He was not sure if had ever heard anything so lovely. She shot Meri a surprised look, and then turned complete focus upon Raphaline, following every movement, every word closely. Once the song had finished, Trent remained stupified, one word falling. "Amazing..."

Meri could merely smile and nod in agreement with Trent's sentiments. There was little Meri could add that she probably has not already said anyway. A wink is sent to Raphaline, a smile to Trent and then Meri plucks that initial tall glass of whiskey up off the countertop, pressing it to her lips.

Raphaline heads for her table first, storing the instrument away before making for the bar counter once more. She takes up residence on Trent's other side, placing him between the two women. "Why thank you. Meri here is the only one who gets free songs out of me. But I make good, every time." She reaches for own tall, whiskey glass, leaning far over the counter to do so. When settled back into her seat, she regards Trent over the rim of her glass for a moment before speaking, "Do you have a type of music you like?"

Trent wanted to fit in, like the cool kids, so he grabs his original glass in turn. A light salute, a disgusted face, and another gulp of the drink was tossed down the hatch. He takes another look between the two, still trying to get a better read on the pair, his lips parting with response, "I do not know. I don't recall hearing much. What you performed was very lovely, though. I.. like that I suppose." An affirmative nod. "You two have been friends for some time?" he then asked of the pair.

Meri nods to Trent, barely having to think long on his question, "We've been friends a bit. I reckon it's maybe only been like seven or eight months, but y'know, feels like I've known her all my life sometimes." Cue another wink, one that is aimed toward Raphaline this time.

Raphaline grins, it is true, she feels much the same as Meri. "There isn't anyone else I trust half as much as that woman right over there." She points with the hand holding her whiskey glass, "Besides, we like our drink and music and trouble, aye?"

Trent smiles, "That is nice, I'm sure. It is good to have those you can count on, I would think. Would make life much more fulfilling." A happy sentiment. Given the smile on his face and the relaxed lids, it was good to speculate that the shots were starting to have some effect.

Meri again finds herself nodding in agreement. All the alcohol must have put her into a very agreeing mood. A lopsided grin lingers across Meri's lips, "Ain't no arguin' that one there. Can't imagine life without my Muse." All the drinking has also put Meri in the mood for a cigarette. A tarnished cigarette case is retrieved from the back pocket of her pants, plucking out a cigarette from within and lighting it right on up. The cigarette case is then tossed on the counter top next to her glass of whiskey.

Raphaline raises a brow, chuckling. "Been awhile since I've seen you with one of those." She doesn't ask for one, strict code on the vocal cords and things that could mess them up. So while Meri is smoking, the bard shifts her attention once more to Trent. Leaning her cheek into an open palm she asks, "Aye it is a good thing. Now, I think it is your turn for a song. My treat, first meeting and all. What kind of story would you like?"

Trent lets another drink of whiskey coat his throat, his facial expressions lessening in severity. "A story? I am not quite sure. Perhaps something adventurous?" There was a tinge of excitement in his eye. Adventure was exciting!

Meri rolls those tattooed shoulders in a lazily and somewhat inebriated shrug. "Dunno, dove. Ain't even come close to quittin'." She smoked on a regular basis still, more even drinking.

Raphaline eyes Meri for a moment, "Aye an adventure? How about you drag the pretty lady out for a dance while I offer the music?" Flickering her gaze back to Trent before she rises, and sets off for the table and her instrument once more.

Trent stopped any sort of motion he was currently undertaking, somewhat stunned to the suggestion. "Dance?" he looks to Meri, "Is she serious?" His eyes dart back to Raphaline, "I'm not sure I know how!" Another look to Meri is followed by a drink of whiskey. A large one.

Meri eyes Raphaline right back, eyebrow lofted at this notion of dancing. The tattooed woman wasn't much of a dancer and thankfully Trent did not seem very keen on the notion either. "Oh, she's serious. But don't worry, yer off the hook. Ain't gonna make ya do no dancin'." Raphaline is flashed a victorious smile, victorious because Meri has escaped any risk of having to dance tonight.

