Cursing in a polyglot assortment of languages as he disentangles himself from Buchvold, the bard scrambles aside on his knees and left palm, wincing in evident pain. His other hand clutches at his right shin, having apparently barked it against the inflexible scabbard of the Borcan's longsword. At the bodyguard's query and toe-nudge, he blinks, perhaps disoriented by his tumble; then, as the swordsman's words penetrate, a look of alarm siezes hold of his features.
Ignoring Hiro's question and the hurried approach of the valet, Crow grips the doorframe to haul himself upright, then limps at once to the nearest vacant patch of tabletop, leaving his satchel behind on the floor. Shoving aside the table's contents to make room, he unslings the instrument-case from across his back, lays it out flat and strips off its rain-flecked oilskin wrapping. His slim hands frantically run over its surface, inspecting it for damage; unlatching the case, he opens it -- just a crack, as if he can't bear to look inside -- and reaches in to manually check on the contents' safety.
Everything must be in order, as his distressed expression abates, the tension in his bearing draining away. Looking much calmer, now that he's sure the collision
hasn't damaged what he carried, the bard re-latches the guitar-case and belatedly accepts the valet's offer of aid, allowing the serving-man to steady his slender frame as he staggers -- his slight limp, for the nonce, greatly exacerbated, as he grimaces with each step -- to a chair. Once seated (the instrument-case, now clutched protectively close), Crow at last looks back to Hiro, and belatedly replies:
"It
seems like ... no, no great harm done here. But your
friend there -- I didn't even see him -- is
he any the worse for wear...?"
[OOC: If anyone wants to swipe and/or snoop inside the satchel the bard left on the floor, do it quick; if not, he'll send the valet to retrieve it for him very shortly. (With the kind of tips
he's been getting tonight, the guy may as well do
something to earn them...
) ]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
Before Tarlyn's PC can drag Serd and Dadrag off to a private room, I better jump on board: this happens as they're rising to follow Seaven, so they'll know the bard has (belatedly) arrived.]
