Quite honestly, Constance wasn’t expecting a response from Vim. It wouldn’t have bothered the knight should Vim have said nothing, especially compared to Vim saying something that Constance disagreed with. There is no guessing with Constance whether or not he agrees with something. If one can’t read his facial cues, then one should best expect a verbal opposition. Come to think of it, there aren’t many individuals he finds agreeable to him. “I suppose you’re right. I get my thrills in other ways, but to each their own. We all have to find our little joys in life.” Constance turned his head towards Vim at the sound of his voice, though the knight gazed at Vim for a moment, waiting to see whether the man would elaborate on what he considered thrills. Seeing as how Vim most likely wouldn’t, Constance turned his head with a barely audible hum. Nothing was logically stopping the knight from prying. But, Constance’s inner workings were preventing such a thing. Why? Well because he most certainly didn’t want to be a person that asked a multitude of questions throughout the journey. ‘Why this? Why that?’, absolutely not! A man of so many questions is something Constance would regard as inferior, and he is not an inferior man to anyone. Thus, he let the conversation be.

While Constance was evidently proud of himself for the moment with the horrid vendor, should he have deemed the moment truly a great infraction, he could have handled it very differently. However, if he were to condemn a woman for assault just because he was upset about being pelted by a biscuit of all things, then that would be a bruise to his dignity. Who cries over thrown biscuits? So an eye for an eye, yes? Throwing that biscuit back was his equivalent of living out that saying. Constance was looking for something from Vim though, perhaps approval. “You certainly taught her to try selling biscuits to people.” A prideful content graced Constance, which reflected in the small, but genuine flash of a smile he had. There was such a wide array to his smiles, that it was hard to capture which ones were the product of a more normal individual. That smile he gave, it was one of those rare ones though, one that reached his eyes in a way that made them appear less devoid of color. “Just a moment.” Constance, too, halted as he furrowed his brows in a curious fashion. Turning Templar around, Constance and the horse stayed stationary as the knight's more relaxed gaze observed Vim.

From an almost wistful aura, a sudden coldness began to prickle in the air surrounding Constance as he watched Vim with the woman. The smile and smugness thrown his way from the woman sparked a flash of rage that began to now dance in his eyes. The knight’s expression was truly the epitome of ‘if looks could kill’, and the glower he took on was not sparing in expressing just how irritated he was at Vim’s current doings. Betrayal! A chorus of thoughts screamed, loud enough for Constance to blink upon hearing them. No, this isn’t betrayal, he was being undermined. Even worse! His thoughts preached.

‘I don’t take orders from a grieving piss ant,’ Constance could still hear the ring of words spoken to him from an older knight, seasoned, and those of that knight’s stature followed suit in their friends' attitude towards the new Grand Cross. Just days after claiming the position. He had tried to be nice, to be firm, and he used every technique his father would have to get his force under control. And yet, they all undermined everything he did in the first few weeks in his new position. Everything. Not again. Constance wouldn’t let that happen to him again. Not by anybody. Kindness is weakness, that’s all he’s ever learned time and time again. People do not bow to kindness, they tread over it with their selfish ungratefulness. So Constance could not be kind. It’s their fault. After all, he’s just a product of the people.

As Vim began trotting back in Constance’s direction, the knight's ferocious intensity of his blazing eyes did not waver. Silently, he watched Vim. Although not caring to note Vim’s behavior, but rather in thought of the multitude of ways he could just annihilate Vim. That’s how angry he was. “Sorry for the delay.” Constance allowed a moment of still silence to pass before he responded, clearly, but not loudly. “You should be.” The icy tone of those three words passed fluidly. There was chaos reflecting in his eyes, however, a glint of madness perhaps. Turning his head forward and gently nudging Templar forward at a slower pace, he waited for Vim to follow before he began to speak in a tone unusually devoid of emotion. Considering at least anger was always detectable in his vocalizations, but not this time. Nor was there even a faint smile to be seen on the knight. “You did something that undermined my, very generous, retaliation. While I am very curious to know whether it was deliberately, it's probably safer for you that you don’t share that information. I need you to understand something, and I will only make this clear once. The fact that I do not feel I made what I’m about to say clear in the first place is the only reason I’m sparing you.” Constance spoke in a deadly neutral tone.