Raphaline pouts, ever so playfully. "Neither of you have gotten off the hook, I will drag you in -with- me at some point." She chuckles as she moves to her place in the room, and with the instrument under her chin and begins to play. The adventure she chooses, is of a crew who becomes stranded during a huge thunderstorm. When all seems lost to the ravenous ocean, a dragon appears from betwixt the clouds and descends upon them, lifting the boat out of the water and carrying them to sea. She chooses to sing this song in common, give it was a tale told in that language. She moves, interpreting the ocean waves crashing, the dragon appearing and the sensation of soaring through the sky. Once more though, the song comes to an end. "Adventurous enough?" She asks of the male, "It truly happened too."

Trent was lost in the song, the tale flaring his imagination. His expression turned blank, almost transfixed. Every time the dragon was mentioned, the pendant around his neck pulsated, almost barely noticeable. What would be noticed however was the movement coming from his jacket. The left hand that had been buried for most of the evening began to flail about, causing his jacket to flutter and jerk. It made for a very bad image to all patrons watching. The struggle halted as the armored appendage broke free, flying up and hitting Trent in the face. The action caused his trance to become broken, wild eyes first placed upon Meri, and then Raphaline. "I.. yes. That was truly wonderful!" he exclaimed, trying to play the incident off.

Meri had grown used to such strange behavior from Trent's armored hand. All she could do was shrug nonchalantly and pretend like it was no big deal, even if it was fairly awkward. Meri had this decency to not comment. Instead those baby blues focus on Raphaline, smiling toward the bard and waggling her brows a bit, "Beautiful as always, Muse. And a true story, eh? That had to have been a sight to see." Imagining a dragon carrying a ship off brought Meri much amusement. If she could remember this story in the morning, she might even have to try her vision of it.

Raphaline has seen odder things in her life time, so, after she stores the instrument away and makes her way back over she eyes the strange hand. "May I see it?" She offers a small smile with her request, "I am curious if there is some sort of magic tied into it." Given her ability to hear magic, and depending on what type, it would ring a certain note in her ears.

Trent was in denial at first. "those drinks pack a punch." His eyes showed worry, first looking to Meri in an apologetic way. When Raphaline made the request to see his hand, he pulled back, his head shaking. "I do not think that is wise." he admitted. "It is fine. No magic. Just clumsy." he lied.

Meri flashes Trent a reassuring smile to meet that apologetic look. When he denies Raphaline a look at the arm, Meri encourages the male to give in, "Ya should let her have a look. I mean. She's good with this sorta stuff, maybe she can even give ya a few answers 'bout it."

Raphaline won't push him into showing the arm to her, but she leaves this statement between them, "I know a bit about magic, know some people who are too. If you ever want to find out about it, you let me know, aye?" She then reaches for her whiskey glass once more and downs the contents.

Trent looks first to Meri, and then to Raphaline. He was very reluctant. Hesitant. It was when Meri spoke that he realized the beneficial stance this may have: Answers. What he desired most. "Very well." For the first time in a public venue, Trent slid off his trench coat, revealing arms void of blemish, aside from the two odd tattoos upon each bicep. The armored appendage was lifted to show the woman. Banded metal, linked together by concealed fastenings, reached up to the elbow. It shimmered, almost mirror-like with polish, in the dim tavern light. At the crest on the forearm, were a series of script, a dialect not common to most mortal bodies. On the other end, as he turned the hand to face palm up, were five digits that pointed like talons. Most likely razor sharp. Within the palm, along a single band guarding chain-mail, lay one more symbol. To those sensitive to magic, one may feel a dark presence. Perhaps evil.

Meri shifted forward a bit so that she was sitting on the edge of her bar stool, as if almost anticipating that something no good -might- come from this encounter. She has had an interesting experience with that arm, even if Trent himself seems amiable enough. Drunk or not, Meri was ready to do her best to try and intervene if need be.

Raphaline isn't afraid of the arm, or the essence of evil seeping from the arm. She gently takes up the arm in both her hands and hums quietly to herself. If he is sensitive to magic, the bit of inside of her that stirs awake, is gentle and warm. She is merely seeking a consensus on the magic buried deep within.

