They’re wrestling. This fight didn’t start too formally (not that many of them do), driven on more by back-and-forth provocations than actual reason. But it’s escalated into the physical, and nobody’s backed off yet.

They’re starting to learn each other’s tricks, too, which is what makes it so goddamn hard to get a proper grip for her favorite move. But this time she manages, not without taking a hit to the face in the process.

She links her arms around his waist, and arches backwards to flip him over--

And then her head hits the floor. And she’s upside-down. Somehow, she’s the one being suplexed?

Tired eyes scan the nearly emptied bar before Ja’far heaves a heavy sigh. He’s not here, but that wasn’t really surprising. His King knows how to slip away to drink in peace if he so desires; there’s far too many bars in this city to search them all for him. The general knew checking this bar for him would be a long shot. 

Unfortunately, his other, more plausible reason for coming here, The Hanged Man, doesn’t appear to be present either. There’s no sign of Dorian, though he could be in the office, to talk to more in depth about their ‘arrangement’. Still, he decides to at least ask after him once before giving up on the matter entirely and choosing what to do with the rest of his evening, so he makes his way over to the bar and tries to get the current bartender’s attention.

“Excuse me, but is Dorian Pavus on the premises and available to talk?” Ja’far questions, taking up a stool instead of standing. Tonight, for some reason, he feels too drained to really pursue either of his objectives, never mind stay standing.