[And this time the sarcasm is evident, a dry dangerous wit that doesn't pass him by despite his slowly-increasing inebriation. It sounds...unpleasant, if he's honest, is sure that the other man is implying it to be so, not much of a life for anyone-- taking on the worst and most dangerous kinds of jobs for so very little in return.
Although, when phrased like that, it sounds like something he'd do himself. Pity his own fighting skills extend only to tavern brawls and some moderate sword-play at best. All he needs for self-defense purposes, and little more.
He has a response ready, but then the other man continues and it elicits a bright, soft-edge laugh from him, an accusation he waves away with the fluid motion of one long hand.]
I'd like to think I don't need any assistance in that department, so please don't confiscate my alcohol. I'm not nearly drunk enough, yet. No, I'm talking about...here, let me show you.
[And sets down his gin glass (already half-empty) and picks up a knife that rests on the edge of one of the platters, instead. He presses the blade to the palm of his hand, then quite abruptly slices along its full length. Blood beads along the small open wound, but no sooner than it does, it's already healing again. At his throat, a magical sigil flares bright.]
Quite the party trick, eh? It works on other people too-- if I lay my hands on their wounds I can take them onto myself instead, whereupon they swiftly heal over. Useful bit of magic for a doctor to come by, even if I don't quite recall how I got it. I thought for a while that an ex-lover of mind cast it upon me out of spite but...ah, it turns out I was wrong about that.
no subject
Although, when phrased like that, it sounds like something he'd do himself. Pity his own fighting skills extend only to tavern brawls and some moderate sword-play at best. All he needs for self-defense purposes, and little more.
He has a response ready, but then the other man continues and it elicits a bright, soft-edge laugh from him, an accusation he waves away with the fluid motion of one long hand.]
I'd like to think I don't need any assistance in that department, so please don't confiscate my alcohol. I'm not nearly drunk enough, yet. No, I'm talking about...here, let me show you.
[And sets down his gin glass (already half-empty) and picks up a knife that rests on the edge of one of the platters, instead. He presses the blade to the palm of his hand, then quite abruptly slices along its full length. Blood beads along the small open wound, but no sooner than it does, it's already healing again. At his throat, a magical sigil flares bright.]
Quite the party trick, eh? It works on other people too-- if I lay my hands on their wounds I can take them onto myself instead, whereupon they swiftly heal over. Useful bit of magic for a doctor to come by, even if I don't quite recall how I got it. I thought for a while that an ex-lover of mind cast it upon me out of spite but...ah, it turns out I was wrong about that.