"Been a bit, hasn’t it?"
B’ren sat, perched atop the Bloody Knuckles. Night had long since fallen, but he was never one to sleep much to begin with. Idly a hand went to scratch at his chin stubble, the Miqo’te giving a small, annoyed grumble as his thoughts raced. Been far too long since he’d been around normal people, not stuck in his books and research, stuck in a loop of isolation with training and nagging. It felt nice.Â
"Berrod Armstrong. I swear…" Barely knowing him but a few days and already finding the Highlander pleasant company. A simple man, not in mind but in statue and personality. Could almost be refreshing as it were, not being around such stuck up prissy pants. What lay before him, the White Mage in training barely could fortell. Not that it seemed to bother him, a few drinks had been taken (payment left behind) and enjoyed on the roof. His body limber and relaxed, eyes peering far out from behind the white mask.
"D’alo, ooooh D’alo. Hurry with you duty so I can finally show you a life outside the Shroud. Silly man." Lips cracked in a smile, turning to a smirk as another bottle tipped over and the contents swallowed with eagerness. Whatever work he decided to do now, it came of his own hand and that was a certain freedom he longed to enjoy. Finally.
