"A joke?" Zandros barely whispers the words. He covers his nose with both hands and mournfully moans, "And to be told it was merely a joke!"
Harrowheart rolls his eyes. Now that Jim is on his feet he leaves his friend with a final pat to the shoulder and moves for Zandros. He grips the other man by the collar and effortlessly lifts him up. His mumbled, "C'mere, asshole," is quieter than Zandros' surprised sputtering. When the paladin is standing again Harrow tries to help him out by brushing some of the blood speckles off of his coat, which, in hindsight, was as dumb an idea as any. He only succeed in smearing it all around. Harrow pulls a face when he looks at the jacket, but Zandros, who's pointedly looking away from them all, doesn't notice.
Harrow gestures to Isidor with his clean hand and absently licks the blood off his fingers as if it were batter. Between fingers he stops to ask, "Why'd you go and fly off the handle and ruin a perfectly fine mornin', Zandros?"
Light glows between the cracks of Zandros' fingers cupped over his nose, and a few seconds later he reveals a significantly less painful-looking face. "I... Dishonorably assumed the two were... Romantically entangled."
Harrowheart blinks hard as his mind comes grinding to an abrupt stop. Excuse? Ex... Excuse? His wide eyes flit frantically between Isidor and Jim, Jim and Isidor, and then...!
He tosses his head back and he LAUGHS! No, more than that, he CACKLES! It's a hyena call that begins in the voice of a man and ends with a metallic, ghostly echo when his desire to keep laughing outpaces the breath in his lungs.
"Jim!" he shouts as he fights back more laughter. "And Isidor!"
Zandros cringes. He closes his eyes and, like a whipped dog, hides his face.
Harrowheart's laughter picks up again as he reaches into his pockets for a lighter and a smoke. He lights the thing, sticks it between his lips, and chuckles even as he plants it there.
"Jim ain't got the patience."
Zandros doesn't know what that means and he doesn't care to. "Harrowheart, please," he begs quietly. "I have thoroughly debased myself and in the process hurt an innocent man and shamed the woman I am meant to cherish. Please, don't laugh. Escort me elsewhere that I might leave two wronged people in the peace of each other's company."
Now Harrowheart hesitates. He looks to Jim and Isidor for help, but Zandros quietly repeats, "Please? Now more than ever I need the guidance of a friend... And in this place you are the only one I have."
Harrowheart's eyebrows rise and his cigarette balances on his parted lips. He blinks again, though this time there's nothing for him to laugh about after. With a heaving sigh he puts his arm around Zandros' shoulder and nods elsewhere in the crowd.
"Come on," he mumbles, then turns to glance guiltily between his two true friends. If this is what he has to do to fix this situation, this is what he has to do...
no subject
Harrowheart rolls his eyes. Now that Jim is on his feet he leaves his friend with a final pat to the shoulder and moves for Zandros. He grips the other man by the collar and effortlessly lifts him up. His mumbled, "C'mere, asshole," is quieter than Zandros' surprised sputtering. When the paladin is standing again Harrow tries to help him out by brushing some of the blood speckles off of his coat, which, in hindsight, was as dumb an idea as any. He only succeed in smearing it all around. Harrow pulls a face when he looks at the jacket, but Zandros, who's pointedly looking away from them all, doesn't notice.
Harrow gestures to Isidor with his clean hand and absently licks the blood off his fingers as if it were batter. Between fingers he stops to ask, "Why'd you go and fly off the handle and ruin a perfectly fine mornin', Zandros?"
Light glows between the cracks of Zandros' fingers cupped over his nose, and a few seconds later he reveals a significantly less painful-looking face. "I... Dishonorably assumed the two were... Romantically entangled."
Harrowheart blinks hard as his mind comes grinding to an abrupt stop. Excuse? Ex... Excuse? His wide eyes flit frantically between Isidor and Jim, Jim and Isidor, and then...!
He tosses his head back and he LAUGHS! No, more than that, he CACKLES! It's a hyena call that begins in the voice of a man and ends with a metallic, ghostly echo when his desire to keep laughing outpaces the breath in his lungs.
"Jim!" he shouts as he fights back more laughter. "And Isidor!"
Zandros cringes. He closes his eyes and, like a whipped dog, hides his face.
Harrowheart's laughter picks up again as he reaches into his pockets for a lighter and a smoke. He lights the thing, sticks it between his lips, and chuckles even as he plants it there.
"Jim ain't got the patience."
Zandros doesn't know what that means and he doesn't care to. "Harrowheart, please," he begs quietly. "I have thoroughly debased myself and in the process hurt an innocent man and shamed the woman I am meant to cherish. Please, don't laugh. Escort me elsewhere that I might leave two wronged people in the peace of each other's company."
Now Harrowheart hesitates. He looks to Jim and Isidor for help, but Zandros quietly repeats, "Please? Now more than ever I need the guidance of a friend... And in this place you are the only one I have."
Harrowheart's eyebrows rise and his cigarette balances on his parted lips. He blinks again, though this time there's nothing for him to laugh about after. With a heaving sigh he puts his arm around Zandros' shoulder and nods elsewhere in the crowd.
"Come on," he mumbles, then turns to glance guiltily between his two true friends. If this is what he has to do to fix this situation, this is what he has to do...