“You are an accessory, an expendable body that is merely accompanying me for this journey. That is all. You are akin to being a toy. Hold my interest, appease me, and you can stay. If the toy doesn’t do as it is intended to -which is to play the part of an obedient, useful thing- then I will break you, and dispose of you. I am not a merciful man, and I do not like anyone treating me as if I’m an entity one can wrong and get away with.” Constance said, pausing so he could draw in a steadier breath compared to his borderline angry heaves prior to. That’s how he felt Vim had treated him by even going back to that woman. Vim wronged Constance. “This is your first, and last, warning Vim. Your life is in my hands, and similar to you, should you test me again your lifespan will be cut very short.” The knight concluded. Whatever trace of his brief happiness and content had completely vanished, as if it never existed.

Not once had Constance looked back to Vim after he said his peace, the knight continued forward. Green eyes did flicker occasionally to the sights around him though. While he wouldn't yield in this quest, already he was beginning to form the impression that it wouldn't be as enjoyable as he wanted it to be. A small flurry of children -no older than 10- scampered across the road just a short distance ahead of the pair, and as Constance observed, they were a rather rambunctious group of boys. A brief game of play disallowed the boys to cease from crossing fully, but rather than stay at pace, Constance slowed Templar's walk. The boys used sticks to simulate swords, and Constance was tempted to smile at the thought of when he had once done the same. They had no real skill though, simply waving and whacking the flimsy wood pieces together.

Bringing Templar to a stop upon getting closer to the boys, as soon as they noticed and scurried out of his way, Constance urged his horse forward again. The knight actually stopped for them though. Without a glare or any kind of threat. Why? Simple; he had a soft spot for innocence. Not necessarily children in general, but the aspect of innocence they possess. In some ways he envied it, but Constance fully believed that the things he did as the Grand Cross were both protecting and preserving whatever innocence was left in Victory. It’s why the knight was so warm to his hooved companion though as well. The horse is an innocent creature, merely doing just as it’s told. Truly Constance did miss the days he didn’t know any better either, but he was forced to grow up rather quickly in poverty. There was no veil of magic and comfort in the world to Constance through the years other than that of the Heroes. It’s another reason they mean so much to him, and perhaps the greatest. However, at the moment, he was still rather upset. With Vim in particular. And the knight wasn’t letting it go.

It brought Constance a mild spark of delight when his and Vim’s eyes had met. You should be afraid, screamed the knight’s frigid demeanor. Taking in Vim’s own stance, his expression, and the look in his eyes… Constance nearly broke a spiritual boundary with how deep his stare was cutting Vim. After Constance had spoken though, externally he paid no further interest in Vim. Although he was keeping a sharp ear open, just to catch even the quietest of mumbles. Mistrust and paranoia fanned the flames to his idea that if Vim were to mutter even so much as a single curse in reference to him, then Constance would gut him in the street. And whatever life was left in Vim after being sliced open, well, the knight would snuff it out by strangling Vim with his own intestines. Then Vim would forever be a stain on this street, and another addition to the crimson splatters that already dully dotted parts of Constance’s boots. It’s been some time since I’ve added to my blood splatter collection.

After the group of boys had passed, Constance wasn’t expecting anything more from Vim than silence. Until a quiet voice broke that silence. “I apologize.” And that coaxed a phantom of a smile to delicately grace Constance’s lips. An apology, in the knight’s eyes, is a confession of some sorts to wrongdoing. It’s always been important to Constance for those he does execute to understand where they’ve gone wrong, and while he was graciously refraining from executing Vim, it did please him to hear the apology. It wouldn’t smooth everything over with Constance, but in this case, it was the absolute best thing Vim could have done for himself. “You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t have undermined your authority. I promise you it won’t happen again.” Of course I’m right. Constance steadfastly refused to believe he was ever wrong. On occasion he may be, but will he admit it? Not out loud. Remaining silent, his eyes did cast to Vim momentarily as he had reached into his pack, and green eyes followed the fall of the biscuits. Oh, so we waste food now? A huff of disapproval is what Constance gave in response, turning his gaze away from Vim once more. He had half a mind to make Vim go back and eat them off the ground honestly. “I have a feeling your promises are worth about as much as those biscuits.” Constance commented in a snarkier tone, refusing to look at Vim, but knowing his voice was loud enough to clearly carry into Vim’s ears. Still angry, he refused to believe he could take Vim on his word right now. Why should he? Be naive and trust that Vim sincerely means to follow through with his promise? Not likely.

