"I am not a Niflgaard!"
A man with a cock pheasant tail feather pinned to his velvet hat muttered impatiently. As an afterthought, he spat into the swirling water at the rear of the barge.
"You see, a self-proclaimed Niflgaard wouldn't do what I just did. Spit, puh."
As he spoke, he leaned with his elbows on the barge's railing and spat even farther, showing it off to the person who had just questioned him.
Lann, Ged, and Regis stood a short distance away.
The higher vampire pulled out a handkerchief from his shoulder bag and wiped it across his M-shaped hairline.
"Mr. 'Not a Niflgaard', with the wind and waves as they are, I'm a bit uncertain whether the splash that just hit my face was from the stern or your saliva. In other words... could we maintain a bit of civility here?"
The barber-surgeon's manners never failed to amaze Lann and Ged; even in such a scenario, his tone was slow, unhurried, and steady.
