RP:Rumbling in Kelay
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Synopsis: The unrest plaguing Cenril spills into the streets of Kelay as pockets of gang affiliated port city rogues run into each other and a street scrum ensues disturbing the peace. Faramond takes advantage of an opportunity provided in the fight to attempt at ‘forced networking’ with Leoxander, his own interest in the apparent power vacuum in that ill fated town growing.
Characters: Vaduuk, Leoxander, Faramond.
Location: Kelay; Kelay Way.
Vaduuk strolls through the main thoroughfare. Strolls indeed. He's not exactly subtle, his orcish heritage clear with each thud of his booted foot. He's not alone, either, trailed on either side by a pair of men, ranging from stocky and strong to scrawny and light-footed. Not a one of them looks like they might belong to any similar trade, but one thing each does share is their scent; the smell of saltwater lingers on their skin. They're armed, the lot of them, weapons ranging from crossbows to swords, hammers to axes. But even then, none look as imposing as the lead figure, the burliest of the lot and the most armed, daggers at his hips, knives in his boots, and a sword low on his back. One or two of the men behind him have been drinking, evident by their staggering steps, and they keep yammering on about Kingsley's death. "There'll be hell to pay," one of the drunks is saying. "That'sh righ'! Ol' Duke'll shet the killer shtraight!" The half orc's just shaking his head, looking over his shoulder at the drunk pair. "I ain't out to kill an outsider. We all know ain't none of what's left of the Burnham's coulda killed 'im. Now settle yerself down. This ain't Cenril."
Leoxander typically would have been armed to the teeth, in a most literal sense, and perhaps even accompanied by a dog. Tonight he was bruised, bleeding, intoxicated, barefoot, and wearing a torn, longed sleeved shirt that was too white to hide all the tattoos on his torso. He was almost calming at the conversation to the rude horse chest when he realized, sort of, where he was. That a small posse appeared to be... approaching. Perhaps not him but wasn't that just what he was looking for? A fight? "You got a damn problem?" Leo didn't focus entirely on one of them. If a Knight couldn't finish him, four orc, two men and a broad on a horse surely could. This wasn't Cenril, indeed. So where the hell was he? Didn't matter, if it all worked out, he figured in his state.
Vaduuk slaps one of the drunks upside the head as he starts to laugh uncontrollably. A problem. Yeah, he's got a problem. Two drunks. But they fact that they're drunk is the least of his worries. The fact that they can still talk is more of one. "An' what'cha gon' do iffin we do?!" shouts one drunk, pulling forth a dagger and pointing it in Leo's general direction. It's sort of hard to point at any one particular person when you're seeing five of them. "Duke could take all - hic - of you on!" Face meets palm as a groan comes from the half orc. If it wasn't his own man, he'd knock him unconscious. "Shut it, Dom." Cue round two of the drunken laughter, this time from Dom. "It'sh true!" shouts the other while his friend is laughing. "Duke could take anyone!" Another groan, and another slap to the back of the head. "You too, Mack."
Leoxander must have forgotten to bring a dagger. It must have happened at some point between that blank time between being in one fight and now. Right when the rogue was guessing he'd cashed in on a second dispute that night, he heard the bigger man reprimand. The blaggard was hammered, maybe worse off than the outlaw picking a fight with a gang in the streets of Kelay. Now he was looking for 'Duke' only because that was the name his brain registered twice, with a sneer drifting over the crowd. He might have had a seven foot tall centaur on his side but he still wanted to swing at someone.
Leoxander managed to say, "Go plug yourself." to one of them. Except, he didn't say 'plug'.
Faramond strolled in, boots a bit heavier tonight and Faramond was weighed down. A pack was on his back, a grappling hook swung over his shoulder, a grin on his face as he caught the brigands and Leoxander. A nod came to the pirate from Rynvale, the dog looking for a fight as his eyes glanced over at Vaduuk and the men surrounding him, "This fight doesn't seem to be fair." He said, quite openly to the crowd, a bit of swagger held in his step as he approached the three, "You all might need me." A friendly way to approach the three men as the joke hinted in his words was obvious. There was an insatiable itch resting between his shoulder blades that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he sniffed, trouble was in the air and he had heard of the Duke and Cenril. Fortune must really favor the greedy, said the glint in the man's green eyes.
