"You big whiny child, I'm not even trying," Ilinca muttered in Bulgarian. His apology, as expected, didn't sound all that sincere, but then again, she was holding him in a rather painful position. So she supposed that was to be expected.
She looked over at Victor, a small smile playing over her face. So there was a bit of fire in there after all. That pleased her, after all, sparks could become an inferno with the right tending. Perhaps something to think on later, after she had gone hunting. She'd be in a much better mood then.
Ilinca nodded sharply, once he was done speaking, then marched him over to security. "He is not allowed back inside," she informed them, finally releasing the man from her iron grip. "He may continue to enjoy the Cirque, if he wishes, but not here." They nodded and escorted him the rest of the way outside, then Ilinca turned on her heel and strode back to the bar.
"I cannot abide crude, mouthy people," she told Victor, retaking her abandoned stool. Ilinca was a creature of the Old World, where manners and customs had held enormous sway. And the Fae could be particularly prickly, especially if the niceties were not observed. "He will not be coming back," she promised. "Shall we drink to that?"