Shattering glass rang like the bell of an alarm through the entire tavern. It was a sound that made everyone at the very least twitch; at the very most, a timid young man stood up so quickly he knocked his chair over and tripped on it, sprawling over the dirty floor.
The mead dripping down the wall had a strong stench. But even that wasn't needed to warn Valentine of the accident. It was meant to land on his head; he simply moved in the right moment, and thus avoided taking a whole cup into the side of his head. He could feel the blood within his veins simmering and getting dangerously hot. He wanted to smash the head of that bastard that tossed a cup at him against the counter, and then promptly excuse him out of the inn with his fist.
He stood up, straightening into his full (and quite intimidating) height, and with long strides walked over to that particularly idiotic individual. What was everyone's problem? Well, if they wanted to complain, he would give them something to complain about, he thought as he grabbed the widely grinning patron by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him up. The man stank like sweat, mead, and dung. Other than that, there was nothing special about him; not even a shred of any magic to be seen within him; and individuals of this sort weren't worth wasting his energy on. He didn't want to know what was going on inside his mind, anyway - he wanted to beat him.
"What's your problem, you piece of shit?" he growled at him. The man kept grinning. It was infuriating. What exactly was the issue with this one? He sneered at him, tossing him against the wall with surprising strength, taking into account his thin frame.
----
The doors banged closed behind him. Sprawled over mud in the pouring rain, for a long moment, he could do nothing but blink in confusion. What the actual...? A low growl made its way out of his throat, and he rolled over, getting his already dirty black cloak only more caked in mud. Blood. It had a heavy, earthy taste that he couldn't say he enjoyed. It was far too familiar. With a heavy sigh, he raised himself to his elbows, and slowly pushed himself onto his knees and hands, chest heaving with forced, shaking breaths.
What was this for? What was this even for?
"F**k." he growled, noticing the torn sleeve of his coat. Another thing that was outright screwed up. He should just throw this whole cavalcade out, and go get another. He wiped one of his mud-covered hands into his shirt, leaving a long, dark smudge on it, and forced himself back up onto his feet. Curse that inn. Curse the idiots inside. He didn't even get the time to get drunk before he was kicked out, and gods know that licking at mud and own blood won't get a man out of his mind! And this damn little village, this damn little village had just one tavern, what a shitty little village with only... One tavern...
Standing up into his full height, he didn't seem bothered by the rain, whipping at his back and making his cloak flap like the wings of a great bird.
Where now, then?