Vaduuk rubs his face. Leave it to drunks to rile things up and get him in trouble. "Go git 'im, Duke!" the one named Dom shouts, shoving the half orc's shoulder to push him Leo's way. He's caught of guard, a single foot rushing out to establish balance. Pity it doesn't keep him from running into Faramond. "Who needs help?" he questions, eying Leo. "I'm no-" "That's right, Duke don't need no help! He'll beat blondie up on his own!" By the gods, how he wishes those two would shut their mouths. "There ain't gonna be no fight," 'Duke' says to the jovial man with the grappling hook - and why the hells does he even have a grappling hook? He shouldn't have pondered that. Mack's rushing Leo, throwing a oh so very drunk punch at his jaw. And winding up with his hand flat, bent at the wrist. He may as well have slapped a wall.
Leoxander was more satisfied than he'd been all night, to see another, tauntingly or not, join the ranks of the blurred crowd that stood before him. One was pushed into the pool of shark, so to speak, and Leo was more than willing to down one at a time if that was how they preferred to go at it. Knuckles already bruised tightened as he lifted his fists to street fight the first sorry son of a lycan to be shoved into range, but he didn't take a first throw yet. And before he could ol' "Duke" was already ending it. He had seen the hook and already hoped it managed a part in the fight. Then a rush that his son's goat could have noticed, and he swung his body out of the way drunkenly, but still reflexively before Mack could land a fist to jaw. Leo didn't need to even hit this one, he just fell by way of a dodge. For a moment, even the Captain was confused, but just anticipated a second, lifting his attention back to the rest.
Leoxander said, "Let's go you worthless land trash."
Faramond wasn't quite sure who Leoxander was, in all honesty, after all, he had only seen the man as a wolf, but it didn't hurt that he'd rather get Vaduuk elsewhere and as his friend charged off, he stood toe to toe with Vaduuk, a devious glint in his eye saying he wish there was a fight, "As I reckon, then, if there isn't going to be a fight... Your friend's sharkbait, how about you and the other guy turn around, follow me to a nice place, sit down, shut up, and listen eh?" He had just caught the tail end of the words Cenril, and as he looked over to the one named 'Mack' he shook his head, "Or your other friend can be drunk and dumb too, but you... You seem like ya got a level head, eh, 'Duke'" The last part was said almost mockingly, like Fara was waving it around in the man's face, and even though the other man was likely taller than he, he didn't back down, just standing there with that smirk he always carried.
Leoxander remembered this. Long before he'd gone and got himself good and drunk. He was already bleeding, already bruised and already practiced in for the night, so this was another bout of the naysayers. Who said a worthless, loveless, hopeless sonuvabich couldn't pick a fight in a public streets and win? Not for them, against them; Leo didn't quite 'lower his dukes', so to speak as Faramond attempted to speak reason. If another came at him at any given time, he or they would likely join old 'Mack' on the street, though a solid left hook. Fortunately for the drunk pirate, he remembered himself to be ambidextrous.
Vaduuk curses loudly as Mack falls on his face. Dom isn't one to let his scrawny friend fight alone, and so he rushes, or stumbles rather, into the lackluster fray. Hells, he's not at all much better off than Mack, flailing around as though he's punching at multiple people. Really, he's just thrashing and hoping a punch lands. "Don't call me Duke," the half orc growls at Faramond, moving to shove the man aside perhaps a bit more roughly than necessary. He's rushing towards the fight now, himself. But...didn't he just say he isn't interested in fighting?
Svilfon decides to take Leo up on his spoken offer, ignoring Faramond's sense. The inept wizard pulls of his amazing hat, lifts his hands and charges directly for the man. Unfortunatley his skills at hand to hand fighting are even less developed than his wizardly skills and it takes less than a moment for Leo's solid left hook to leave him unconscious on the dirt. Ah well, at least he tried.
Leoxander downed a Mack, a Dom. Now he was turning his heterochromatic stare upon the 'Duke', himself. How much longer could he hold out? Seemed up to this collection to test.
Leoxander might have downed a wizard, too.
Faramond turned as the force of the shove was enough to knock him away a bit, nonono, Vaduuk was getting away that easily, especially after he had gone back a fair bit. A side naught often seen of Faramond came around as the hook came out, whirling only briefly before it was tossed... Towards Vaduuk's feet. He didn't want to hurt the man, but... He was going to have to at least 'hurt' the man, by using the very sharp hook in a very treacherous trip, let's just see if he hit.
Leoxander said to Faramond, "You're ruining my g'damned fun, blaggard."