~

By evening, with the sun dipping beyond the horizon -making for what was left of a fiery sunset to blaze in the sky- Constance was done with being on a horse. He adored Templar, but the knight was a bit more accustomed to walking than riding. Considering most of his time was spent in the capital of Victory, so more often than not his feet were his chosen method of transportation.There were so many more hours upon hours of riding ahead too, and Constance did not want to burn his tolerance out so soon. It didn’t help that Constance had already gotten greatly agitated another three times over the course of the day trying to navigate this filthy, horrid place! The map hardly detailed every stupid street in Jubilee, which meant Constance had to actually converse with some of the lowly people here. And not being comfortable with allowing Vim to do any talking, one can imagine how Constance doing the talking can be if he doesn’t like what he hears from others. Or if he’s talking with a being he feels is disgustingly ignorant and greatly beneath him. At best, Constance was condescending through each encounter.

Everything was just so unfamiliar to the knight. And he wasn’t liking it. It made him far more flippant in terms of irritability, and already being sparked so early in the day with Vim and the biscuit-bitch didn’t help. Neither did bearing witness to at least a handful of crimes today, and it took biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood to deter him from saying something. As well as from doing something. It eventually shifted the focus of his more aggressive mood from Vim as the day progressed though. And as Constance was debating stopping in the area he and Vim were currently in, his eyes shifted to a questionable sight of what was perhaps stables? It hardly looked upkept. Observing the entirety of his surroundings, Constance came to the conclusion that everything in this area was in a far more unkempt state than it should be. It matched some of the individuals he’s seen over the day however. The scraggly, untamed appearance of most of the men, and not to mention Constance has yet to see a single woman that could pass off as attractive. Not that he was specifically trying to eye a female easy on the eyes, but amid the sea of the trollish looking women of Jubilee, any prettier individual would stand out greatly.

Hesitantly, Constance pulled Templar to the side of the street they were currently on, contemplating whether it was worth stopping for long. And if so, where? What place would be suitable for Constance to be in that would allow him to spare his tongue from anymore biting? Everywhere looked terrible, and everyone looked shifty and shady. I hate this place! I hate these people! I loathe it all! “You said you’ve traveled through Jubilee before,” Constance stated with mild agitation, his gaze tethering itself to Vim, “would you suggest a stop in this area, or do you think it’s best to keep going?” The knight inquired with a raised brow, trying to bite back the feeling of mistrust he still had for Vim. Being so out of his element however coaxed Constance into a state of being slightly more open minded then usual though, and if Vim truly had experience with this place -and surviving it- then perhaps his input would be useful here. That is Vim’s purpose, isn’t it? Being useful to Constance? Like a squire. Besides, Constance was not in the mood to speak ‘idiot’ with anyone else in terms of finding the best routes through Jubilee, and among it the better places to check out and rest at. Vim surely has some knowledge of where it would be best to situate themselves, and if not… it’s Vim’s turn to speak with a moron to find out where such a place would be.

