Melora Hawke is plotting something (smallbutdeadly) wrote in pup_prompts, @ 2008-07-14 21:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | prompt 12 |
Pup: Nessa
From: D&D/OC
Writer: Mandy
Nessa grunted in exasperation as the heavy warrior fell onto the tavern floor in front of her with a loud 'clank'. He could have at least had the decency to change out of his armor before he started drinking, but no. He was convinced the plate mail helped him 'pick up chicks.' Of course. It had dents all over it and it smelled a little like the last thing they'd killed. Nessa didn't know any girls who enjoyed the smell of dire swamp rat.
She rolled her eyes at the unconscious fighter and kicked at him with the flat of her foot. "Useless oaf," she grumbled, shoving his helmet loosely over his head. She leaned down and grabbed him under the arms. She was surprisingly strong given her small size, but it was still a pain in the ass dragging the fighter across the tavern toward the stairs. She backed up the stairs one at a time, jerking the fighter's limp body up with little regard for his later comfort. Maybe a few bruises would make him think twice next time.
"Oh no, don't bother helping," she said aloud, directing it toward the other patrons and staff of the tavern. Those who hadn't flat out been ignoring her turned back to their drinks, the subtle art of sarcasm lost on the small-town folks. If she were the group mage, the men would be falling all over themselves to help her. The pretty, blonde, tall, busty elf with the breathy voice and empty head had already retired for the evening with a handsome stranger. Nessa had brought up several times her doubt as ot the mage's skill and effectiveness to the rest of the group, but the fighter and even the cleric--'purity and innocence my ass'--had refused to even discuss kicking Celeste out of their group. Nessa knew exactly what Celeste brought to the team, and it sure as hell wasn't helping any of them survive. How the bimbo had stayed alive this long was a mystery to Nessa.
When she had finally hefted the testosterone-and-alcohol laced fighter up the top step, the off-balance helmet teetered and fell from his head, rolling over his body and bouncing off each step.
"Forget that," she said, watching it roll across the tavern floor. You're just gonna have to get a new helmet, Krunk."
She dropped him in the doorway of his room, shoving him inside with her foot. She shut the door to his room and walked down the hallway to her own. She was tired and annoyed and just wanted to avoid people for the rest of the evening. She closed the door, shoving a chair up underneath the door knob to effectively seal herself in. Laying down on the straw bed, she closed her eyes.
Finally. Peace.