Styrmsthal Tyrbsyn hated these games. Each subsequent word from the hyur seemed to sound from further and further away as the rushing of his blood filled his ears. He was uncomfortable, he was embarrassed, he was impatient, and he was tired. So tired. His normally thick skin wore perilously thin and any remnants of his geniality finally evaporated before that toothsome, shit-eating sneer.
"Jus' a runner," he mumbled as a smile, hollow and mirthless, cracked his lips. He sighed through it, "'Nough o' this shite."
He spread his hands out then over the table, his long arms taking them closer to Solitaire. Then he spoke, visibly tense but delivering every word with careful restraint and measurement, little drops of water through a crack in a dam. "Listen, runner, I'm lookin' fer th'girl an' yer lookin' fer me, so ye'll tell ol' Styrm what for or I'll be beatin' th'grin from yer lips," he growled, low, rumbling. "Don' yell, don' run. Ain't helpful. Jus' talk. I like what ye've got t'say, ye'll get yer money. I don' an' we're both like t'be disappointed. Jus' stop wastin' me time an' tell me where t'find Joz."
"Jus' a runner," he mumbled as a smile, hollow and mirthless, cracked his lips. He sighed through it, "'Nough o' this shite."
He spread his hands out then over the table, his long arms taking them closer to Solitaire. Then he spoke, visibly tense but delivering every word with careful restraint and measurement, little drops of water through a crack in a dam. "Listen, runner, I'm lookin' fer th'girl an' yer lookin' fer me, so ye'll tell ol' Styrm what for or I'll be beatin' th'grin from yer lips," he growled, low, rumbling. "Don' yell, don' run. Ain't helpful. Jus' talk. I like what ye've got t'say, ye'll get yer money. I don' an' we're both like t'be disappointed. Jus' stop wastin' me time an' tell me where t'find Joz."