Trent was waiting for something to take place. This situation could go very wrong in the blink of an eye. At least, for now, there was calm before the storm. He observed Meri at first, taking note that she too had a similar worry resting in the back of her mind. "I was doing research in the library. History of the area. I found a section on old language...." He points to one of the symbols on the gauntlet. "Mind." To another "Body." A light shrug his next sentence, "The others I can not find meanings for." His focus turns to the musician, wondering if anything would turn up. As she probed, Raphaline may find traces of the magic's age- Quite archaic and long lost. It was tainted and held a trace of a necromancer's touch. It seemed to connected to another; Unknown.

Vaan appears from the east.

Meri remained seated on the edge of her bar stool, those baby blues trained on Trent's armored arm. Raphaline may not be concerned but Meri was. Meri was so intent on this arm that she hardly bothered to lift her gaze up to the face of either person currently keeping her company. The tattooed woman nods in acknowledgement of Trent's words.

Raphaline releases her hold on the man's arms, her gaze moving upward to him. "It's partly necromancy, but the other, I am not familiar with. Whatever did this, it had access to something very old." As it seems, that is all she can offer to the man. "I would guess it is not your real arm, darling. In fact, if necromancy is involved, I wouldn't be surprised if it belonged to something and at some point was attached to you."

Raphaline looked at Vaan.

Trent seems a tad disgusted. "Not.. my arm? I... don't understand. How?" His gaze feel to the gauntlet, disdain, perhaps hatred for the thing beginning to surface. "I need to remove it." he stated. With this statement, the pendant around his neck flared, and the hand snapped into action. Trent could feel himself lurch forward, the open metal hand taking the charge- it was an attack directed at Raphaline's throat.

Vaan is here. Suddenly. Miraculously! Or perhaps, not so. Yes, not so. Rather, his entrance is permitted when the door swings ajar upon weathered hinges, a hand brushed against roughly-hewn wood the perpetrator behind the god-awful 'squeak' which assuredly ensues; to herald his entrance in a more disrupting fashion than he had intended. No matter. The Elf whom crosses threshold takes up a gait of measured ease; his trademark knapsack strung over shoulder next to his quiver, knife planted at hip, and bow held loosely in hand, he assumes nonchalance with a cursory glance hitherto. While he hasn't been to this particular tavern, the Hunter knows establishments of its variety, and so prefers to remain inconspicuous--free hand to signal the Keep for a house brew, while Elven dexterity brings Vaan unscathed through the haphazardly arranged furniture and staggering patrons. It is here, that he'll take rest in solitude at a table free of occupancy, ubiquitous eyes--of a near colorless hue--to survey the throng of folk. It is not often that Vaan drinks, but when he does... he... I don't know where I'm going with this. Er. Yep. Fin~

Vaan looked at Raphaline.

Meri would have typically looked toward the door upon the entrance of another but she was rather distracted with the scene at hand. A scene where Trent is currently grabbing for Raphaline's throat. Well maybe not so much Trent, but certainly that wicked armored hand of his. Meri's gaze darkens in an instant, moving with speed that you would not expect from a human to take hold of the armored hand currently assaulting Raphaline, hopefully before it gets anywhere near Raphaline's throat. Vaan's presence is unfortunately ignored until she is done dealing with the current drama at hand, sadly.

Raphaline had half expected the hand to retaliate what with the ominous magic that seems to permeate its being. So when it launches for her throat, she jumps back a few steps stumbling to find her footing as Meri reaches the arm. "And its sentient too. Disconnected from your own conscious mind." She shakes her head, this is a magic that is beyond a simple spell. In such a public place, the bard hesitates using her own magic to hinder the arm, but if it turns to try and hurt Meri, she might have no choice.

Trent 's gaze finds the newly entered stranger for a fleeting moment, his strength used currently to try and stop the forceful lunge. Thankfully Meri were close by. "What foul sorcery is this?!" he cries out, now making a similar attempt in grasping for the appendage. Meri would be victorious in her attempt to stifle the blow, a moment of relief when motion halted. However, in retaliation, the tainted gauntlet used unexpected strength and swung backward against Meri, seeking to strike the woman in the jaw.

