(no subject)

Tybalt landed on the ground outside of the tavern with a hard thud and a wince, his hands instantly going to catch his fall. He was minus a bag of coin and plus one black eye. His pride always took more of a beating than he did on days like this. As he dragged himself to his feet, he brushed the dust and dirt from his clothes without a backwards glance at the tavern, checking that no one had swiped anything from him in that bit of a brawl he had almost started.

Shame the keep had ended it before it could begin. There was his mistake in going to the same tavern twice in too close of a span of time. Life was a bit more frustrating since he left the court in search of a challenge. What he got, instead, were drunken brawl fights with men who saw him as weak or beneath them.

Oh how his mother would frown if she could see him now. Her son, the purveyor of justice and honesty, picking fights in pubs and taverns just to have something to do.

Not exactly the chivalrous standards he had been raised with. But then, he was a long way from home, now, wasn't he?