Agorophobic Athelstan
Athelstan returns to hear the last bit of Gavril's voice speaking of commeraderie and rolls his eyes a bit at this.
Just how d'you think these gents'd let you forget what you look like? Odds? Five'll get you ten they'll have pitchin' forks and torches at the ready before sun-up to spear an' toast you alive, dummy. Better to bid Cerallos farwell if he intends to stay and head off for... ah... "greener" pastures.
His mouth turns up a bit at this in a smile that says "Well, it was nice while it lasted" and he rights an overturned table and chair for himself near the back of the room (of course). Sitting down, he puts his feet up on the table feeling particularly lucky (or suicidal) and knowing that WHEN the time to run like mad from yells of "cursed" and "evil one" (probably on the heels of being blamed for all the trouble at the inn tonight) he'll need to be at the ready.
Ahh, they still look pretty friendly to me... probably got a good ten or fifteen minutes of niceties left in 'em before all the excitement dies down and they begin to think clearly. Which is to say, in a decidely unhappy-of-my-skin-color-manner.
Athelstan looks at the large, scarred man who he fought so closely near at the beginning of all this ruckuss.
He seemed pretty nice, all things considered. But even with those scars he wears, chances are even HE'LL turn against me if the mob mentality convinces them it's me that was behind this trouble.
Thinking so much about his disposition clearly for the first time since bedtime, he reaches into his pocket absently and produces a small metal tin. Removing the band of metal that holds the lid on, he then unscrews the tightly fitting lid and plucks a peice of his specially prepared gum from a cover of leaves that help to keep it dry and fresh for travelling. Popping this in his mouth, he recovers himself as best as he can and makes sure his hood covers his face well in shadow.
Still dark in here... maybe they won't see right through me. At least, not until I have to run. And boy, when I have to run... well, hah, that's about the long and short of it.
He returns to surveying the room, his "fix" all taken care of for another while.
And the Stills seemed particularly nice too, especially after what I did to their son.
He sighs at this and tries to shake the regret that's spun a fine cord of sadness through his every thought since things calmed down.
I really did mean to help them with his burial, too... but... once that mob mentality strikes a group... I won't have time to apologize for not sticking around to help out with it. Perhaps I can leave them a few coins to help pay for whatever the going rate of funerary arrangements around here is. I don't know how much it'll be... but surely a little bit of help is still help, right?
He thinks on this and waits for the first one to approach him. Knowing full well that when the time comes, and it will, he'll have to split quick, so he looks around and thinks of which way he'll escape from.
