Well, there was only the slightest sting of satisfaction in seeing him stagger backwards, and in the bead of blood on his lip, because a) Tyb maybe hadn’t actually meant to get violent after all, and regretted it and b) he certainly wouldn’t have tried if he’d known Sebastian Beauregard’s jawline was made of rock. Jesus.
Tyb had recoiled slightly, post-punch, but was still half-ready to counter if Beauregard came at him back – but he’d just given him a patronising glare, which did the job of putting Tyb in his place. When he followed Beauregard’s gaze to the discarded gift, he even felt appropriately sheepish.
Tybalt might have glared back if he’d had more of a leg to stand on, so he merely narrowed his eyes a little and then considered the instruction with evident suspicion. Beauregard was beckoning for his hand – his injured fist, presumably – but Tyb had a brother and plenty of friends who wouldn’t have let the opportunity slide to catch him unawares and do some more damage, in jest or otherwise.
Sebastian did not seem like the sort of person inclined to jesting. Warily, Tyb extended the fist he was cradling, but stopped short of actually offering it to Beauregard. “It’s my wand hand, I need it –” he protested, to say go easy on me, in case Sebastian was pondering some gruesome way to break all his fingers in vengeance to teach him a lesson, “I have to cast spells in duels for my job.” And if he couldn’t run duelling tournaments, he wouldn’t have the money to provide for Elsie and the baby, so really it was in Sebastian’s best interests not to mess him up too much.
Tyb had recoiled slightly, post-punch, but was still half-ready to counter if Beauregard came at him back – but he’d just given him a patronising glare, which did the job of putting Tyb in his place. When he followed Beauregard’s gaze to the discarded gift, he even felt appropriately sheepish.
Tybalt might have glared back if he’d had more of a leg to stand on, so he merely narrowed his eyes a little and then considered the instruction with evident suspicion. Beauregard was beckoning for his hand – his injured fist, presumably – but Tyb had a brother and plenty of friends who wouldn’t have let the opportunity slide to catch him unawares and do some more damage, in jest or otherwise.
Sebastian did not seem like the sort of person inclined to jesting. Warily, Tyb extended the fist he was cradling, but stopped short of actually offering it to Beauregard. “It’s my wand hand, I need it –” he protested, to say go easy on me, in case Sebastian was pondering some gruesome way to break all his fingers in vengeance to teach him a lesson, “I have to cast spells in duels for my job.” And if he couldn’t run duelling tournaments, he wouldn’t have the money to provide for Elsie and the baby, so really it was in Sebastian’s best interests not to mess him up too much.
