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The man was angry that the dog had gotten in his way, but even drunk, he was leery about pushing back, though the look he gave Remi before moving away could have poisoned a well

Soibhan ignored the gesture from both dog and man, not because she wasn't appreciative, but also because of her own pride. She could easily deal with the man if he chose to bother her further, but some men just couldn't let a woman be bothered without interfering on her behalf.

With a smile aimed at the Gallian, she took his hand and drug him out to the dance floor. Some of the regulars had brought their own instruments and were playing a lively ditty in the corner. She began to dance; no one would ever claim that she was the most graceful on the dance floor, but she didn't lack in exuberance. Dancing was such an important social affair back home, a chance for everyone to unwind after a battle or to find potential partners during festivals. She'd found that most Sunderlanders treated dancing just as they did everything else; it was a stuffy affair, in dresses and jackets that made their movements wooden and without life.

Here though, everyone danced with abandon. There was no nobility in the Bawdy Boar; these were workers, the common folk. Liveliness pervaded everything these people did, especially with liquor involved.

She didn't notice the men that were surrounding them until it was too late.

She scoffed, his back to hers a reassurance as they were surrounded by drunken louts. "As if," she said, the disgust plain in her tone. "I doona associate with societal offal." The man she'd snubbed at the bar was there as well, lurking behind the others. What association he had with the rest of them she wasn't sure, but something about this entire situation seemed...familiar.

Oh, Rob an' Ollie. Ye'd laugh if ye were here.

At least she hadn't been trying to get into Remi's pants like she had been Rob's. She had a moment to be disappointed in herself --he was quite handsome after all-- before a few of the men rushed them. She had no choice but to trust in the abilities of the man at her back as three came at her from the front, leaving her no time to do anything but fight. One man swung at her while another grabbed her left arm, the third trying for her right but she ducked beneath the blow and twisted out of the grab. The man who'd managed a hold on her had a moment to look suddenly unsure of the intelligence behind his decision before she swept her leg up with a fierce cry, right into his groin. He dropped like a stone and she danced on the balls of her feet, a wild grin on her face.

"C'mon! Ye doona like tha' a woman can take ye down? Than show me why ye think yer better!"

Though she had the ability to back up her words, all of the sudden exhertion made the ale in her belly shoot directly to her head with a swiftness of a startled hare. She tried not to stumble, but it was more difficult than she cared to admit.

"I need te stop gettin' in drunken barfights," she said under her breath, feeling woozy.

"Ah, s**t."

As if the brandishing of one knife instilled the rest with a sense of bravery, steel began appearing all around them. The tavern had grown surprisingly quiet. While well loved at the Bawdy Boar, no one was willing to injure themselves to help her, or the man at her back. Though she had a knife at the small of her back, the gaelic woman didn't draw it, not yet. A foolish man rushed her with his blade out before him and she grabbed his arm with both of hers, ducking out of the way of the sharp steel. With a sharp movement, she snapped the man's arm at the elbow and he fell away, screaming as his arm flopped about like a dying fish.

The others hesitated, though one man, already intent on his charge, kept at her. His shoulder slammed into her chest and she fought to keep her balance and not stumble into the unsuspecting Remi. Breath rushing out of her, she punched him in the solar plexus with all her strength, the knife digging deep along her arm as she did so. The man faultered, his body slipping into momentary shock as it tried to remember how to move his limbs. Pushing him into his comrades, she snarled, wiping the sweat from her brow before it fell into her eyes. Doing so left a slash of blood across her face that gave the rest of the men pause, though she couldn't have seen what they did.

"Git ou' o' my bar!" she roared, shoving one of the immense, solid oak tables at the rest of those in front of her. A few hesitated, but one by one, they began turning tail and weaving their way through the throng of watchers and out the door. Even the ones harassing Remi suddenly had second-thoughts and began to disperse as well.

Golden eyes filled with the fires of adrenaline, she turned and immediately lifted Remi's shirt to inspect his wound. "Are ye alright?"

"Tch, most do, bu' it doona stop new ones from havin' a go at it." She inspected the wound with disinterest, the alcohol in her blood thinning it enough to make it bleed more than it normally would have. "The men o' this country dislike a woman tha' doona act like they think a woman should, an' because o' tha', they tend te have this desire te pu' her in her place."