Faramond eyed Leoxander, "You got balls, ya know? But I reckon I'd rather keep you around then have to help see how high ya can hang, eh?" A shake of Faramond's head, he was going to need a cigarette after this, "'Sides, I can beat 'em for information if you done laid all o' 'em out."
Leoxander said to Faramond, "Not high enough. Let's go, sharkbait."
Leoxander was only here for a fight, but fatigue was in his eyes. He hardly paid enough attention to Faramond's words, however valuable they might be.
Leoxander was only here for a fight, but fatigue was in his eyes. He hardly paid enough attention to Faramond's words, however valuable they might be. Vaduuk is in the middle of reaching for the collars of his drunken friends when that hook catches his boots. Down to a knee he goes, and a growl befitting his orcish heritage rumbles from his throat. He whips around, giving the rope attached to the hook a great yank. He'll deal with the interloper after he extracts his friends from the ground in front of Kelay Tavern. He doesn't throw a punch at Leo, doesn't even try to verbally assault him. Nope. He's grabbing both Mack and Dom by their ankles, yanking them away to relative safety. Not that they stay there long. They're more than eager to feed Leoxander's battle lust, running right back in, shouting their warcries. "Fine, ye dolts!" Duke shouts after them. "Don't be comin' back to me when ye're both all bloody and bruised! Ye ain't gonna find yer beds empty!"
Leoxander goes on with the assault, reveling in it. One punch is connected, perhaps another, and a third before a body hits a ground and he can truly focus on another. See, even in his inebriated and tired state, he is practiced in by that round with Parsithius, and these drunken idiots are hardly scarecrows in comparison. A crack of his shoulder and neck and the enraged but eerily calm lycan is stepping over people to look back to Faramond and 'Duke', hand touched in his own blood and others' relaxing then flexing back into fists again. Did it matter that he was drunk, anymore?
Faramond had let go of the rope, so Vaduuk sadly yanked at nothing, but he was watching Leoxander now, "Sharkbait, eh?" He looked down at the 'Duke' shaking his head, "Those are a sad lot, ya know? I imagine I can stick and weave a bit better than them, eh?" Faramond wasn't drunk, but Faramond still probably couldn't hit near as hard of them, he was just crafty, and if the injured Leo thought he was going to fight fair, well huh, shame on him, "I got an itch, ya know?" He was restless, he was exhiliarated tonight, he was rarin' to go, much like Leoxander, and against an injured man... His odds had to be good, right?
Faramond said to Svilfon, "Rule number one, don't walk into the punch."
Svilfon mumbles an incomprehensible reply to Faramond's lesson.
Vaduuk is not at all happy with Faramond at that very moment. After all, he had had a grappling hook thrown between his legs. That's why Faramond's the one that earns a punch from the orc, a decently sized fist streaking through the air for the side of the man's head. "Rule two. Don't stop to yammer with a pissed off half orc standing nearby." Let the drunks duke it out. Mack and Dom are a resilient pair. Stupid, but resilient. The two are quite eager to get back at Leo, Mack going in low, Dom going in high.
Leoxander was only hoping that someone would be the civilized bastard and not fight fair. That was entirely what he was betting on, in the streets of Kelay. So when Faramond got that distinct look in his eye and spoke openly to the drunk lycan, Leo knew he'd finally found someone worthy. Unfortunately he was delayed, not only by the Duke returning words, but by the pair of drunks that went at him as a duo. A stumbling dodge out of both swings, and for a moment, the rogue was busy elbowing one in the face, taking a hard fist to the ribs, only to retaliate with a swing aimed down into the orc's skull, and perhaps targeted for the street at that strength.
Faramond grunted, he had not been expecting that from Vaduuk, that man had been so eager to reclaim his friends. Mental note, pay attention to rule number two, no matter how specific. To the ground Fara went, grunting. His hand reached out, as if to search for the rope of his hook... Damnit, not there. Not a good situation for him, but the rogue leaned back, a master of... Cheap tactics, a booted heel showed Vaduuk no mercy as it attempted to find it's way squarely towards the nuts of the orc in the cheapest of tactics. Was there a rule number three? It didn't matter, the thick was starting, rogues were fighting, hopefully he'd have time to scramble to his feet.
