The soldier's face contorted with rage, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, invading Michelle's personal space, his body language aggressive. "You think you can talk like that to me, little girl?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "I'll show you what a real man can do." Morris before the man could do something stupid moved with a surprising speed and interposed himself between the soldier and Michelle-Ancestor's bollocks the bastard was at least a good two heads taller than he was. Staring for a moment in disbelief that someone would dare challenge him-the man loomed over him likely expecting his size to intimidate the Yeoman Sergeant. The others were ready to jump him. Morris gave a subtle twitch of his hand to warn them off.
"That's enough lad." His voice, gravelly as it was, held a calm, steady tone-he saw another man almost as big walked up behind him, "Oh yea? And what if I say it ain't enough!" A hand was laid on his shoulder "Uh John?" The other said, causing him to turn and glare at his buddy, "You might wanna knock it off." He gestured behind him-the Barkeep was paying far too much attention to the scene they were making. "And let-"
"Lad," Morris interjected, his green eyes boring into him, "Listen to your friend." 'John' turned back to him. "You think I'm gonna just sit here and be insulted by some bitch and her little simps?" Morris listened to him, maintaining a cool look. "John...wasn't it?" The ID-SOL glared at him. "Yea, but that's sir to you!" He snarled-his friend wincing at his words. Sighing, the Yeoman Sergeant continued. "See lad, I don't how you Neplesilians do things, but back home we have this little thing called the Aletruce." That brought a confused look to both of their faces. "The hell is that-some kind of pussy-ass excuse for a bar crawl?" The big man's eye twitched, before continuing. "What it means is that places like this-" Morris gestured to the bar, "-are considered neutral territory-wars have ended and pacts struck in them." Morris's tone was calm and collected, talking in the same tone he took with his children when teaching them the knowledge they would one day need.
"And what the fuck does this have to do with this?" He snarled, invading Morris's personal space. Resisting the urge to clock the prick, he continued his voice hardening. "It means, boy" Morris explained, his tone combined with his harsh, but faint accent lending an edge to the trade language that others taking a step back, "That yer disturbin' the 'Truce."
'Take a hint boy, before this escalates any further.' Morris thought as the man stared him down-fists clenched and clearly ready to brawl...