In truth Constance did burn through patience quicker than he would like, which is an aspect to his make-up he has yet to work on. Irritation and burnout though are also things experienced when Constance is in an environment that bores him, or doesn’t challenge him in the way he enjoys. Excelling and succeeding through challenge are things that motivate Constance, and more often than not coming out as a victor in confrontations provide that sense of success he seeks. Wasting his time, for example, on the inhabitants of Jubilee was pointless in his eyes. The majority of who he has encountered and observed just aren’t worth his efforts, as the greatest challenge he’s facing is restraining himself. It kept him busy however; actively and consciously choosing to not act in a habitual manner in the face of annoying individuals and crime. From the standpoint of knightly morality -and very much his own-, he did feel inclined to intervene despite the lack of care or notice from acknowledged authority in Jubilee. Although Constance already foresaw himself responding in a manner that would have placed him in positions that would not favor him.

If Constance was better suited to adapting to certain circumstances, he would have felt more confident in his decision of where to stay and dine for the night. However, he’s in an unfamiliar place, and would be staying in an unfamiliar space. His manor on his smaller, but earned property was very much precisely tailored to his liking. From organization, furniture, and aesthetic, they were all things he was in control of in his own home. Here? No such control was in his grasp, except for the control of putting an ounce of faith into Vim’s own past experiences with this place, and hoping Vim was able to make a better informed decision. As Vim answered, it assured Constance enough to accept the proposal of the place Vim had in mind. “It sounds suitable enough.” Constance replied, leading Templar forward at a slower stride to keep pace with Vim’s mare.

The one building that separates itself rather greatly from the surrounding structures is what Constance naturally assumed to be the place Vim had been referring to. While decent in terms of its architecture and overall appearance, it fell a bit short in meeting Constance’s standards. Which of course, almost made him feel a ping of guilt, as at one point in his life this would have looked like a castle to him in contrast to living standards he had once had. The knight did throw a brief glance at Vim as he pointed towards the arch, which Constance was tempted to take as Vim telling him what to do, but instead he brushed it off and nudged Templar to proceed. Constance was conflicted in terms of leaving Templar -and his things with the horse- for very long. From what he’s witnessed, people had thieving hands in this place, and regardless Constance wasn’t used to having anything of his even remotely open to being scavenged off of. The several other housed horses -and goat- didn’t soothe his concern either, as compared to them all, Templar was certainly a breed of horse that reflected a rider of status. The knight could actually live with his things being taken, because he could always replace those . . . after dealing with a thief. However, the two things he could not live with being harmed or taken were his sword at his side, and his horse who he genuinely cared for.

Dismounting from the large horse in a quick movement, well he sorely regretted that fast movement as his feet hit the ground. While it wasn’t audible, the ‘pop’ sensation Constance felt in his hip earned a mild grimace. Twenty-three years old and already my joints annoy me. In a twisted sense of humor, if he were to base his lifespan on his father’s, he’d say he’s already middle aged. Wouldn’t that mean he’s due for a mid-life crisis then? Purposely the knight avoided contemplating that thought though. Glancing at Vim with a lack of interest, Constance didn’t respond. He was sure this place was the best he could expect, but quite honestly he didn’t care if it was a guild or even a wealthy bawd that owned it. It was suitable enough, Constance would leave it at that. Watching Vim for a moment with the attendant, that relatively meaningless encounter did spur the idea Constance now had for how Vim could fully make up the biscuit encounter to him.

When the knight was ready, he turned to walk towards the door, habitually placing his hand on the hilt of his sword in a subtle display of ‘don’t try me’. The waft of various scents from varying foods washed over Constance as he stepped through the threshold, which wasn’t completely unwelcome, but the amount of people inside were highly unsightly. Most larger congregations of people were not reciprocated well by Constance though, with the exception of gatherings for public executions. Even then, it's the noise masses of people tend to generate that can overwhelm his senses. The dancing Constance had watched for a moment, but it wasn’t an art he’s ever participated in unless he’s had to. And unfortunately, some events hosted by his superiors did require it. It hardly seemed fair to force ‘fun’ onto Constance, and yet the knight allowed it to be forced to appease his superiors. His orbs switched down to Vim to observe the shorter man, and he made the observation that they seemed oppositely affected by the space they were in. Whereas Vim appeared enlivened, Constance’s tenser body language reflected he was uncomfortable. At the mention of a table, Constance turned his sights up to scan what he could of the room through the sea of bodies. As Vim momentarily left, Constance only tapped his hilt in mild agitation as some individuals fared too close to his personal space. Unlike Victory, nobody purposely kept a distance. And that the knight was currently missing.