Vaduuk grunts heavily, falling to his knees, a single hand between his leg after the precious cargo carried there is injured. Oh, how he curses, words enough to make most sailors blush. Yes, there's a rule three. What is it? Never stand facing straight. Especially if you're a man. Faramond may have time to scramble to his feet, true, but there's still a half orc there. And that half orc is far more pissed off now. "You ruttin' son of a whore!" he shouts at Faramond, pushing off his knee like a charging bull. Faramond or Leoxander, one of them is likely to be his victim. Which one? At this point, he doesn't care.
Leoxander and Vaduuk have something alike this evening. That lack of care. He is hitting whatever will come at him, at this point, in front of that well known tavern.
Faramond was up and running, though not really running as he turned... Hook...Hook... He said to himself, eyes scanning, behind Vaduuk... Just his luck, huh? "Not a very bright bloke, are you?" Bloke? Who says Bloke? Faramond does, but right now he had other, more half-orcish men charging him kind of matters to deal with as he looked the bull head on. That grappling hook was used for climbing, normally, and Faramond was a cat burglar not so much because he did a lot of heist, but because the man had developed a rather agile body in his travels. A step forward was given, his front leg compressing, springing up as he lifted rather quickly over Vaduuk's head. Faramond wasn't going to clear the man, not by a long shot, but his back leg was move rapidly coming forward, hoping to plant itself perhaps on the Duke's chest or even face to help lift him higher still from the man. Faramond needed that hook, he didn't stand much chance one of one otherwise.
A Chicken cluck clucked.
Leoxander hit a chicken. Bu-kawk!!
A Chicken crosses the road.
Vaduuk is only half orc. What does this mean? It means he actually feels that foot hitting his head. That head of his jerks to the side, and rather than bullrushing, he's now spinning as he collides forward. Likely with Faramond, given the close proximity. But that kick, it snaps the half-blood out of his battle lust, and he shakes his head as he extracts himself from Faramond. With a head feeling like it's been split down the middle, he again grabs his two friends by their collards, hefting one over each shoulder as he retreats for Cenril. He didn't want a fight when he got here, after all. Seems he remembers that now.
Faramond grunted, as he managed for the most part to stay on two feet, having jumped, rather ineffectively over Vaduuk, but his hand was reaching down, to grab at the rope on the ground, dragging it towards him as his eyes shot back over to Leoxander, grunting a bit, odd for the normally witty tongue, "So." That was all that needed to be said, right? Leoxander was itching for a fight and Faramond couldn't explain what exactly was coming over him.
Leoxander had only one thing to say in his state, in his intoxicated state, in his warm breath to a cold night air. "I'm after you..." Then he promptly collapsed, because... he'd fought perhaps six men that evening, drunk, without days of sleep, and he didn't care to move, now. He collapsed back onto the curb, then gradually laid back in the street to look at the sky, perhaps hearing Faramond's words. The stranger could easily plot and carry out a 'field goal' kick to the rogue's ribs, if he desired, now.
Faramond had seen tons of opossums play dead, and Leoxander didn’t seem the type to just fall over, still, he tilted his head, observing the injured and quite drunk man. A step over to Leoxander came, the hook lowering itself as he swung it back and forth, almost like a pendulum, hitting the rogue in his face once, “Had enough? Good.” He didn’t want to hurt goods, and yes, right now Leoxander was a new commodity for the rogue, one that he liked… One that gave him a sweet tooth, for Leoxander’s sake, he better just be playing dead.
Leoxander was not playing anything. He was drunk. He was injured. Neither of which had grounded him before. The third part was the lost emotion buried in mismatched eyes that stared beyond the individual standing over him, toward the sky. A sky that guided him at nights, on sea, and he reveled in it's direction now as Faramond's voice blurred to indistinct words. He started to close his eyes at the stranger's feet, vulnerable to a knife wound or worse at a simple decision. Faramond bent down in front of Leoxander, a hand behind the man’s back, as Faramond had two hands put together, patting his back as he chatted to the drunken sailor, “Oho, you and I are going to be great friends.” Grappling hook doubled for bonds as he started to tie the lycan up, “I’ll take you… Get you fixed up… A hair cut, new clothes.. Lovely, isn’t it?” Was Faramond psychotic? Maybe, but he had no intention of ruining a good opportunity, “You don’t seem half bad, but you do seem sad… We can change this, we can persuade you… Yes.” Oh yes, Leoxander would see his side of things soon enough, if he allowed himself to be tied up by the rogue. The passersby were given looks from Faramond, “He’s drunk and I have to carry him, right?” He was doing a kind thing for the city of Kelay, taking this scourge of the brine away from them, Faramond whistling to himself as his pack of valuables was slung over his shoulder, grunting a bit as he attempted to shoulder Leoxander at first, unsure of how heavily this man weighed, either way, he had a plan, Leoxander was his for a time, he had a proposition for the man. One that he would make it relatively hard to refuse.