Vaan is so like, omigod, being ignored and wuthaveu. At any rate, his surroundings have been firmly established, and he takes but a brief moment to further inspect the going-ons herein. Sailors. Captain. Sailors. Hobbit with a parrot. Barmaids. And Rust-beard Jones. Everyone knows who Rust-beard Jones is. Right? (Vaan's writer is in a funny mood and apologizes) Anyways! It is at this time that the Elf spots the... bizarre scene transpiring among the trio. Why is it that every time he sets foot in a bar, he is forced to protect a woman from some deranged monster? Sabrina. Nowfaleena. Something in the water, mebbe. Lawls. For now, against better judgement--as it always is--the Elf rises from his seat in subtle gesture; gesture which holds profound meaning, as he chokes up the hold on his bow. And then eyes touch upon the hand as it moves to levy Meri a harrowing punch. Now while Vaan prefers to remain anonymous, he reacts as though he saw it coming. A few short steps, a patron shouldered, and he is brushing aside the woman with his free hand as that fist impacts not jaw, but the Elf's chest. A suitable replacement, he would think, were he not staggering back and sucking in air through his mouth like a vacuum. If those existed. Right. Rapidly, however, he recovers and issues a warning, "Cease." In his native, High Sylvan tongue. Regardless of whether any of them understood, the intent behind his word is made very clear with the brandish of his bow haft in preparation to render this person--and his crazed arm--incapacitated.

Meri had this! She totally did. Not really. Meri was quite intoxicated thanks to Raphaline's encouragement of Meri's horrible idea earlier. Without Vaan's instance, Meri probably would have taken that blow to the jaw, bruising up her pretty little face and that would be utterly tragic. Most people would appreciate the gesture, exercise a little common sense....but Meri was drunk. And even if Trent had taken a swing at her, at least that is what it would seem to most bystanders, Meri didn't really want to see the male hurt. So the blonde is right back in the middle of things, standing between the path of any arrow and Trent. "Whoa, whoa, okay. Alright. Let's both just cease, yeah? He didn't mean nothin' by it." That's what they all say, isn't it?! "So let's all just relax. Ease up. Sit down." Hopefully she'd actually manage to spit all of this out...

Raphaline keeps a steady on Trent, but makes no moves to engage him. As Meri slips between the two, she takes a step closer, ready to halt any further attacks. "I agree with her. Everyone take a deep breath, have a drink and chill."

Trent wanted no part in this. If he had just trusted his own instincts and kept the damn thing out of sight, the events of the night may have gone down differently. "I'm sor--" he started, the remainder of those words mutating into an agonized cry, his right hand lifted and placed against his skull while he took a few steps backward. Sweat beaded upon the blonde's brow, his breathing labored. As he sought to focus on the trio, the most peculiar instance began to unfold. It started with those eyes. What was once a cold blue, slowly melted into ink as his pupils expanded so large they filled even the whites. The amulet that occasionally emitted azure light became violet, and shone steady and true. It was too late. Slowly the metallic hand reached back and grasped the back of a stool. Upon contact, the once well kept wood began to age, slowly to rot and spread. What would take a normal man two hands, took Trent one as he swiftly acted, swinging the stool in a wide arc; The pinnacle of which saw the piece of furniture let loose, sailing forcefully in the direction of the trio.

Vaan || It is not the reflexes of a simple Elf. It is not the cunning of a simple Hunter. Nay, none of these things would come to mind, as Vaan's muscles explode with movement. His eyes, they had never left Trent, and would not still yet. Meri is once more brushed aside as he pursues the oncoming furniture, and back-pedaling assailant. "Cease." His voice a cool-calm, a well of assurance amidst the tavern abruptly spiraling into chaos. And with that utterance in High Sylvan, does the propelled object do thus; cease. It halts so abruptly within the air, one might shudder in expectancy of the terrible crash it -should- have caused. But nothing. It hangs in the air like an anomaly in space. Magic, perhaps. Vaan takes no moment to discuss the outcome of aforementioned furniture, and instead draws an arrow with nimble fingers. "I will not warn you again," These words to echo aloud and furthermore, to bombard Trent's mind like a manifestation of his own freewill, "I will not warn you again." Colorless-gray eyes drift for the briefest of moments, to Trent's hand and with the loss of momentary focus, so too does the stool drift--in a much more hurried pace. It falls with a clatter to the wooden floor, wholly ignored by the Elf.

