[At least Eltrut is relatively tame in comparison to Nogard, is it not? At least, that is what Benedikta has found when she is not loitering around at a table in the Minstrel and Cask waiting for a bar fight to break out. And maybe she had been hoping for one when she finally did perch herself at one, but by the time she downs the last drops of her pint, she's only left feeling disappointed that absolutely nothing of interest has happened since she sat down.
She might have liked to sink her claws into a man just for the hell of it. They were itching still, even after her encounter with that fucking goose that Shiva, of all people, came to her rescue with. And a cat. Annoying as it was, that had been an interesting day. But it still didn't scratch the itch in the place between her wings, her anger and veiled panic all but wrapping themselves together into a tight coil in her shoulder blades.
Benedikta is still taking the loss of her king and the news of returning through the rifts terribly, she knows, and it is the rest of the world that would face her ire.
She leaves the Minstrel and Cask with a click of her tongue, shoving the door open with an unceremonious kick, and what happens next is entirely unexpected:
A mouthful of feathers and small plumes flying right into her face, and eight(?) large heads honking viciously at her, some stretching to peck and pluck at the feathers that line the collar of her new shirt! She thought she beat this thing!? Not even a couple of days ago!? So why—!?]
You have come back for more, have you?
[She is prepared this time—or so she thought, because the goose reaches down and unsheathes her sword and carries it in his mouth, waddling away before she can reach out and grab it. And it will be just as Dion is coming around the corner that it will come barrelling his way, blade in bill and waving about as each head honks, with a screeching Benedikta bringing up the rear—]
🐉 for dion.
She might have liked to sink her claws into a man just for the hell of it. They were itching still, even after her encounter with that fucking goose that Shiva, of all people, came to her rescue with. And a cat. Annoying as it was, that had been an interesting day. But it still didn't scratch the itch in the place between her wings, her anger and veiled panic all but wrapping themselves together into a tight coil in her shoulder blades.
Benedikta is still taking the loss of her king and the news of returning through the rifts terribly, she knows, and it is the rest of the world that would face her ire.
She leaves the Minstrel and Cask with a click of her tongue, shoving the door open with an unceremonious kick, and what happens next is entirely unexpected:
A mouthful of feathers and small plumes flying right into her face, and eight(?) large heads honking viciously at her, some stretching to peck and pluck at the feathers that line the collar of her new shirt! She thought she beat this thing!? Not even a couple of days ago!? So why—!?]
You have come back for more, have you?
[She is prepared this time—or so she thought, because the goose reaches down and unsheathes her sword and carries it in his mouth, waddling away before she can reach out and grab it. And it will be just as Dion is coming around the corner that it will come barrelling his way, blade in bill and waving about as each head honks, with a screeching Benedikta bringing up the rear—]