This time, the sullen halforc's head slowly moves as she stares at her, one corner of her mouth twitching into a smile at what Red said and how she chuckled. She growls and says, "WHEN yeh do, nobody better heckle. Asmodeus' arse, theyya better give yeh ah, uh, clap their 'ands off. Else I clobber 'em."
Slowly, she lets go of her stein and looks at her large, callused hand, curling it back into a knuckle-crackling fist, then opening her hand again. "That wouldn't be right, though, would it? ...Would it?"
Rico slowly nods, the heartbeat's smile not fading, for once. "Be't as't may, yeh'll 'ave my claps."
Nodding gravely at Setsuna, Rico stands, drains her flagon, slams it back down and bows. "And I'm sorreh fer bein' ihhopsitable an' drunk off meh arse."
The glare returns as, standing, she spots Father Frakker over the chaos of the crowd, speaking animatedly with what seems to be a vagabond orcblood pugilist? entertainer? pilgrim?
Frak me, not on me toes. Shoulda kept tabs on these buggers... Scarzni-ganger connected? Mebbe, mebbe not. Still, holy day, truce day.
Rico gathers up her wide-brimmed hat, meets her friendly nemesis' eyes, bares her teeth and executes a mocking curtsy. She resumes her standard scowl but tips her hat at Cipriano's companion. Standing up with hardly a wobble from the tableful of drinks, she straightens her greatcoat with a tug, nods gravely at Red and says, "Deh Padre calls, Red. Looks like ye'll hafta grace deh breeze wit' yer voice summ utha time. Tsk."