"I'll do a lot more than bite." Isla scowled at Hazen. Though blood dripped down his face, the punch seemed to have the opposite effect on him than she had hoped. Maybe something was wrong with her, for she recalled the Prince who had taken her in like a stray dog had been greeted similarly with a slap to the face. Is that really what men liked?
She did not give him a response for the rest of his comments. Staring at him, brows furrowed, she waited until he seemed to concede.
Though, a voice caught her attention. Looks like Cross lost his charm.
Arryn? Was Arryn okay? Isla's face paled and she tried to push her way back into the crowd that blocked her view. They roared as the fight came to a climax. She hadn't made it to the front, but through a small break in the screaming mass of people, she could see that Arryn was still standing. He looked like he was in pain. She could tell his breathing was more shallow, likely from an injury to his ribs. She was no stranger to those unfortunately.
But his head was still attached, and he seemed to be thinking, contemplating his next move.
Someone pushed Isla out of the way, slamming her into another body. The man turned around and Isla managed to duck out of the way before the drunkard tried to throw a right hook towards her. The voices no longer cheered for Pretty Boy or The Hammer, but rather towards each other. Hands were thrown, people tossed, glass broke.
Isla had managed to weave out of the most dense part of the crowd, but found herself in another world of chaos. There was no where to go. Not unless she wanted to take a barstool to the face. So she stood where she was, a deer in headlights.
"Ouch!" She yelped when her wrist was grabbed and she was yanked, hard, out of harm's way. "What the f-"
Oh for fuck's sake. This dickhead again.
"Lucky?" She wished she had something to hit him with to get him to let go of her. "I would hardly call that luck. Where the hell are you taking me?"
She did not give him a response for the rest of his comments. Staring at him, brows furrowed, she waited until he seemed to concede.
Though, a voice caught her attention. Looks like Cross lost his charm.
Arryn? Was Arryn okay? Isla's face paled and she tried to push her way back into the crowd that blocked her view. They roared as the fight came to a climax. She hadn't made it to the front, but through a small break in the screaming mass of people, she could see that Arryn was still standing. He looked like he was in pain. She could tell his breathing was more shallow, likely from an injury to his ribs. She was no stranger to those unfortunately.
But his head was still attached, and he seemed to be thinking, contemplating his next move.
Someone pushed Isla out of the way, slamming her into another body. The man turned around and Isla managed to duck out of the way before the drunkard tried to throw a right hook towards her. The voices no longer cheered for Pretty Boy or The Hammer, but rather towards each other. Hands were thrown, people tossed, glass broke.
Isla had managed to weave out of the most dense part of the crowd, but found herself in another world of chaos. There was no where to go. Not unless she wanted to take a barstool to the face. So she stood where she was, a deer in headlights.
"Ouch!" She yelped when her wrist was grabbed and she was yanked, hard, out of harm's way. "What the f-"
Oh for fuck's sake. This dickhead again.
"Lucky?" She wished she had something to hit him with to get him to let go of her. "I would hardly call that luck. Where the hell are you taking me?"