Leoxander did not fight. He did not move. He was tied and talked to.
Leoxander hadn't eaten much in weeks to Faramond's credit. He might be shouldered...
Faramond looked around the way, a tied up Leoxander, a bag of valuables... He had done good tonight, and away he went with the drunk man... This could be no good.
Faramond was a greedy man, and part of that could not be helped as he paid the merchant, the assurance of food coming and the promise of secrecy given as Leoxander was placed in with the animals. Deviously, the rogue tied Leoxander up to a post, a secondary rope around his neck, though Faramond was breathing a bit harder from the journey. The man was not used to carrying a load, but his nose sniffed… He had a mariner, a fighter, a drunk sailor on his last legs, those were the ones you had to keep your eye on and he knew that. When he was sure the man was secure, sitting instead of standing to give the drunk a break, he stepped back to the pale of water at the entrance. Like a cold shower, that’s how Faramond imagined this would feel for Leoxander as the bucket was heaved up, splashing the man in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber, no pain yet, hopefully Faramond would not need that.
Leoxander was out. At first. Faramond could not conceive the amount of alcohol the tattooed lycan in a weakened human state had consumed to get to that point. So it was that he was tied, not only by the wrists at first - but eventually, to a barn post in humility. And as the blood rushed from his head to bare feet that barely touched straw he started to gain a consciousness he didn't care to have. It was thrust into his body when the water hit him like an ice fist, and he thrashed his head to stick his hair slightly to one side, mismatched eyes opening to a savage glare on the assaulter. Then it registered that he was bound, and the intoxication drained from him like the color of his sun baked complexion. "What the hell!" he snarled loudly enough to rile any livestock, should they exist.
Faramond listened to the animals jump, tsking gently at Leoxander, “The hell indeed.” His green eyes looking at the mismatched wonders with a smirk as he started off slow, “Know me, do you? Well, you are about to know me a bit better. I play nice for now, in about five minutes, food is coming.” A shrug came as a chair was spun around, Faramond’s legs wrapping around the back as he watched Leoxander curiously, “Spunk. I have it, you have it. It’s a good trait to have sometimes, but this… This right now, is business. You smell like a sailor, and apparently drink like one too, but I got the balls, and mind enough to ask for a bit of help from you.” A hand came up, tapping at his skull. Maybe Faramond wasn’t the brightest, or maybe it was just that he was brave enough to try almost anything, “Now, I reckon I’m not the best at fighting, and I reckon that right now the world isn’t treating you as kindly as it is me.” Aww, that glint came from his mischievous eye as he watched Leoxander, “I am sure we can help each other to…” He looked around the barn for a moment, “To this, as a matter of fact. This place is in turmoil you know, and I figure I might be the one to set a little peace out around here, huh?” Peace isn’t what he wanted, he wanted to scratch that itch for gold and power than he had. Greedy bastard.
Leoxander did not struggle or jerk at the ropes. He was slowly gaining focus through the blur, but the bruises, that concussion was weighting in even through a hidden lycanthrope regeneration. "You're no g'damned help to me like this, you sonuv'bich." He didn't know the man's name but formalities weren't necessary, given the situation. Eventually, he'd feel that knot with his fingers to worm a way out. Or this was the case with rope dilemma in the past. "I don't give a damn -what- happens around here..." A bite on certain words, no matter where he was - which at the moment he wasn't entirely sure. He wasn't armored, nor armed, but that didn't seem to alter the seriousness that showed through overgrown hair that fell over his eyes and nose to his chin.
Leoxander said to you, "Untie me before I cut your throat with your own blade."
Faramond scoffed, "Don't carry one... Just a little knife to... Wedge things open." No blade? That had to be awkward, but still he smirked as the merchant had the food, sitting it outside. Faramond wasn't dumb enough to let the man see Leoxander, but stepped outside for the food, waving him out before coming back in to look at Leoxander, "You can stop feeling the knots, I'll untie it long before you do." Maybe that was a promise, but his gaze was rolling over Leoxander, "Now, if you are hungry and can be civil, I can untie your neck and let you get a bite." The plate was lifted towards Leoxander, and it was a rather large piece of cooked meat. He didn't know Leoxander was a lycan, but minor details, "And this... This is Cenril, lad... This is your life. Your name, gets mine... How you know me, gets some trust, open your ears instead of bein' a stubborn ass, and we get a deal."
