Random Bit of 7th-Sea Fiction
It wasn’t the fact that the brawl had carried itself out of the tavern and into the street (and, to be fair, down the street, then the next one, and into a stinking alley near the docks of Marseilles), Liam O’Keefe, like many of his Inish countrymen, had a certain love of a proper bit of milling of an evening.
It wasn’t the fact that he was outnumbered - from inside the Rusty Anchor to the streets there was a respectable tally o cafflers lying where they’d fallen - the odds were, all in all, not so bad at this point. He was surprised that the slight-framed Viktor was still standing beside him doing anything more’n catching spare punches; then again, despite his looks, the boyo was from somewhere in Ussura and Liam’s uncle always said it was murder trying to put one o them down.
No, it was decidedly the fact that 4 of the remaining 5 Montaigne sailors and corner-boys who seemed intent on pressing the issue, were now drawing knives or brandishing painful-looking bits o wood, while the fifth, the man Liam had originally taken issue with in the bar, pushed to the front of the mob that blocked himself and Viktor into the blind alley, a stray moonbeam glinting off double-barreled pistol in his hand.
“Hold tha ball a moment, ya think maybe this be taking things a wee bit too serious.” Liam and Viktor kept drawing back, closer to the fence blocking the back end of the alley. The Montaigne just grimaced, showing where minutes earlier Liam had knocked a pair of teeth loose, and raised the pistol. Liam looked skyward for a moment, then gritted his teeth at the gunman, “alright you tosser, come have another go.” The man’s finger began to squeeze the trigger, but what followed was not the cracking report of the pistol, but a louder boom followed by the clatter of a whole rooftop full of debris crashing down into the narrow mouth of the alley. As the dust settled, Liam could just make out their handful of formerly-devoted assailants half-buried under the chunks of wood, tile, and plaster.
“Vat did you do? How do you manage alvays to make such a scene?” The figure climbing carefully down from the now-ruined roof was barely discernable, but the voice was unmistakable.
“Kate, ye bit o’ skirt, did ya have ta wake tha entire world ta make your goodly entrance?” Liam retorted, sure to brush himself off to hide his relief, as Viktor chimed in, somewhat muffled by staunching his bloody nose; “Da, and your timing could be improved, I’m thinking.”
In the near distance, the hue and cry made it clear that Katerina’s explosion had been far from unnoticed…
It wasn’t the fact that he was outnumbered - from inside the Rusty Anchor to the streets there was a respectable tally o cafflers lying where they’d fallen - the odds were, all in all, not so bad at this point. He was surprised that the slight-framed Viktor was still standing beside him doing anything more’n catching spare punches; then again, despite his looks, the boyo was from somewhere in Ussura and Liam’s uncle always said it was murder trying to put one o them down.
No, it was decidedly the fact that 4 of the remaining 5 Montaigne sailors and corner-boys who seemed intent on pressing the issue, were now drawing knives or brandishing painful-looking bits o wood, while the fifth, the man Liam had originally taken issue with in the bar, pushed to the front of the mob that blocked himself and Viktor into the blind alley, a stray moonbeam glinting off double-barreled pistol in his hand.
“Hold tha ball a moment, ya think maybe this be taking things a wee bit too serious.” Liam and Viktor kept drawing back, closer to the fence blocking the back end of the alley. The Montaigne just grimaced, showing where minutes earlier Liam had knocked a pair of teeth loose, and raised the pistol. Liam looked skyward for a moment, then gritted his teeth at the gunman, “alright you tosser, come have another go.” The man’s finger began to squeeze the trigger, but what followed was not the cracking report of the pistol, but a louder boom followed by the clatter of a whole rooftop full of debris crashing down into the narrow mouth of the alley. As the dust settled, Liam could just make out their handful of formerly-devoted assailants half-buried under the chunks of wood, tile, and plaster.
“Vat did you do? How do you manage alvays to make such a scene?” The figure climbing carefully down from the now-ruined roof was barely discernable, but the voice was unmistakable.
“Kate, ye bit o’ skirt, did ya have ta wake tha entire world ta make your goodly entrance?” Liam retorted, sure to brush himself off to hide his relief, as Viktor chimed in, somewhat muffled by staunching his bloody nose; “Da, and your timing could be improved, I’m thinking.”
In the near distance, the hue and cry made it clear that Katerina’s explosion had been far from unnoticed…