The woman continued her irritated stomping for but a few moments longer, until she had found a spot by some crates and barrels safely out of the way of the workers milling about. Her gaze fell to the label on the outside, idly scrutinizing it, before deciding that she didn't much care who it belonged to. Turning, her hands gripped the edge, letting out a soft grunt as she pulled herself up to perch on its edge. The look that settled on her face dared any of the men carting goods to and fro to tell her to move. None seemed interested in taking the challenge, at least for the time being.
"Aye, there's a time and a place for it, alright," she huffed back at Ryanti, lips pursed. "When some lumbering shite thinks he aught talk to me like a whipped dog just because I have more scales'n he has brains, that's the time and place for it." Her gaze rose to stretch across the length of the Crossing, glaring daggers into the back of the Roegadyn's head. Even as he turned and glanced back in her direction, the defiant, proud look didn't falter. Instead, she spat at the ground, eye contact unfaltering. Small in stature, she may have been, but she was possessed of the heart of a lion -- or perhaps, more accurately, a wolf. "Ignorant lout best be glad that our paths didn't cross in the Steppes. His pretty armor and the city's laws and the money of his masters might protect him here, but none of it would mean shite there."
Of course, such was only the grumblings of an angry woman. A comment that was as empty as the wind she breathed the words into, speaking more of her own dissatisfaction with this new land's ways than anything that she could do about it. While she had adjusted well-enough in most ways, there were still parts of hers that missed the 'laws' of the Steppe. Coin and names didn't matter. One's own ability and strength dictated their place -- and their survival -- in that world. If you weren't prepared to fight for it, someone else certainly would be, and there were no written laws to protect the weak.
Finally, her gaze dropped away from the Roegadyn, instead moving to the white-haired halfling fiddling with his boots. Though elements of the irritation still lingered, it faded slightly as she regarded him, enough to where it was obvious that her annoyance wasn't directed at him. "Sounds like your name is worth its weight in gold, Ruffles," she observed, tone neither approving or disapproving. "Can't say I've ever seen a grown man threaten to report to his mother and the other fellow pissing in his breeches from fear and not laughter." Even if the words that had followed would perhaps come off as abrasive or judgmental, she still seemed to only be speaking in her usual blunt manner -- not picking her words with intent to wound as she had with the man at the Crossing's gate.
"Aye, there's a time and a place for it, alright," she huffed back at Ryanti, lips pursed. "When some lumbering shite thinks he aught talk to me like a whipped dog just because I have more scales'n he has brains, that's the time and place for it." Her gaze rose to stretch across the length of the Crossing, glaring daggers into the back of the Roegadyn's head. Even as he turned and glanced back in her direction, the defiant, proud look didn't falter. Instead, she spat at the ground, eye contact unfaltering. Small in stature, she may have been, but she was possessed of the heart of a lion -- or perhaps, more accurately, a wolf. "Ignorant lout best be glad that our paths didn't cross in the Steppes. His pretty armor and the city's laws and the money of his masters might protect him here, but none of it would mean shite there."
Of course, such was only the grumblings of an angry woman. A comment that was as empty as the wind she breathed the words into, speaking more of her own dissatisfaction with this new land's ways than anything that she could do about it. While she had adjusted well-enough in most ways, there were still parts of hers that missed the 'laws' of the Steppe. Coin and names didn't matter. One's own ability and strength dictated their place -- and their survival -- in that world. If you weren't prepared to fight for it, someone else certainly would be, and there were no written laws to protect the weak.
Finally, her gaze dropped away from the Roegadyn, instead moving to the white-haired halfling fiddling with his boots. Though elements of the irritation still lingered, it faded slightly as she regarded him, enough to where it was obvious that her annoyance wasn't directed at him. "Sounds like your name is worth its weight in gold, Ruffles," she observed, tone neither approving or disapproving. "Can't say I've ever seen a grown man threaten to report to his mother and the other fellow pissing in his breeches from fear and not laughter." Even if the words that had followed would perhaps come off as abrasive or judgmental, she still seemed to only be speaking in her usual blunt manner -- not picking her words with intent to wound as she had with the man at the Crossing's gate.