Having looked towards Vim and the woman he was in conversation with, he caught enough to see the woman point, and his own eyes followed her finger before they settled on an empty table a fair distance away. Upon Vim’s return, Constance was already on the verge of moving as Vim spoke. “I’m only interested in dinner, you can indulge in whatever else it is you like.” Was all Constance replied before his brisk strides carried him through the crowd. There were a few snarled “excuse you” comments that came from his lips to individuals in his way, but that was the worst he did to achieve his goal of making it to the table. Other than purposely shouldering some people a little rougher than necessary as he passed. At the table, Constance chose the seat that allowed him to easily survey the majority of the room. Silence and an unreadable expression engulfed the knight for a moment as he carefully evaluated everything around him. Switching his gaze to Vim next, and allowing pettiness to reach his eyes, Constance loosely clasped his hands together on the table. “I’ve noticed you have plenty of coin it seems to throw around,” he spoke evenly, a small smile tugging at his lips now, “so I assume you have the means to afford everything we’ll be needing tonight, right?” It wasn’t a question, Constance was telling Vim that he expected Vim to cover everything tonight as a way to make amends.

With his sights shifting from Vim, Constance now was looking to at least catch the eyes of one of the women bouncing from table to table. And once he did, the knight flashed an inviting smile her way to coax her into coming over. Of all the means Constance can use to get what he ultimately wants, he can certainly wear the types of smiles that radiate charismatic energy, and thus he wore one now. Once the woman came over, Constance tilted his head slightly as he sat back. “Would I be correct to assume you serve tomato bisque soup, miss?” He inquired, faintly arching a brow to accompany his smile. “Yes, you would be correct.” She smiled back. “Delightful, then it seems you know all of which I’ll be having.” The knight responded, as both pairs of eyes then switched to Vim. Constance’s choice in a meal certainly didn’t seem like it would be enough to satisfy him, but it was. The young man just had a naturally smaller appetite, and lighter things serve him better than heavy meals or an abundance of sides and desserts. So, maybe having Vim pay wasn’t exactly much of a punishment, but Constance wouldn’t request things he had no intention of consuming. That would be wasteful, and Constance was not a person that could just let things go to waste either. Which is admittedly an odder and less severe flaw, but one nonetheless.

Spaces containing livelier energy are starkly overrated. For certain a belief Constance would take to the grave. The noise was irritating enough, but yet comes the greatest source of vexation; the heat. The movements of the crowd, the amount of bodies, it all came together to generate a sickly source of warmth. The knight had felt it when navigating to the table, and he felt it even more so whilst sitting. He knew it possible that he was merely telling himself this place and the elements within were worthy of his vexation as a deflection to a more deeply rooted cause of irritation, but he didn’t ponder that possibility for long. Not when he had Vim to contemplate. The agreeable fellow who said little, yet seemingly looked to be a person that could thrive -flourish even- in this setting. The desire in Vim’s demeanor would suggest he enjoyed settings such as this. But why? What pleasures would a man such as Vim derive from a setting like this?

And of course, Vim was happy to pay. The knight merely hummed in response before his sights moved elsewhere, the sound communicating that he had already anticipated that answer from Vim. Constance had been more than confident that Vim wouldn’t so much as bat a lash at the more or less demand he had given for Vim to cover everything. The knight gravely wanted to think Vim may be a source of predictability in the world that seemed to recently be growing around him, yet the more sensible side to him wished to not jump to forming concrete impressions of Vim for now. Especially after observing Vim within this crowded place.

Constance has never grown -nor could he will himself to- an appetite for food out of spite. An appetite for things that resides within the realm of vengeance and justice was something he possessed for certain, but surrounding himself with bouts of food he knew he couldn’t consume just seemed… pointless. Wasteful. Constance found that working men and women were typically more honorable beings, and it just seemed wrong to surround himself with, and waste, food another individual worked hard to provide to him as a consumer. Maybe it’s a lingering frame of thought from his more humble upbringing though. But both respect and a silent appreciation is all that Constnce held for those that dedicate themselves completely to their duties, as he’s a creature who considers himself unequivocally devoted and diligent to his own duties as well.