Meri wasn't one to normally just be brushed aside. The woman was a pistol and not one to tolerate such things. Trent's pained scream has her thinking twice about being in the middle of things, so it's more like she concedes and gets out of the way for the time being. Maybe she was mistaken in thinking that Trent really meant no harm? She didn't know. Trent didn't know. His intentions certainly seemed questionable in the heat of the moment. A look is shot to Raphaline, is if silently trying to read what her friends thoughts on the entire brawl was. Do they try and break it up? Meri just didn't know!

Raphaline didn't like this elf, whomever he is, because he assumes a lot about Trent. Whatever it is that is controlling him, is out of his control and renders no reason for harm, at least not harm that might bring death into the picture. So, feeling as if there might be nothing left to do, she turns to Meri, "Darling, I think a double blast, you and me, might be enough to knock him out if we hit him hard enough." She turns to face Trent, a deep breath in as she calms her heart rate and allows her body to attune itself with the air in this room. It seems to roil and shift, as if an unseen force is guiding it into a much powerful form. She looks to the strange elf and says, "Do not shoot him."

Trent's metallic hand curls into a fist as he stares Vaan down, those abysall eyes locked upon the elf that may or may not be a threat. The blonde male's lips curl into the most sadistic of grins; One wrought in evil intention- It was unsettling. When they finally parted to speak, not one, but two voices eminated from deep inside. "Mine." was the only thing said. As quickly as it had come, whatever puppeteered the man was gone. The amulet became colorless, iris' now visible. Lost, terrified, Trent looked first to Vaan, and then to the two women before reaching down to pick up his coat.

Vaan 's eyes narrow upon Trent, whilst his hand sheathes the previously drawn arrow. The women are still ignored, as though he had barely even registered their presence since entrance to the tavern. Something in the moment that passes would express largely more than anything even an essay could describe, a feeling of understanding, of offered help. Of comradery, perhaps. Vaan's own mind shattered and fragmented, reminded daily by the simple inability to recall his life or his feelings. The death's head marked upon him with nary more than a direction to step, and the beating of his heart as an hourglass to redemption, or failure. "I apologize for my actions, my ladies." His words now in an accented derivative of common, "Please forgive my brash actions, I meant no harm beyond detainment." It is here, that Vaan will bow his head in a fashion deemed appropriate to most of the races in these 'civilized' parts, "And I beg your pardon, but I must leave." A cursory glance is afforded to Trent in parting. Sympathy. "Stay wary." Words not spoken aloud, but rather projected through a psionic gesture to Trent alone. And then the Hunter leaves.

Meri had been avoiding resorting to using the abilities that Raphaline speaks of because of those few drinks she had. Alcohol made the mind lethargic and that was never a good thing for a psion. However, if Raphaline felt that would be the best way to diffuse the situation without anyone getting hurt, then Meri would chance it...then again. Maybe she wouldn't have to. Trent seemed to have returned from whatever hold he was under, Vaan seemed to be intent on leaving. So Meri...did nothing, hoping she wouldn't have to use any force against Trent and that the situation had fizzled out entirely. All Meri wanted to do at this point was stumble back to Gualon.

Raphaline sighs with relief at the calming of the situation. Turning once more to Meri, she offers the woman an arm, "Mind if I stay at your place tonight?I think it will the least exciting place without heading all the way to my own home." She looks to Vaan, and frowns a bit before turning to Trent, "Be careful darling, that magic is wicked."

Trent didn't say a word. His eyes showcased great regret, his face fear. Slowly he backed toward the door, confusion his main thought. He turned, and without another look took his exit into the night.