Eventually, someone does sit down long enough to watch Sam work the dartboard. A young blonde man in a blue shirt that the otherworlders find common and comfortable, blue jeans and worn brown boots. From the look of things for the moment, his book, beer and order of paradoxes is forgotten in exchange for the game.
Sam barely glances away from the dart board long enough to acknowledge his company. Even with his natural talent, it's the sort of thing that requires a certain amount of concentration, if he doesn't want any of the patrons to end up with a dart in them. And he doesn't, as he suspects there would be some difficulty in explaining.
So the young man watching him suspects. And if Sam glances back again he'll note that the other man's eyebrows are quite well up in the 'interesting' position.
"Thank you." Of course it was a good shot - but he can't expect everyone here to know about it. It's not as though this is where it's a central part of his trade, after all. He throws the last of the darts he has, aiming for the very top of the board. It sticks.
Chess is more common than darts in Thedas, but Zevran shares Sam's affinity for throwing hard, sharp things at less sharp and significantly squishier things. He's also quite good at it.
It's not long before there's a blond elf perched on the edge of a nearby table, watching. He's back in his leather armor by this point in the evening, with his daggers strapped to his back; as comfortable as the tunic from earlier was, it's going to take a while before he's used to being out of "uniform" for prolonged periods of time.
Ah. An elf. Lovely. But Sam supposes there are all sorts here, and it's not Mizzamir, that much is obvious even at a glance. Given that, the tension in his shoulders doesn't last very long, nor does it interfere with his next throw.
Ah, this must be where the traditional human/elven racial prejudices begin, yes? Zevran is beginning to wonder just what it is about elves that offends people so much, because it doesn't seem to be a purely Thedosian thing.
To his credit, he doesn't move from where he's sitting. He recognizes a professional, or at least exceptionally skilled, hand when he sees one. While he's not particularly worried about getting hit with a dart, he feels that he should be polite and wait for a good opening before he says anything.
Sam's problem has far more to do with one elf in particular - but that happens, when most of them buggered off to parts unknown well before he was born. Mizzamir hasn't left him inclined to trust most of them if they do come back. But this is Milliways, so it could perhaps be a different story. In fairly short order, he runs out of darts, and takes the opportunity to nod to his company. Might as well find out what sort of person this is before he goes leaping to conclusions.
Comments 45
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And he doesn't, as he suspects there would be some difficulty in explaining.
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"Good shot."
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Of course it was a good shot - but he can't expect everyone here to know about it. It's not as though this is where it's a central part of his trade, after all.
He throws the last of the darts he has, aiming for the very top of the board. It sticks.
Reply
It's not long before there's a blond elf perched on the edge of a nearby table, watching. He's back in his leather armor by this point in the evening, with his daggers strapped to his back; as comfortable as the tunic from earlier was, it's going to take a while before he's used to being out of "uniform" for prolonged periods of time.
Reply
But Sam supposes there are all sorts here, and it's not Mizzamir, that much is obvious even at a glance. Given that, the tension in his shoulders doesn't last very long, nor does it interfere with his next throw.
Reply
To his credit, he doesn't move from where he's sitting. He recognizes a professional, or at least exceptionally skilled, hand when he sees one. While he's not particularly worried about getting hit with a dart, he feels that he should be polite and wait for a good opening before he says anything.
Reply
But this is Milliways, so it could perhaps be a different story.
In fairly short order, he runs out of darts, and takes the opportunity to nod to his company. Might as well find out what sort of person this is before he goes leaping to conclusions.
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