What Vim had ordered wasn’t something Constance really dwelled on, as he could have cared less. The only thing that would have actually surprised Constance was if Vim had asked to order one of everything on the menu. The knight expected that kind of frivolous spending from the men and women he served, but not from anyone else. “If you don’t mind it, I think I’ll have a look around and enjoy myself a bit. That’s what places like this are for, isn’t it? I’ll try to be out as soon as our food’s out.” Constance personally didn’t find there to be much to enjoy, and he was tempted to justify revoking Vim’s privilege of ‘having fun’, but ultimately the Grand Cross bid Vim a sarcastic reply. “Have fun,” were the words Constance spoke, but his tone suggested that he really meant ‘I sincerely hope something unfortunate happens to you’. Constance’s gaze soon shifted from Vim’s disappearing mass, and furthermore to the multitude of people. None were the same, but most -if not all- were sharing one thing together; a good time. Except for the knight himself of course, whose orbs merely flickered over the crowd in subtle disdain.

As the server returned with the food and single beer, Constance silently accepted it at the table. There was no show of smiles or charm this time, as the knight got what he wanted. He saw no real point in pursuing a charismatic facade, and perhaps the female was slightly put off at the change in Constance’s demeanor, but nothing further transpired. Tuning out the entirety of the noise surrounding the blond was nearly impossible, so he couldn’t even pretend he was enjoying a quiet meal. So, bitterly, Constance sipped from his bowl. Despite all the things he could complain and be sour about though, he genuinely enjoyed the soup he was modestly indulging in. That brief feeling of solitary enjoyment, however, was interrupted as his eyes moved up to catch the sight of Vim reemerging -offering a nod of greeting to the knight. A gesture Constance did not return. Setting down his bowl, with only half of its contents consumed, his eyes faintly narrowed from Vim to his company. “I hope you don’t mind, I had to come back to get my coinpouch - seems I left it here. Just buying a round for a few people. These are Mercy, Creed, Liberty, Valiant, and - what was your name? Patience, right. This is Sir Constance.” Constance’s expression remained unmoving from its faintly irritated and unimpressed hold, although his green gaze did linger its penetrating stare onto the man who came across wary. The general lack of consideration from the group as to who Constance was only stirred a stronger sense of irritation from the knight, but still he said nothing. Nor showed any presence of social warmth.

“Could we get six beers over here please?” Relenting from a scoff of disapproval, Constance glanced at the beer that had already arrived, and only shook his head in a subtle manner. It would be even more difficult to train his vision on something ahead and distant and pretend there weren’t six people in close proximity to him right now, so all he could do was pray Vim would take his parade of idiots elsewhere very soon. “Ah, I forgot I had one. Well, that’s fine, we’ll save it for later.” This time Constance turned his head away from the individuals closest to him so he could comfortably give a roll of his eyes, but rude gestures were far more polite than the rude comments he had festering on his tongue, threatening to spew.

“Aren’t you having one?” Turning his attention to one of the females he didn’t care to learn the name of, a thin smile finally cracked on the knight’s face, just to demonstrate his growing upset -which anyone in Victory would have read as a courteous warning sign. “No, no I am not. I don’t drink.” His voice was just as thin as his smile, with an audible strain to retain its neutral ring.

The scoff of two men earned Constance to shift his attention to them now, and the tapping of Constance’s forefinger on the table began. “Do you really not?” “I really do not.” Constance was quick to quip, hoping the rush in his answers would be enough to get the message that their presence was unwanted across.

