For their claims as the peacekeepers of Anaxas, Seventen members were certainly anything but peaceful when they let loose. It was a wonder how the Jaded Princess still stood after dealing with night after night of rowdy men knocking each other down the table. After hours upon hours of patrolling in uniform and being scrutinized by the civilians, she supposed that they wanted a bit of freedom.
Evandria Sericks was one of those Seventen members, sitting on a barstool with her back resting against the table. She came alone tonight – Lorcan wasn’t in the mood for drinks and Lysandra was visiting her brother. A loud quartet was playing an unidentifiable song on one corner of the tavern, unabashed by the fact that no one was paying attention. It had been a frustrating few days and she feared that she would go mad if she did not go out for some drink.
As chaotic as it was, Evandria had to admit that the place had its charms. It stood one the invisible lines that separated the Uptown and the Dives, proudly trying to be part of both worlds. And to be fair, they were pretty successful. The tavern was pleasant looking with its dark, polished floors, yet not so posh as the places they had in Uptown. The furniture were mismatched, but not rotting like a lot of the bars in the Dives. While the bar was mostly dominated by off-duty Seventens, there were more than a dozen humans and wicks hanging out here and there.
Tonight, the sergeant had a glass of starfly in her hand. As she took another gulp, the young woman could help but wince slightly. It seemed like the bartender had put in a bit too much lime in her drink. At least the tartness kept her mostly alert. It was good to keep an eye out on the wilder nights like this one. In a tavern where there were only a handful of women other than the barmaids, drunk men tend to get touchy.
Drunk men also liked to fight. She could already see handful of male patrol recruits arguing with another group of men. By how young they were and how they carried themselves, Evandria would have guessed that they were also recruits, but perhaps from another division. She couldn’t tell what exactly they were both riled up about – someone talked about cheating at a card game and another rambled about splashed by a glass of beer. The rivalry amongst divisions was not uncommon to see, especially when it involved recruits.
Most of the time, Evandria would pay little mind to the brewing violence. They had their way of sorting out themselves. Usually, she would simply turn her back towards them and take another sip of her drink. Unfortunately, the sergeant spotted Ryker’s cooper hair amongst the men. His face was flushed and he was calling another galdor a brailhead. The face that the other galdor made was enough to tell her that he was not about to let that go. The gods be damned if one of her squad members got into a silly barfight.
She ran her fingers down the silky skirt of her black dress before finishing her glass and stood. Evandria had no interest of being called in a few days from now and be chastised for not keeping her men in line. Gracefully, she wove through the crowd and inserted herself between the two groups. “Alright boys, break it up before any unpleasantness starts. Why don’t you all tuck your wounded prides in your pocket and go on your merry way?”
A man from the non-patrol group stepped up. Red hair and conceited smile. There was no hiding the aggression in his green eyes. She expected a bit of a talk back, but she hadn’t imagined that someone would have the guts to grab her arm roughly and backing her up against a table. She could here another saying the name Alistair in warning and hesitation – at least someone had a brain around here. “And who are you? I have never seen you around. A pretty newbie like you should know when to keep her trap shut.”
Evandria let out an incredulous laugh, smiling charmingly as her pale hand rested on the man’s chest. Not so gently, she shoved him off. Her ramscott field grew, flexing with authority against his. While the raven haired woman might be slight in stature, she did not become a sergeant by luck. “Alistair, was it? Take a good look because you are going to regret speaking to me like that.”
“Oh don’t worry, I am taking a long, hard look.” The recruit grinned and stared down her body luridly.
Before she could lose her patience, a hand stretched out to grab the man’s collar. The voice that came with it made her curse deep in her heart. Ryker. By the mountains, she always that the man had a hero complex. “That’s my squad sergeant, you bastard.”
And then the first fist flew.
Evandria Sericks was one of those Seventen members, sitting on a barstool with her back resting against the table. She came alone tonight – Lorcan wasn’t in the mood for drinks and Lysandra was visiting her brother. A loud quartet was playing an unidentifiable song on one corner of the tavern, unabashed by the fact that no one was paying attention. It had been a frustrating few days and she feared that she would go mad if she did not go out for some drink.
As chaotic as it was, Evandria had to admit that the place had its charms. It stood one the invisible lines that separated the Uptown and the Dives, proudly trying to be part of both worlds. And to be fair, they were pretty successful. The tavern was pleasant looking with its dark, polished floors, yet not so posh as the places they had in Uptown. The furniture were mismatched, but not rotting like a lot of the bars in the Dives. While the bar was mostly dominated by off-duty Seventens, there were more than a dozen humans and wicks hanging out here and there.
Tonight, the sergeant had a glass of starfly in her hand. As she took another gulp, the young woman could help but wince slightly. It seemed like the bartender had put in a bit too much lime in her drink. At least the tartness kept her mostly alert. It was good to keep an eye out on the wilder nights like this one. In a tavern where there were only a handful of women other than the barmaids, drunk men tend to get touchy.
Drunk men also liked to fight. She could already see handful of male patrol recruits arguing with another group of men. By how young they were and how they carried themselves, Evandria would have guessed that they were also recruits, but perhaps from another division. She couldn’t tell what exactly they were both riled up about – someone talked about cheating at a card game and another rambled about splashed by a glass of beer. The rivalry amongst divisions was not uncommon to see, especially when it involved recruits.
Most of the time, Evandria would pay little mind to the brewing violence. They had their way of sorting out themselves. Usually, she would simply turn her back towards them and take another sip of her drink. Unfortunately, the sergeant spotted Ryker’s cooper hair amongst the men. His face was flushed and he was calling another galdor a brailhead. The face that the other galdor made was enough to tell her that he was not about to let that go. The gods be damned if one of her squad members got into a silly barfight.
She ran her fingers down the silky skirt of her black dress before finishing her glass and stood. Evandria had no interest of being called in a few days from now and be chastised for not keeping her men in line. Gracefully, she wove through the crowd and inserted herself between the two groups. “Alright boys, break it up before any unpleasantness starts. Why don’t you all tuck your wounded prides in your pocket and go on your merry way?”
A man from the non-patrol group stepped up. Red hair and conceited smile. There was no hiding the aggression in his green eyes. She expected a bit of a talk back, but she hadn’t imagined that someone would have the guts to grab her arm roughly and backing her up against a table. She could here another saying the name Alistair in warning and hesitation – at least someone had a brain around here. “And who are you? I have never seen you around. A pretty newbie like you should know when to keep her trap shut.”
Evandria let out an incredulous laugh, smiling charmingly as her pale hand rested on the man’s chest. Not so gently, she shoved him off. Her ramscott field grew, flexing with authority against his. While the raven haired woman might be slight in stature, she did not become a sergeant by luck. “Alistair, was it? Take a good look because you are going to regret speaking to me like that.”
“Oh don’t worry, I am taking a long, hard look.” The recruit grinned and stared down her body luridly.
Before she could lose her patience, a hand stretched out to grab the man’s collar. The voice that came with it made her curse deep in her heart. Ryker. By the mountains, she always that the man had a hero complex. “That’s my squad sergeant, you bastard.”
And then the first fist flew.
