"As long as she's okay with being the loser."  Scoundrel says, thin brows pinching together.  A single finger finds the swelling head, tracing the width of it through the increasingly uncomfortable pants.  "Y'know, it's not the only meaning of this place's title, right?"  Like the elf, she does not break eye contact with her 'rival' for many seconds.  She, though, internally would admit that the woman's point was sound.  The only thing that flowed more freely than mead and ale was the sound of merrymaking.  Her smile softens, rosy cheeked from her drinks as she looks toward the man that is both eager participant and held captive between them.<br/><br/>Like the elf, she had ample time to warm up to the atmosphere and the man she picked out of the crowd as her target was measured with a keen eye and a soft hand.  The chair she sat upon scraped on the floor as she edged closer, and her free hand takes hold of his chin to turn his face toward her and place her lips that still taste of her last drink upon his, sweat slicked breast hidden under the layer of rogue's leather pressed wantonly into his side.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>