Short Story; Black-Eye's Tavern

A good day's battle, it was all any of the Knights of the Runic Circle could hope for.  After all, when in the business of hunting down shades, warlocks, and the more vile sorts of necromancer a fight was pretty much guaranteed.  Of course, with more than a few hundred years under even the most junior member's belt it was hard to actually get a decent fight. 
Which made the conversations all the more interesting. 
"YoHo!  I be Snarkbeard the fierce.  Ye be afeared of me army of dancing skeleton pirates."
"Haha!  I remember that guy.  it was like a bad theme park."
"More like a bad movie to me, Altar."
"Why do you always do that Lt?"
"Do what?"
"Disagree with the captain."
"Because he's always wrong."
"No he's not.  Man's never lead us wrong before in his life."
Both Kaithoras and Gwen stopped as they heard the thud of a heavy steel boot against the tavern's wooden floors. 
"Enough."  The plate clad captain of the Knights turned to his third and continued, "Thank you for the vote of confidence Kai, but Gwen's right, I am often wrong."
"Don't sell yourself..."  The captain held up his hand to silence his third officer.  Kaithoras was a good soldier, and a hard worker, but he tended to be a bit of a fanboy. 
"Go easy on him; after all, you need all the help you can get captain."
"Now Gwen, we both know full well how much better the team has operated since I was put in command."
"Of course it works better, there was no team before you were in command."
"And what did you do before you joined?"
"Ate from a silver spoon on a seat made entirely from the fifth vertebrae of smarmy peasants like you."
" Well I trust that all that hard work made their bones soft and comfortable for you milady."
To an outsider it would have appeared harsh, but Altar was renowned for being able to keep smiling under her constant barrage.  And while she'd have never admitted it, everyone knew that on the rare occasions she managed to actually bother him she would apologize and make amends on the spot. 
"You would think so, wouldn't you.  But I've always prefered smarmy peasant because they are so pleasantly firm.  If I wanted soft I'd go find a dull nobleman."
Kaithoras tilted his head pointedly at the rest of the group.  It was a well known gesture to those gathered.  Most of the younger knights believed the gesture meant that the captain and the Lieutenant were about to have a row.  But Kaithoras and the other, more experienced knights had fought and travelled alongside the two long enough to know how very wrong that belief was. 
"Well, I don't know about that."
"Don't know about what?"  She leaned forward as he passed her a mug.  It wasn't beer, neither of them actually drank.  But half of the appeal of being in a dark, smoky tavern was looking like you could kill with a prolonged stare while drinking out of a mug that had likely only been cleaned using the spit and elbow grease of a large bald man who stayed behind a counter that probably hid a very powerful weapon.  Gosh darnit, if they were going to be running around killing nefarious villains, they were going to celebrate by hanging out in places that only existed to be hung out in by people who worked in the business of deposing villains.  These sorts of places were surprisingly common actually, the sort of people who got payed to help a villain become a ruler figured out that they could hang out in these places and become good enough friends with local heroes that they wouldn't get killed later.  And since the later group of people tended to have money, bad taverns had become the staple of many a local economy. 
"The nobles I know may be soft, but they are never dull."
"That's because a peasant like you has no reason to consort with the rich and powerful."
"Lack of a reason has never stopped me from consorting with nobles before."  He sat down and leaned in.  The smell of artificial smoke, dryed blood, and fresh vomit gave the place the exact sort of air it was aiming for.  The blood was their enemy's, and the vomit was from some poor kid who was probably about to set off on a quest to depose some villain.  Adan decided to have pity on the kid and gave Astelle the signal to go take care of him. 
"Did you just order Astelle to go take care of that distraught yokel?"
He smiled.  Never missed a beat, his Gwestwind.  She wasn't annoyed, she was never as annoyed as she seemed.  And while a lot of people thought her insufferable and antagonistic, he knew she didn't really mean it. 
"She's been dying for a a solo run for a while now.  He's no professional hero, she's hardly ready to tackle the big dogs; I figured it would be a good start for her."
"You gave an order while I was talking to you."
"My apologies, that was inconsiderate milady."
"Don't 'milady' me.  You just ignored me."
He grinned and leaned over the table, his armor clanking as it shifted.  "Not that I did, but what would you do if I had, Gwestwind?"
She leaned across the table.  He could feel her warm breath through his armor. 
"You know how I feel about you using that name."
She leaned in a little closer.  The inches between them diminished slowly as they leaned closer. 
"Your name is Gwestwind?"  A large muscle-bound mercenary had stepped up beside them.  Altar recognized him as one of their most recent victory's guards.  He couldn't help but feel bad for the guy; he didn't mean it badly and he had no way of knowing what was going to happen next. 
The man was unconscious well before he hit the ground.  The entire tavern fell silent and looked over.
"I don't like it when people call me that!"
"Lieutenant, that was out of line."
She relaxed her muscles instantly and sat back down.  "Sorry sir."
"We need to work on your self control sweetheart."
"Yes sir."
"Now where were we?"
She stood up and brushed the bartender's counter.  The dust turned to fat gold coins as she passed it.  It would cover damages, and in all fairness people getting hit across the room was good for a place like this' reputation.  She turned aside and wove past a few curious onlookers before stopping in front of the stairs.  Altar rose and went to follow her.  Punching people randomly was not acceptable, but he should have known better than to use her name in public anyways.  It was, more or less, his fault. 
Although judging by the way she swung her fiery hair as she turned up the stairs, she was going to want more than an apology. 
He spotted Kaithoras coming back over before he managed to reach the stairs. 
"Lieutenant?"
"You're whipped captain."
"Kai, shut up and get to work."
The wiry elf grabbed the nearest patron and lifted him over his head.  He winked at the captain before glowering at the hapless drunk. 
"What's that you said about my mother you scuthering bundle of scuzz-ridden fleas?"

Altar made it to the stairs before the fight began to reach full swing, ducking as he took hold of the hand rail to avoid a thrown bottle.  He tapped the creaky wooden door before entering.  A weaving of the silence of the harvest breeze and the solitude of the prarrie stone would protect them from anyone who wished to intrude, although he knew Gwestwind's magic would protect them far better than anything he could manage.  proper magic was just more flexible than runes.
"Took you long enough.  No more interruptions?"
She was sitting on the bed, by the smell of burnt ozone she'd already managed to purge it of anything small and alive. She was quick, besides crisping every bedbug and maggot in the room she'd managed to fluff the pillows and hang up her bow and quiver on the hat rack. 
"I told Kai to handle things."
"I had the feeling, things were starting to sound pretty rough before you sealed the door."
He smirked and unstrapped his sword, hanging it up next to her bow.  She rolled her eyes and stood up. 
"Yeah, you know how I like it.  Shall we get to it then?  You know how I like being kept waiting."
He reached over and took her hand.  "I also know how twisted you are about admitting when you like something."
"Babe, I hate you."
"Yeah, and you hate it when I say your name?" 
He stepped in closer and kissed her.  She pulled him deeper in and clung to him, using the gaps in his armor as handholds.  She pulled away and took a breath before hoarsely admitting "I Hate it when you say my name."