She wasn’t opposed to raucous laughter, the smell of booze, and the stench of sweat. But there was a limit to how close she let it get to her. At the moment, the leering sailor stumbling towards her with the cheers of his drunken friends pushing him forward was encroaching on her space. His weaving path came to a fumbling stop at the tip of her dagger. If he blinked his eye, he would lose eyelashes. The raucous laughter urged the sailor on, but the sailor, despite his booze addled state, was beginning to think his friends were assholes. Shealtiel smiled as the sailor retreated with slow unsure steps. She replace the dagger with the same sly grace she had drawn it with. You had to be watching to even see the move, and even if you had hawk’s eyes you would miss the grim cheerfulness in her dark eyes. It was a good bar for shady deals and filthy jobs. She was in the mood for a filthy job, something that made her blood pound and her blade drip blood. Her lithe body slouched against the wall, coiled muscled disguised by loose fabric that covered hidden blades. She wanted a job, and she had a feeling she was going to get one tonight. A smiled played across her face, it was directed at no one but it still made the three remaining sailors sober a little. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, no, it was the smile a jackal makes before it rips your throat out. That was fitting in a way, that’s really all she was. A jackal of war.