“Three gold says he doesn’t touch a drop all night.” Constance dropped his smile and turned his head inhumanely fast to Vim, with just a very brief expression of confusion before a wave of rage settled into his harsh stare. Was Vim really betting against him? In front of him? The audacity. Constance hated that it was a safe bet on Vim’s part, and Constance loathed that Vim felt comfortable enough to bet on his actions. And that loathing seeped through his hardened glare. “Fine, sounds like a deal, then.” Constance didn’t care to look at the man who just spoke, but his jaw did clench as he ridiculed himself for even considering the idea of acting in a rash manner. Above all else he didn’t want Vim to think he could win off of predictable behavior, because that felt like a hold of power in Vim’s grasp to the knight. And it did not sit well with Constance in the slightest.

Abruptly standing himself up from his seat, Constance’s stare remained fixed on Vim. Everything about Constance's demeanor was now completely threatening; from the slow, calculated steps in Vim’s direction, and the smile that sang ‘run’ that had upturned at his lips. The other people Vim had drug over were no longer of importance to Constance, and he made that clear by his disregard to so much as glance in their direction. When Constance did come to a stop close to Vim, his eyes flicked over towards the mug at the table, filled with a substance Constance had no real desire to consume. But spite was coursing through his veins, and spite urged him to extend his hand out to grasp the mug. “Three gold says he doesn’t touch a drop all night,” Constance mocked, reeling his hand grasping the beer closer to himself as his gaze moved back to meet Vim.

Constance hated what he was about to do, but he hated Vim even more so at the moment. It’s Vim’s fault he’s reduced to doing this after all. And while every fiber in the knight’s making wanted to hesitate and lock up as Constance drew the mug closer to his mouth, he would absolutely not let Vim grasp a line of satisfaction or power over him. Now, Constance had never truly drank before, but he did know that his own knights typically drank as fast as they could; which made sense to Constance, if the liquid was as foul tasting as he thought it was. So that was the only approach Constance knew to take. It was only when the mug finally drew to a stop at Constance’s mouth and he took his first drink- or rather, an unwisely large gulp- that his eye contact with Vim broke with the tight closing of his eyes. The knight sputtered a small cough into the mug, and fought the insistent urge to reel his head as far away as possible from the horrid tasting substance. For Heroes’ sake, why do people choose to drink this? It was an absolutely absurd concept to Constance as to how people actually enjoy this.

However, as much as his thoughts protested indulging further, Constance had a point to prove. Keeping his eyes closed, and holding his breath, Constance did the only thing he thought plausible; drink the contents as fast as possible. He didn’t want to stop at just a mere sip, or a couple gulps, no- Constance wanted to make Vim feel stupid for making such a confident bet by drinking everything in the mug. And when he finished, Constance practically slammed the mug back down on the table with a deep exhale in both internal victory, and relief that he was done. “I think you owe someone three gold now.” Constance remarked, giving a slight shiver of disgust from the aftertaste. He had been so self-consumed that he had actually forgotten the entire existence of the other men and women at the table until he turned around, but they seemed to still be an excited bunch -particularly the man who had won the bet. Constance didn’t quite grasp what they would be excited about in particular, but he knew he wanted to gag. Worse than that, he wanted to vomit. Finishing the few steps back to his own seat, Constance had to really focus on upkeeping a face of neutrality; he had to pretend that what he just did was an effortless win. But as his gaze hopped from face to face, he came to the unsettling conclusion that alcohol did not sit well with him.

Was the room heating up more to anyone else?

The heat; it ate at Constance like a starved leach. If it weren’t for the knight’s attention being split between maintaining a facade of control and surviving the intense nausea that began to flood his system, he surely would have barked at the group to shoo as they sat around him. Slowly but surely a warm flush began to breach whatever surface of dominion he had over himself; he could have sworn he felt the faint break of a sweat beginning to dew at his forehead. The blond’s eyes continued to focus in the direction of whoever began speaking, though there wasn’t much of a conscious presence behind those looks. Constance’s mind was elsewhere- battling this internal sickliness and a regret he was far from used to experiencing.

“How do you feel?”

That voice had collectively gathered Constance’s attention from the depth of his own internal conflict, but only because the mere sound of Vim’s voice evoked some kind of emotion from the knight. Maybe irritation. Maybe something more. Whatever flickered in those green orbs though was snuffed out by a glossed over neutrality- his lips just beginning to part to respond, though upon finding his own voice delayed, it made for the opportunity for someone to overshadow the thought he put into replying to Vim.