Leoxander wasn't going to respect anyone that had him tied by the throat and wrists and bartered food for information. If Faramond came close enough, he might get a wad of blood flecked spit forced at him for the attempt. Leo wasn't hungry, and if the male cared to look beyond that torn, blood smeared shirt he'd see inked ribs protruding to definition more than that should. He didn't care for life in any form in his current riled, intoxicated state but unable to change at will, he couldn't so effortlessly burst from ropes to seek revenge. Particularly not with sleepless circles like those under his eyes. "Go fark yourself." Only rogues like him didn't say 'fark', if you get the drift. He said worse to the man holding him hostage, and almost dared through a glare to try worse so the criminal would have a reason to kill.
Faramond wiped the blood off his face, tossing it idly to the ground as he watched the ever defiant rogue, “You realize I could have killed you?” That look in his eyes, Leoxander was killing him with that look that said it should all be over, right then and there, “Do you really want me to kill you? Is that why you were teasing the rope, testing how to get out? I find it funny how even when we want to die, we fight to survive… Tell me… What do you think is going to happen, right here?”
Leoxander to the least, realized he could die. Perhaps it was an non-volunteering immortal's only hope at this point. The look in his eyes registered not only understanding, but rage, frustration, every unkind emotion but regret. He knew what would happen by the end of this night. At least, he thought he had. "I don't give a damn." Not entirely true, but he was too intoxicated, too stubborn to clarify exactly what he thought could happen, in that situation. Easiest, quickest turn out would be his blood and guts on straw and a legacy of sin crucified to a barn pole. So be it. "You either kill me or I'll kill you, Joker."
Faramond said to Leoxander, "Do you really think it has to be that way?"
Leoxander said to Faramond, "No. You let me go now and I won't turn your corpse into another cow pile in this barn."
Faramond stood up, humming as he got his grappling hook up off the ground, eyeing it a moment, "Are you just going to talk big, tied to a pole? How can I even take you at your word if you won't take me at mine?" Was he really going to have to off this fool? He hoped not, it wasn't his thing, but a hand jerked, the grappling hook connecting to the post behind Leoxander's head and sticking in there, "I know a threat when I see it, and I either eliminate it... Or make it work with me." Choice words, from him as he pulled on the rope, starting to wrap it around the pole so that Leoxander was between the grappling hook and Fara, the man putting a foot at the base of the pillar, "You got balls, but those get you killed too."
Leoxander had to accept that he'd gotten himself into this predicament. Just as Faramond had to accept that his captive was very much intoxicated. He only hung from those ropes now because try as he may, try as he might, he'd fought too many people, consumed too many bottles, and just hadn't enough hunts or home cooked meals to suffice for such a schedule. The man the stranger had tied now was broken but no weakling, scars riddling his skin along with ink beneath simple clothes. "What do you want..." He finally breathed in a last resort, if only to be granted rest.
Faramond reached down at the bindings on Leoxander’s back, using his hand to untie the rope that held his hands. Faramond had no real fear cause the man still had to untie his neck, or deal with the grappling hook, “Trust… Water for you in the morning and a breakfast if you want… You look like you need it. I need a friend, you need food… Maybe we didn’t step out on the right foot, but landing is what matters.” The grappling hook retrieved, though hardly cautious, as there was the rope still tied around the man’s neck and the knot was done rather good. Faramond backed up from Leoxander, he didn’t trust the man that much, “We can talk, when you are better and you will get better.” That voice sounded dominant on Faramond’s behalf, “I need someone desperate, not someone dead.” If Leoxander went to eating, Faramond would walk out the door, enough of a message sent for the day, but if he wanted to tango… Faramond had some mean footwork.
Leoxander was loose, as far as he was concerned. His hands were free, meaning Faramond was vulnerable for death, in most cases. But sleep sounded alright, breakfast even, and his jaw tightened at the prospect while he managed to stumble back into the straw, into a seat, so long as he was entirely loose. 'Leo' would neither eat, nor fight. He had no dog, no purpose, no sense of responsibility at the moment, so he would find himself humbly cheek down to the straw. He obviously just wanted to pass out and forget. The last words he had to offer to he would be rescuer/kidnapper were vile curse words that admins would punish for, and he's already walked the line this night with his sharp, drunken tongue.