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The hot-headed retort that followed her callous conclusions about his parenting skills was not one that Iseult had been expecting. It got her to keep her mouth shut, at least, and she stared at him with fixed annoyance--because it was the only way she knew how to respond when she'd overstepped her boundaries (even if she should have been apologizing). She didn't fumble through a response, simple clamped her lips together and stared.
But that staring ended quickly...as could be quite understandable given the words flowing easily enough out of the drunk's mouth. Her fingers curled up against the palm of her hands, nails digging as she told herself to simply ignore it. He didn't know her. He didn't know anything about her. But how dare the little bastard? Her? Some filthy little street-walker? A whore?
Iseult was not, by nature, a violent individual. But at that moment, Iseult could have tossed all those restraints away in favor of throttling the little man and pounding a fist into his face. But she was sober and she wasn't stupid. She was, however, furious and it showed in the whitening of her face and the terse manner in which she carried herself...and the silence that hung over her for a few lingering moments. "You've no idea what you're talking about, midget. Don't call me a whore." And she'd do what exactly? He'd already proven he could get a good hit into her face if he really wanted to. Although...he was more than just a little drunk.
Iseult's tendency to run her mouth failed her. She resumed glowering at him, too stunned to move off...which would have been the smart thing in that instance.
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