Berrod lurched to a halt so severe that his boots scraped loudly upon the Quicksand's stone floor. He possessed the distinct demeanor of a large, confused billy -- but worked very hard to manage something onto his face resembling a smile (it was not so much a smile as it was the grimace of a man made to chew broken glass). It wasn't long before he allowed some sort of social grace through. "Hello, Lady Crofte," The smile was a tad less pained by then, at least, "It's been productive, yes, and that makes a pleasant day for me. How have you been?"
Indiscretions of the past compelled the gargantuan highlander to regard the other from the nose up only, in an effort so blatantly conscious that he may as well have broken into a sweat. He dared not even look at her hair.Â
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