Reaching down, she gave Beau a thankful scratch under the collar and playfully tugged on the cloth between his teeth. "Good boy." Then she whirled about, ready to berate Comghan for being a cowardly git, but the kingshawk had some fellow's blood on his beak and every one of his feathers stood on end. He looked thrice his usual size and not something any sane person would mess with.

If she saw Remi's disapproving look at the crowd, she didn't comment. Hell, she didn't much blame these people for sticking to themselves. They weren't fighters and many of them, while enjoying her music, didn't much care for her ethnicity, and definitely wouldn't step in to help a Gallian. She'd come to accept the bigotry with indifference.

"Le's clean up tha' wound o' yers," she finally said, feeling a wave of lightheadedness wash over her. "D'ye have a place te stay? My flat isn't far if ye don't."

Comghan shrieked in anger and flew after them, unwilling to be left behind, though the short flight no doubt hurt his still-healing wings. The bird landed heavily on her shoulder, his massive talons piercing her skin with the weight of him. She didn't seem to mind, however, and led Remi and Beau through the snow. It was falling more heavily now, making the dark streets even more perilous.

The journey was thankfully short. Part of the reason she frequented the Bawdy Boar was its proximity to her home. When she pushed open the gate, a stallion's scream cut the air. No doubt he'd caught the scent of blood on them, something that never ceased to throw him into a fighting mood. Her flat sat above a small stable, big enough to house two horses comfortably, though only the snorting stallion held residence there at the moment. She grabbed an apple from the basket beside the gate and went to the horse without thinking about it, or for the man and dog behind her. She let the gray beast take the apple from her hand and murmured something to me that Remi couldn't hear. When he'd settled and turned back into his stall, she turned and remembered her soon-to-be guests.

"Sorry," she muttered, grinning like a fool. The lightheadedness had vanished with the cool air, leaving her pleasantly drunk. She fumbled with the door but managed to get it open quick enough, ushering Remi and Beau up a narrow stair to the flat proper, hidden behind another door. When they closed themselves inside, it was into pure darkness, though Soibhan moved about with ease, even if only by memory.

"S'not much, but it's a place te sleep."

((guh, Remi, I want to hug you sweet bby))

In answer, candlelight flared to show Soibhan's wry grin. She began walking about the room, lighting a dozen candles scattered on all manner of surfaces. Before long, the place was filled with a warm light, chasing away shadows and cold both.

"Doona care fer the dark, Remi Martineaux?"

She came from the back room with the original candle in her hand, wax dripping slowly down its side to mix with the blood she'd smeared there by accident. A small box was in her other hand and she set it on her small, cluttered table. Maps and other papers dotted its surface, as well as a few candles burned so low, they were mere lumps of unusable wax. They attested to long, sleepless nights. Setting the candle aside, she grabbed the box and beckoned him closer. "C'mere an' let me see tha' cut."

Her expression soured and she rolled her eyes at him. "I's no' tha' bad, really." Though when she glanced down at it, she wondered how she had bled so much and not noticed. "S'just a wee bit messy."

Comghan hopped down to the table with little grace, scattering pencils and candle stubs from their forgotten spaces. He eyed Remi with those baleful eyes, as if daring the man to make fun of his limited mobility.

Oddly, she didn't feel much like arguing beyond what she already had and she pushed some of the papers aside enough for her to one-arm herself up to sit atop the table. Holding out her arm with a sigh, she held his gaze. "Fine. Fix me."

She waited a moment as he seemed rooted to the spot, but the booze in her belly and the blood on her arm made her exceptionally talkative. And his hesitation by her door was curious indeed. Wondering if the two things, the dark and the hesitancy, were related, she asked, "Why' d'ye dislike the dark?"

She glanced out one of the windows, the candle-light giving her a glimpse of rushing snowflakes. Then her gaze fell to his hands as they worked, patching her up with a quick precision.

He's got nice hands.

"I think we've go' the time fer it, bu' I willna push ye if ye doona wish te share," she said quietly, waiting for him to finish. Other people tending her wounds always made her fussy and fidgety, though she tried to keep still. Her gaze couldn't quite leave the slow drip of red that falling from his slashed shirt however.

When he'd finished, she stood up slowly, keenly aware of her balance issues. Though the cut hadn't been as deep as it could have been, she'd still bled like a stuck pig and was starting to feel the aftereffects of such. "Sit," she told him as she went to a cupboard, pulling out a beef bone she'd saved for Vexation that the fox had promptly ignored. "Can he have this? A reward fer his bravery."