I think I can manage being collateral damage
Everest adjusted his grip on the crate as Tal called out the count, matching his pace with an ease that suggested he had done this a hundred times before. He had, of course—though normally with cargo that had been properly balanced, rather than whatever haphazardly-packed weight shift had just happened inside this one. His arms flexed slightly as he compensated, but his expression didn’t so much as flicker.
At Tal’s triumphant Ha! Take that, Ever let out a quiet, amused hum, one brow lifting in silent acknowledgment of the victory. He let the courier’s gloating stand uncontested, though the glint in his eye suggested he had in fact, noted it. "I do know," he replied smoothly, stepping in tandem with Tal as they maneuvered toward the berth. "A poorly packed crate is one thing, but wasting time on shipping logistics is unforgivable." His voice was dry, but the subtext of understanding was real—the efficiency of transport was something he took seriously.
As Tal introduced himself, Ever inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, filing the name away. Seawright’s Delivery Service. Not a name he had personally worked with, but he made a habit of knowing the major players in transport, and this one had at least a competent enough reputation.
"Everest Hart," he replied, the words measured but easy. "Pilot. Spyglass. Occasionally the man who rescues crates and their owners from imminent disaster." He delivered the last part with the faintest quirk of his lips, a dry kind of humor that had become more second nature since his mind had been… altered.
At Tal’s triumphant Ha! Take that, Ever let out a quiet, amused hum, one brow lifting in silent acknowledgment of the victory. He let the courier’s gloating stand uncontested, though the glint in his eye suggested he had in fact, noted it. "I do know," he replied smoothly, stepping in tandem with Tal as they maneuvered toward the berth. "A poorly packed crate is one thing, but wasting time on shipping logistics is unforgivable." His voice was dry, but the subtext of understanding was real—the efficiency of transport was something he took seriously.
As Tal introduced himself, Ever inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, filing the name away. Seawright’s Delivery Service. Not a name he had personally worked with, but he made a habit of knowing the major players in transport, and this one had at least a competent enough reputation.
"Everest Hart," he replied, the words measured but easy. "Pilot. Spyglass. Occasionally the man who rescues crates and their owners from imminent disaster." He delivered the last part with the faintest quirk of his lips, a dry kind of humor that had become more second nature since his mind had been… altered.
.
