Stable Manager Bede Gallagher grinned triumphantly as the dice rolled his way at last and he managed to win his money back - with a tidy little profit of about a gold, to boot. He announced that it was time he left the game - to all the other players\' chagrin, since he\'d been losing steadily and lining their pockets for the last hour, only to rob them of their profit at the last minute - knowing how to quite when he was ahead (even if it was barely).
With an affable, dimpled grin, he brushed his golden locks back and stood, pocketing his money and laughing as the other four men attempted to cajole him to sit down again. The curls bounced as he shook his head and leaned to the left a little, so that he could slip most of the coins into the inner seam pocket of his dark brown long pants (where it couldn\'t be taken easily), which sat upon his right hip. That done, he retucked his beige shirt - it was loose and billowy, with a strig tying the vertical opening at his chest together - and righted his vest. He would get his coat at the door.
"So long, gentlemen!" he chuckled once more, swinging his long leg over his chair like it was a horse, politely tucking the furniture back in, and heading for the exit. Only once he was upright did it occur to him that he\'d indulged quite generously in the ale as he gambled and he found his legs were a little wobbly. He also discovered (after a few wobbly steps) that there was a rather energetic fight going on, and it was between him and his goal. Undeterred, Gallagher ducked his head down and attempted to barrel his way through the melée, finding it all rather amusing in his inebriated state.
Unfortunately, he wasn\'t able to ride out the buffeting as well as he\'d expected to; he was smacked into by a man flying backwards, which sent him careening in entirely the wrong direction and straight for a corner table. His arms splaying forward did nothing to halt his progress as he collided heavily with the object, sending a chair and the table in two different directions. The worst part was that the table shifted - and shoved straight into a perfectly innocent woman sitting there, nursing her ale and minding her own business.
Gallagher looked up at Alithia through the curtain of blonde curls obscuring his vision, more or less sprawled over the table he\'d knocked into her. If ever there was a time to regret having one too many ales, it was now. "I\'m terribly sorry, miss," he apologised in his deep voice, wincing sympathetically as he attempted to straighten up. "I got bumped... er... I didn\'t hurt you, did I?"