@fenny58
The door to the Sunken Flagon opened and in strode Casavir in full armor - and towed along behind him by the scruff of his neck was Bishop, sporting a black eye. The ranger was glowering balefully, arms crossed as the heels of his boots dragged continually against the floorboards. There could have been nothing less than murder on his mind. Still, by all appearances, Casavir seemed to have won this exchange between the two of them.
It wasn’t long before the Tyrran spotted Scorto finishing up with a customer. Many sets of eyes followed along curiously as he hauled the ranger towards the drow. Moments later, Casavir whipped Bishop around to the front so he faced Scorto and stood him up straight, armored hands clasped firmly on his drooping shoulders. Bishop scowled at the world.
“Apologize to Scorto,” the paladin prompted sternly, looking down at the man with narrowed blue eyes.
“Sorry,” muttered the ranger. He didn’t look at Scorto.
“Louder, Bishop.”
“I’m sorry, okay?!” snapped Bishop through grit teeth, jerking himself out of the paladin’s grip violently. He glared over his shoulder at Casavir before returning his attention to Scorto.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry your feelings got hurt--” the sentence was interrupted by the paladin smacking him upside the head. Bishop, miraculously, did not retaliate. Instead, he lowered his head and closed his eyes for several moments and exhaled heavily through his nose. When they opened again, the intensity of hatred in his ash-rimmed eyes could have ignited a fire. “I’m sorry for mistreating you. And for being an asshole. There.”