“How do you think he feels?” It was the laughter that followed that incited the knight’s lips to press back together once more; this time an expression composed of both upset and defense being the driving force behind the clench in his jaw. No matter how Constance felt- he didn't appreciate ever feeling like he was the subject of laughter. “I’m fine.” Constance uttered in a deeper tone, only briefly switching his gaze in Vim’s direction. Quickly the knight began growing uncomfortable in his own seat, meaning him to shift a bit in pursuit of any form of comfort possible. “Not your first one, is it?” A twitch of his lips that threatened to turn into a scowl was the initial response Constance had for such a question. Constance didn’t want to openly say this is his first time having alcohol, albeit he was mildly sure that was obvious. It certainly didn’t help that the ale he consumed was of a much stronger variety then any first timer should ever drink, let alone chug. “It is,” the knight admitted in a begrudging manner, “I’ve never really understood the appeal of drinking- I understand it far less now.” Speaking the words that were the first to come into thought, Constance averted his gaze to the table as he sat back in his chair.

It was an unpopular opinion judging from just the feel of the looks he was getting from the men and women nearest him- void Vim, whose gaze was mostly ignored by the knight. It took several minutes, but that nauseous feeling began to evolve into something Constance’s mind screamed was wrong to feel. He felt lighter… but also heavy? It was a strange sensation, alarming to the knight, and his eyes blinked to try and suppress his face from giving away how uncomfortable he currently felt in his own skin. No, this isn’t something to fear. It’s different, but Constance didn’t want to give a non-living substance the satisfaction of scaring him. Still, he didn’t quite feel right… or on the contrary, did he feel great?

Constance clicked back into the mostly trivial conversation around him at the mere mention of something that always got him brewing; religion. One of the women at the table had made it a point to comment on the relics dangling around Vim’s neck, before Constance was sure she had gone on a few minute tangent about her own swaying beliefs- hopping from one practicing of faith to another in search of the ‘one that speaks to her’. Not that hers mattered to the knight as he interrupted her babbles. “Please- everything coming out of your mouth is so mind numbingly dull that even I’m willing to pray to a deity of sound to shut you up,” Constance stated surprisingly calmly following the eye roll that led up to his comment. “Faith isn’t something you go looking for anyway, it’s something that finds you in your darkest hours. Of course the one true faith found me a long time ago; The Heroes… I don’t believe they’re really gone. Maybe lost, but not gone.” Constance paused as he gestured between himself and Vim while still moving his gaze over the others at the table. “And we have been chosen to bring them back; if that’s not an example of faith finding its way to someone, then what is?” Loose lips apparently came with the trade of an inebriated Constance, though he hardly put much thought into how much he was saying at the moment.

Except he was met with laughter. “Chosen!” One of the women -Mercy maybe- repeated as if it were the funniest thing she had ever heard in her entire life. Had they disregarded everything Constance had just said? “You think this is a joke?” Constance’s growl through his smile had come out a bit slower than he had intended, but he felt fine. Great. And his gaze turned to Vim to put the man in the hot seat. “Go ahead and tell them Vim- we’re chosen, aren’t we?” A part of Constance knew he had last some sense of his intimidation just from the vibrating feeling flowing through his veins that was hindering certain aspects of himself, but it didn’t change the truth. Constance couldn’t recall whether the man at the tavern in Victory had specifically warned against mentioning their quest- but Constance was running on impulse and a lack of much thought, spurring him to jump to his next act. “I’ve got the map to prove it- the map that leads to them. The Heroes.” Constance stated in a rather smug manner, tilting his head enough at the others to see whether he had drawn enough interest in the others to feed his sense of superiority. The map wasn’t exactly on the knight’s person, and he wasn’t all too confident in his ability to move from his seat without feeling a bit off when it came to his balance, but in any case he could just wave Vim off to get it from Templar’s pannier. Vim was obedient like that- Constance was sure.