Already several drinks in within the short amount of time that had passed since entering the podunk tavern the human leaned back in his seat with laughter on his lips at the joke one of his comrades told. If he could call them that, the scheming lot of them. For now it would be the truth, each of them using one another as necessary to get what they wanted. Everett had no doubts the second that he became useless he would have an expiration, yet the same could be said for them. For now such thoughts were suspended with another round of booze, a Kirkwall specialty that was strong and had a hell of a kick. The pirate didn’t much care as long as it got him drunk, a smooth motion from his hand that rose gesturing to the scarred elf across the table. ”Deal again then, would you,”
he said, eyebrows rising as a challenge swam in his pale gaze. He leaned forward, forearms crossed upon the wooden tabletop and a smirk settling on his lips. ”Mind those hands, elf, I know your tricks.”
The last round of the game had been won, albeit by an unexpected turn of luck, and the odds were dwindling each time the deck was shuffled. Deft hands turned them over in slender digits, a quip rising from the elf’s lips though it didn’t garner much of a response from Everett when his train of thought was interrupted by a loud and unnecessary laugh. Lips pressed together, blue eyes trailing to where the irritating sound had come from in the corner of the room by the bar. A redheaded man leaned against the wall, leather wrapped about his body with ill-fitting garb that shifted as he talked to a dark-haired woman. The dumb broad seemed to eat up the bullshit that came from his mouth, voices growing hushed once more and so Everett returned his attention to the game of Wicked Grace. Peering down at his cards it would seem the odds were against him yet again, a shitty dealing only furthering his ire. On top of that, from the corner of his eye he could see the elf drumming fingers upon the table while his other hand moved quickly to draw one of the discarded cards. Everett let out a bitter laugh, more of a huff of breath than anything.
No matches were had within his hand, although apparently so in the hands of the Antivan woman who proclaimed her victory. It lightened the pirate’s mood marginally that it hadn’t been the elf to win, cheating bastard that he is. Nothing less could be suspected, and with a gentle flick of his wrist his own cards were tossed. The distracting lout in the corner became a distraction once more, and the human’s jaw clenched. It wasn’t until fire erupted into a small ball of flickering light from the redhead’s hand that he reacted. Ire switched to a cold hatred in the matter of seconds, hands coming to slam against the table. It startled those seated around it, silence falling almost instantly and with a grating sound the chair was shoved back when Everett stood.
”How about you do us all a favor and fuck off, mage,” hissing voice slipped from a still clenched jaw. The fire died out when the abomination turned to him, leveling him with a pompous look. Instead of responding he turned back to the woman before him, beginning to look a touch fearful at the outburst. With striding steps quicker than the mage could react hands gripped the front of his tunic, arms swinging to toss the man to the ground. He fell like a ragdoll, spilling upon the floor with a grunt. ”Allow me, then, to show you the door.” He wished to show him more than that, fingers itching to reach for one of the concealed blades upon his person, though he didn’t particularly like the idea of having to flee just yet because of bloodshed. The tavern had fallen into a quiet lull as people turned to stare, tracking Everett’s movements that brought him to the mage’s side as he began to push him up. His hands slapped down against his back, once more gripping to pull him forcefully to his feet. More flames danced to life then, though flew wild in the jagged momentum of a guided hand.
Everett’s brows rose at that almost in disbelief, the magic sputtering out harmlessly and that was when one of the daggers had found its way to his hands. Pushing back against the redheaded man until his back collided with a wooden beam the blade pressed against his throat with the other hand holding his head to expose it. ”Want to see if you can burn me proper before I slit your throat?” Accented voice had taken a dangerous edge, and blue eyes stared at him in wide-eyed fear. The door to the tavern burst open then, Everett glaring at the mage for a beat before his head turned to set a piercing gaze upon the one who entered so boisterously. His expression shifted to a darkened humor at the site of the man who walked through the threshold when recognition placed itself within the rogue’s mind.
A sinister smile tugged at his lips when he honed in on the mage. ”You’re in for it now,” was all he said in low tones before he pulled the unwilling quarry from where he had pinned him only to present him to the Champion. His dagger still pressed to his throat as he moved to the other side of him. ”Just in time, Hawke,” he called out lightly, a hand planting itself against the back of the now trembling mage. ”This one needs some help remembering what a piece of shit he is, yeah?” A suggestion that was enunciated with a shove against the other, dagger moving so he didn’t end his life just yet with the action. He kicked the mage down until he kissed the wooden floor again at Hawke’s feet, the dagger switching to his other hand as shoulders rolled.