Shadowwalker - Under Review For Now

5. Watch your drink

Two hours later, laughter rose up around Amber, her face flushed with mock embarrassment as she barely managed to utter an apology. She laughed mentally, but it would unravel most of her hard work that evening to reveal that fact. So, instead, she did her best to add a realistically nervous stutter.

"I-I'm so sorry!"
"Dupont, go easy on her. Look at 'er, she's trembling!"

Amber looked around, eyes wide, as she attempted to locate Loveday.
The man in front of her rolled his eyes.

"Sure, twasn't as though twere done on purpose or nothing," he drawled, studying her with furrowed brows.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she fired back before she could help herself.
"Should it mean something then?"
Dupont unfurried his eyebrows and raised one at her, after which he leaned back in his chair.

"Get me another tankard, won't ya love. And this time, Don't spill it all over me shoes. I already knew I needs to buy meself a new pair, no need to go 'round remin'folks."

Amber shot him a dark look, before walking back to the bar, where she found a grinning Loveday, waiting for her with a ready-filled tankard.

"Loveday," she hissed at her.
"How am I supposed to gather intel when you tell Milly to trip me up in front of someone as clearly important as that!"
"Oh, so that's the only reason you asked me to get me your table? You don't think he's an attractive man at all?"
Eyes widening once more, Amber swore under her breath.
"Oh my goddess," Loveday laughed, "I was only jesting, love, calm do y- Hang on- you do!"
"No I don't! You are perfectly well aware of the fact that I simply don't do romance! I don't have time for all that, nor the desire."
"Mmhmm, sure you don't. In any case, he's a-waiting for ya. Go get'em, cupcake."

With that, Loveday winked before she slammed the tankard on her tray, grabbed her arms as to spin her around, and sent Amber off towards him with a playful smack on her behind, making her jump.

"And don't spill anything!" she called to her, but the sound was drowned out by the lively conversation surrounding them.

...

"And FINALLY, she hath returneth to me. My fair maiden, I was beginnin' to think you had abandoned me."

"Haha, very funny."

"Cyril, must you flirt with every female with a pulse?"
"Not even that is necessary, Chyra. I've had the odd fling with a few Children of the Night, remember?"

His companion snorted.
"Oh my moons, don't remind me. She was absolutely horrid! I still don't understand why you let her feed anyway. You were perfectly well aware that she'd want more."
Cyril Dupont turned to face Chyra and said: "Oh, don't start that again."
"If you insist."

Amber observed their exchange with a somewhat disinterested expression, mentally filing the information away. She made a note in her mind to find out more about mr. DuPont- he seemed to be faking a lowerclass accent. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, for she noticed their conversation had begun to still.

"If that was all...?" she trailed off.
"Actually," he told her, "I want another ale. Or 3. This time, with a dash of rum. Or no, make one of those a Fireslug. I'm feelin' old school."
She gave him a quizzical expression and questioned: "You already have a drink in front of you?"
"Ah," he responded simply.

Cyril lifted his mug to his lips. After having wiggled his eyebrows at her, he chugged its content down in five larhe gulps.
With a satisfied smirk, he wiped his foam moustache on the back of his sleeve. Charming, she thought to herself.
"You were saying?"

Uttering several profanities under her breath, Amber returned to the bar.
She was just complaining to herself that At this rate, I'll never gain any  USEFUL information at all. What a waste of my-,  when suddenly a fist appeared in front of her face, narrowly avoiding actually physically hitting her.

Instinctively, Amber jumped back. In that instantly, every one of her senses was alert.
Three men had just begun to fight.
On their table she noticed a broken tankard with its content, ale mixed with an unknown purple subtance, spilled all over the table, several foreign coins, playing cards, and lastly, a person, whose gender she couldn't directly identify, who was lying on the table.

She was unsure if they had simply passed out- or worse.

"You did this!"
"I'll rip out your guts!"
"He didn't deserve this fate, even if he was a cheater!"
"Murderer!"

In the meantime, other people had also started bickering amongst each other.

Her eyes flickered from one person to the other, studying her surroundings. Out of the three men who had started the fight, the one she presumed to be the cause of the poisoning their friend, did not speak.

The man was outnumbered by two against one, and was stuck on defence- yet he seemed to do so with ease, blocking every one of their clumsy hits with some suspiciously sober moves, manoeuvring himself through the room in such a way that they at times hit other people, the brawling crowd constantly growing in number.

Amber noted his ensemble.

He wore dark clothing.
A snug fitting coat and loose trousers, both with plenty of pockets, designed to not only carry things, but to conceal their content, as to which she needn't guess.
Besides a large saxe knife which hung from his belt, she knew he probably carried around a variety of other knives, a set of brass knuckles, and all kinds of strange concoctions- possibly even poisoned darts.

'An assassin,' she thought to herself.
'I guess this evening was worth my time after all.'