Ade/Arabella | evening
There were some men who might have resented working Bierfest, but Ade Foxe wasn't one of them. It was just about the easiest sort of paycheck the man could imagine; all he needed to do was stand in a corner, nurse a beer, and separate fools who got a little too drunk for their own good. Foxe was the sort who liked to watch the people go by, listen to snippets of stories, and do a good job. And so he stood in heavy armor in the middle of what one might call Dragoon territory, an area that was littered with friends of his same job class, hawk eyes scanning the area for rowdiness while grinning at the table before him that was singing an old and familiar song.
He might have joined in if not for the fact that someone was shouting, "Fucker!" at the top of their lungs just a few feet away.
"Faram's sake," Foxe said to himself, shaking his head and moving toward the commotion. He had his weapon on him, but he didn't reach for it. Bierfest seemed the sort of night for a good punch or, if things got really violet, a solid head-butt. He could save his weapon for a real villain.
There were two young men, maybe teenagers, who looked about ready to punch each other just a few tables down. Foxe, ever simple, grabbed the louder one by the collar and yanked him to his feet.
"Oi," he said. It didn't take much for him to look intimating; he was already a head taller than the lad, and so Foxe simply screwed his face up into a scowl and deepened his voice. "Cut that shit out. Now." The lad shrunk before his eyes and Foxe, trying not to grin, shoved him away. "Go make nice over there, yeah?"
This had already happened twice before with different young folk. Foxe sensed the trend would continue as the moon moved across the night sky. Turning, he spared the young man one last glare, and all but walked into someone. "Sorry," he said, turning and wincing when he realized he'd bumped into a pretty woman who had to be a good half foot shorter than he. "You alright?"