#plasticweave96

Who wants kisses? Drop me a symbol!

☮: A peck on your forehead.

          Merriment and bliss, thick as the blood within his veins and furs adorning broad shoulders -- tonight was a night of celebration, of mead and good company to suffocate the oppressive thoughts of despair that lingered beneath victory. Tables creaked and splintered under hefty blows of tankards, proving their reliability as they stood firm throughout the strenuous force of men and women alike. Among them, comrades he'd come to address by name, though all escaped him in his lack of sobriety.

          A rise in joyous cries as the people addressed their Jarl, bringing their flagons to his own, meeting with jaunty laughter and a mirroring of the gesture. There was a woman who had attached herself to his arm in that moment, not necessarily out of desperation for affection but rather out of what seemed to be her own drunken claim for attention. A darker tone to her skin, that of a Redguard, though appearing to be fond of him all the same.

The Tribal Warrior had enough, tuning out the ratchet ass woman in front of her. She then looks at her, hearing some insults towards her she didn't like, at all. She takes a step closer to the other, hands striking out and grabbing the other's collar, pulling her close.