Pamela
Banderwalls snorted in a half-laugh as though Leanna had said something funny before pausing for a gulp of his grog to reinforce his courage before starting again. "Yes, yes, you've a pretty face girl," He insisted, even going so far as to reach out with one stubby index finger to playfully toy with a renegade strand of her bright hair. "Why don't ya come join me an' my fellas over at my table?" The big man asked in a flagrant invitation. "I'll keep ya warm, and you can keep *Me* Warm. I'll even teach ya a banty or two.."

It was likely only here that it became obvious that Banderwalls had mistaken her for being a townswoman and not a fellow sailor, new to her trade or not. Perhaps deep enough into his grog, he had convinced himself that he was a mysterious and appealing figure that should appeal to a young woman such as herself and not a filthy, drunken, conniving pig of a pirate.

There were sympathetic glances from the barmaid nearby and the bartender himself, but neither of them were going to step up at this point to interfere; perhaps they had seen this unfold before, either successful or not, but it clearly distasteful to them both.

Tarias also watched from his own position at the very table that Banderwalls had left. The half-elf knew the man for what he was, a disgusting excuse for a second mate on a disgusting excuse of a ship of pirates that hadn't made a decent score in weeks, and his own temper was rising equal to the sympathy he felt for the young woman, but accosting Banderwalls would ruin his position aboard the *Wind Raider*, and this made him hesitate. Tarias also seemed to sense something else at hand– that perhaps this young woman wasn't quite the helpless damsel who had accidentally wandered into the sailor pub by mistake this evening. He waited, watching rather intently.
Lydia
Leanna sighed. She had encountered men like this before. Too many. Whether they were in rags, a uniform, or even a crown, entitlement and unearned bravado radiated from them. But she wasn't a quiet little noble anymore. No, she was a sailor, no, a pirate. 

The thick stubby fingers brushed past her smooth cheek and looped a stray strand of her hair. She looked up and saw the unnerving looks from the barmaid and even the stout innkeep looked like he would rather not intervene. Leanna looked around. She certainly wasn't about to fight him, not here, she couldn't draw attention to herself around so many Port-Seville trading docks. But she wasn't about to let him sully her dinner with his advances. She was stuck. 

Leanna held one hand over her bowl and felt the anger in her rise as he continued to prod her for attention. She looked down to see her stew bubble as the magic rose in her. She calmed her breathing. Willed herself to stay calm.

"Oh!" She turned on a rehearsed smile, one honed from years at debutante balls and other boring events. She turned to the looming brute beside her. "I love shanties."

As she turned, Leanna spilled the remains of her piping hot stew into the lap of the drunken lout.
Pamela
From halfway across the room, Tarias can see the dark look of anger building on the young woman's face, and though he's silently wishing she'll just ignore Banderwalls long enough for him to get bored and move on, it soon becomes fairly obvious that she will not. He saw her turn almost as if in slow motion, and he stood up, leaving his mug on the table as he began to make his way across the room...

Everything erupts into chaos fairly quickly once the bowl falls into Banderwalls' lap. Howling in surprise and anger, he jumped and then fell backwards, his arms flailing out to the sides in a vain attempt to catch himself from falling, but only succeeding in grabbing the chair behind him in which another sailor was sitting— and the jacket of another sailor on his opposite side. The three men fell into one another as one with a mighty, howling crash. The table at which the two other men were sitting was kicked up by their swinging feet, mugs of ale and plates of food went flying as men cursed all around. 

The blame fell on Banderwalls of course, and a fight broke out rather immediately between him and the two men he'd unseated behind him. All three were drunk, so the ensuing slugfest was sloppy and sluggish, but these were *Experienced* Drunks and this was hardly their first drunken brawl. The altercation soon grew from there as though a pestilence with life of its own, table by table, group by group. The Siren Song's staff dove for shelter, quite familiar with this sort of occurrence.

Tarias sidestepped and made his way around a group of drunken combatants and made his way to where the bright-haired young woman had been, near the center of everything. Banderwalls had risen to his feet and was engaging with another big sailor with a bushy grey beard; Tarias elbowed his second mate in the back as he passed, pushing the two men into one another, his silver-grey eyes tracking the young woman who had been the victim at the origins of all this mess, intending to follow