The engorged sack of shite in question stares back at Fíadh, black eyes both shrewd and furious beneath a pair of bushy black eyebrows. It's hard to tell at a glance which emotion most dominates his face: outrage over her gall, or admiration for her gumption. The bark of laughter that follows doesn't really give a solid indication either way.

"Aye, you're right on top of discipline, aren't you," he says, and though his eyes are still boring two vengeful holes into Fíadh's skull, it's clear his words are intended for Lance. He turns away from Fíadh and points a finger in the guard captain's face. "I'll see you at dawn, Captain, bright and early."

He turns for the door and does not even pause when he glimpses Colin partly in his way; either he'll get out of the way, or wish he'd gotten out of the way, while Brickenden makes his departure from the tavern. He slams the door open hard enough to leave it creaking on its hinges, still hanging open to let in the cold air after he's gone.