by Trente on February 28th, 2012, 2:55 am
Trente had missed the blood upon this somebodies shirt that Idue spoke of, and his face tightened ever so slightly when this was said. He had never been the most observant of people, and it seemed it was coming to bite him int he rear again. He was less concerned with being verbally put down than having been unaware of this danger. He tried to piece together why the man chose this moment to point this out instead of sharing it with Faylon and himself. The continued rant, however, cast these thoughts from his mind quickly.
Trente maintained his composure and listened with his uppity attitude all up till Idue started asking question. "Have you felt that blade draw blood other than your own due to your own incompetence?" Idue asked in a flurry of annoyance. And Trente's eyes hardened immediately, as the fear that had settled in his stomach churned inward with memory. His hand twitched slightly, but he didn't want to start a fight. It did take a measure of self control not to threaten the man before him, however.
Trente was no fool. He had spent a lot of time with people who's skills surpassed his own, and by now he knew how to judge a fight. A single blade against double axes had the disadvantage. Especially with Trente's fighting style. And so it would be be too much to ask to make it out of the fight without injury, and infighting was the last thing anybody needed if this comment on bloodstained shirts was correct, and not just overeager misinterpreting spilled wine.
Trente ultimately decided that his past was his own, and nobody elses, and if the conversation continued like this there would be real blood shed in the room. He refused to give himself merit on his past doings, especially ones he was not proud of. So instead, with half gritted teeth he stared Idue in the eyes, and with a low voice said, "Advice for advice. I've heard yours. Now, Idue, hear mine. Hasty judgements are a dangerous thing, they cut much deeper than blades. And, I mean not the receiver but the giver, for falsehood is sanctuary to those that mean harm. So, withhold your assumptions and temper your questions, for you are likely to find steel in place of words. This is not a threat, but a simple piece, of your own self given advice. For, it is you that have not been listening to yourself. 'And never question if I can handle my [weapons]... Just assume I know how you use them so you don't-'"
His words drew to a sudden close as he heard a crash from across the room. His point had not come full circle, but he, with some effort tore his leveled gaze on the Banshira away, to look toward the people who had gathered together. This did not bode well, or improve his mood. The moment Nai'shee took off he follow in suit, not wanting her to run into danger unarmed. He would have preferred a more careful approach to the situation, but felt some wardenship over the beautiful girl, and didn't wish that red dress to darken in hue from her own blood. That would be bad. So he ducked through the people with his usual grace, trying not to push people aside, but instead study their placements and move around them.
His focus on his movements trumped his awareness of the situation as he heard the advice form Idue, and the screams from Nai'shee first. Once he finally broke into the center of the circle Nai'shee had already fled, and Idue had pulled his blades out. Trente's awareness then finally shifted to that of the room, a man, Faylon, lay upon his back with a dagger protruding from his chest. Trente's expression shifted to a sickened anguish, but his body reacted fluidly. The blade from his sheath slid out with grace, and he moved toward the man laying on his back, then turned.
The people gathered to closely, and this wasn't helping the situation. So he did what any good sword wielding person, in a situation like this would. He tilted his head in a nearly playful challenge, and loudly told people to back the petch up before he screwed them. His attempt before was to keep people calm, he decided intimidation was a better approach now. And though he himself was not intimidating his sword certainly would do the trick. He wished Naih'shee speed in her hunt for a doctor, and turned back to Faylon.
He set the blade carefully without arms reach of himself, beside Faylon, and kelled down, keepign an eye out for a dector so he could move aside should the situation arise. He really had no fear of another attack, not with the Banshira standing there over them. It comforted him, for he trusted Idue to protect his life. Men liek him understood the idea of comraderee well en. That Trente could trust.
So, he focused his attention on Faylon."Faylon, you want to listen to me now." His words were clear, and directed straight into Faylon's eyes. Trente knew nothing of the human body, so he avoided touching Faylon at all, and kept out fo the blood spreading across his shirt. Most of all he left the dagger in place, not looking at it. "A scoundrel has dishonored himself against you, and things look grimm. A doctor is coming, but I am here to hear any last words you may have. Choose them wisely, and speak." He had little care if Faylon took advantage of this opportunity or not, but felt he deserved a chance at a lost request, even if it was to slay the mother petcher who did this to him.
After listening carefully to Faylon's words, should he speak any, Trente would raise to the sound of the Doctor coming, and move out of his way. He looked young, and that worried Trente, but not as much as the lack of a mark upon him. Trente just ignored that, for it wasn't his concern. And, he moved over tot he servant charged with gathering supplies. This time he would push people if nessessary as he made sure the masked partigoers moved out of the way as the servant came through. Most of all he watched the sea of people as they moved through, weapon still out, alert not for those tha tmight be hostile. Trente didn't fancy his positions, involved in this whole ordeal which was meant to be a peacful ball. But, he understood that some people were just beant on taking advantage of the happy and drunk to fullfill their own perposes sometimes.
