NERON
show me how defenceless you really are
Korbin's excuse was sitting a ways back from the roaring hearth (fire bad, first rule of Ascended club), wearing a lot less layers than those around him. Neron didn't look great exactly, but he looked a lot better than he had done, thanks to the intervention of a certain veterinarian. The thorny feelings that the encounter had left aside, he was still considering his role here in Halo, now that all was said and done.
His new best friend (i.e. the guard that they had employed to follow him everywhere, like he was a naughty child) was drinking and chatting with a few friends and colleagues; everyone needed a break, Neron supposed. So the Hailstorm sat alone, a drink in hand that he could barely taste, steel blue eyes a little sluggish. They flitted up to the movement as Korbin came from downstairs, fixing on the man for a moment or so. He recognised him as Weaver's brother of course, Neron lifting his glass in a toast for the fallen hunter.
A shame. He'd liked Weaver.
His new best friend (i.e. the guard that they had employed to follow him everywhere, like he was a naughty child) was drinking and chatting with a few friends and colleagues; everyone needed a break, Neron supposed. So the Hailstorm sat alone, a drink in hand that he could barely taste, steel blue eyes a little sluggish. They flitted up to the movement as Korbin came from downstairs, fixing on the man for a moment or so. He recognised him as Weaver's brother of course, Neron lifting his glass in a toast for the fallen hunter.
A shame. He'd liked Weaver.
