Ithacles didn't intentionally ignore the man's offered hand. His mind was occupied with considering what all of this meant and the presence of other Captains had taken him a bit off balance. He saw it hanging out there in the air between them but it barely registered as he spoke to the jailer. By the time he noticed, Skandra had already lowered it. And like skipping a page in a book on accident, Ithacles decided it best to just keep moving.
"I was dicing in a tavern," Skandra reported in a mutter.
"That's never you," Ithacles insisted. That's how all of this bastard's stories started, a bit like saying so, the other day or listen to this.
The jailer presented him with release papers. Ithacles seized the pen, and Skandra wisely put a pause in that story of his. The Prince's signature wasn't something you'd expect out of a man who spent as little time in the library as he could. It was sharp, tight, and beautifully legible.
"Your mark," he said to Skandra, passing him the quill.
Skandra cleared his throat, drew a stupid line like a dead worm, and they continued on.
They left the prison behind and spilled out onto the street. Late afternoon, all orange and purple between the mountains. Nothing but cool air and an empty cobblestone around them.
"Not sure what sort of conversation they were having, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't about Crowns or boar hunting. Then your idiot Captain - not you, beautiful - throws a cudgel into my gods-damned skull for interrupting their conversation. If he suspects me of something, it's probably because he was about to throw someone in jail, and I ruined it. Given how incompetent he is..."
"We should go outside and away from prying ears, then. And then I can get you something for your head."
"I agree," said Ithacles. His head was starting to hurt. "Look here, then."
They'd only moved a block before they came upon a tavern, built into the corner of a tall building. The facade was all painted wood columns of red and amber, with gold accents.
The Mermaid's Tail, if you can believe it, a sailor's tavern up there in the middle of the world's backbone. A bar dressed and themed to be like something near the docks of Trone, a place many Faustben men would never go.