As the Ogre starts to drag her away, Faith comments, in that oh-so-dangerous tone of hers, "I'll bet you are, you big lug." A moment later, there's a sigh, something resembling resignation. "Fine. I guess I can keep it for the evening. It'd take too f**king long to get my hair done right anyway." She takes one last look over the bar, before interrupting the walk out. "Wait."
She pulls her hand away, just a minute, and goes to retrieve the discarded Dark Lord helmet. The black piece of plastic in hand, she rejoins Spartan. "Can't leave without this little number," she comments, and the two head out together. Drinkers beware, the season of wrath is out to party.
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