The flex of the other galdor's field brought an immediate sensation that the Anaxi didn't like being measured. It was a reasonable dislike. After all, Murko himself found certain measurements in quite poor taste. The measure of his temper, the measuring of the length of the row of glasses left in his wake... Certainly, the Mugrobi knew what it was to dislike measurements that sought to expose one's nature. However, that didn't mean that Murko was going to heed the silent request. Instead, beady black eyes looked over the Anaxi, his full lips curved into that undelicate smirk.
As the scuffle with Isa unfolded in full and he pushed himself away, Murko intended to leave it at that. There were other Bad Brothers to finish this job. It wasn't to his taste to leave an assignment pending, but it was also outside of his interests to escalate the issue. Disarmed and on her knees, Isa was no longer a threat and yet... she held the dagger towards him
"I'll pay when I have the ging!" she snarled out, and then the Anaxi did his work. Light flared within the kint, and the Mugrobi took a step back, an arm over his eyes in a makeshift visor as it grew brighter and brighter. Then, the Anaxi brought the flat of his blade against Isa's hand. Murko almost imagined hearing the cracks as she shouted and struggled, and he crossed his arms in amusement as the Seventen patroller proceeded to rough her up for him.
"Next, we ask them for the money and threaten them some more," he chided, looking over the Anaxi with a false sort of pride in his eyes. The verse imbibed into him with a decade of life among humans wilted away allowing him to speak somewhat more clearly to the Anaxi. To complete the poor facade of educating a younger Bad Brother recruit would've been ideal, but then the patroller went forward with what might well have been a practiced utterance.
"Aw damn, then you gotta ruin it with the spiel, didn't you?"
Malicious use of a weapon against a galdor? Wasn't much of a galdor five seconds ago, was I?
Any reason to take out a bit of anxiety, he reasoned. At least, the Mugrobi could understand that, but he left it at that. There was no reason to feel any sort of empathy for a Seventen, particularly empathy build on an impression. At the mention of imprisonment, the Mugrobi coughed once, but realized that the Seventen wasn't quite done with his grand intervention.
"Remove your firearm and set it on the display,"
"Excuse you, sir. I ain't about to listen to some pup with no backup. I can shout out and have two brothers on your ass in a minute or two. You? I bet you don't got shit for gollies to count on," he added, his words part bluff and all for show. The galdor didn't live for these conflicts, but as they transpired... it was very difficult to de-escalate. Adrenaline surged through the Mugrobi's system, his eyes wide as he placed his hand on the revealed holster without taking out his weapon.
"Name's Murko, sir. Don't you fancy patrollers have to introduce yourselves, as well? Who's to say you're not just some gangster in a fancy getup?" he challenged. The command of the situation resumed, and Isa, who continued to hold her cracked and injured hand close to her chest... well, she likely wasn't much of a factor anymore. Slowly, the formality seeped out of his throat, and he allowed the normal cadence of his time in the Harbor to return.
"Yer not takin' her before I get what I need, right? It'd be a shame to have to throttle it out of her from behind the bars of a jail cell."
Murko had no intention of taking this to any kind of jail. The taxes imposed by the King weren't obscenely high, and this one... with a kint like she had... She probably earned that sort of keep pretty quickly. Unless she was roped into all sorts of drugs, she was bound to have the funds on hand. Instead of listening to the other galdor, Murko used his field to gauge the man's location, and started using his foot to push aside the remnants of glass from the shattered displays.
"Where's your lockbox, Isa?" he asked, but the answer needn't come. The wick kept her lips sealed, and the galdor quickly found an ornate casing. He shook it much to the complaint of the wick, and an 'ooooh' escaped his lips as he looked over to the galdor.
"Ye forget about the gun... Let me walk off with this and we can call it a day. No one gets hurt, everyone goes home happy. I'll even give ye me home address, and ye can hit me up when the bitch stands trial. Savvy?"
Murko did have his times when the sassiness that a decade under the banner of the Bad Brothers threw upon him wilted away. A good thought or two could slip through the cracks, and his all-too-present sobriety had him even trying to negotiate with the galdor. Excess conflict had its uses, but also its faults, and Murko did his best to 'satisfy the beast' of mortal nature while also keeping himself from going too far over the edge. Here, he toed the line, disobedient and abrasive, but also placating and willing to negotiate. By all accounts, this Seventen was new. Murko had seen others before him, floating through Old Rose Harbor as if in between assignments. He didn't know anything about Gaelin, but he knew that this place might not be his first choice of habitat.
Who are you, gollyboy? he wondered as he turned the lockbox in his hand, switching his gaze from Gaelin to Isa and back again.