Flamboyant gestures aside, the man who was apparently ‘Vincent’ now made more sense than Joseph could currently make on his own with the situation. He sighed, throwing the dagger in his right hand to the ground, burying it’s point in the charred wood amidst the clearing dust, and rubbed his stinging nose. It wasn’t broken, thankfully, but it hurt like hell, and was beginning to bleed. He was mildly pleased that he’d at least ruined the man’s boot as recompense for the night’s festivities. He still held his other dagger out toward the dust-covered man, though, just in case. Though, he mused, I suppose he could have killed me any number of times during the night. The dagger stayed up anyway.
“You know,” Joseph said, “There are better ways to invite one to an ‘eccentric’ group that don’t involve burning down an inn and nearly breaking my nose. A letter works nicely in most cases,” He finished, wiping the last few drops of blood that had appeared from his nose.
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