WISE MEN WONDER WHILE STRONG MEN DIE
Since stepping down from his role as Warden and picking up the mantle of humble bar owner, Neron had become quite used to people (read: Morgan) barging in on his time unannounced. And he had no choice but to accept it, given his rather tenuous position in Halo. Still, he didn’t flinch as the doors opened so heavily in the reading room; Neron was slouched in a comfortable chair, one foot propped on the low table before him, a book in hand.
Steel blue eyes lifted to see who was there, already knowing the answer, and he lowered his novel to regard Morgan’s glare with a placid sort of confusion. ”Something wrong, Warden?” he asked, sitting up in his seat and glancing behind her, as if expecting to see guards - different guards, anyway, given that she’d ordered the existing ones out. ”As far as I am aware, these rooms are still open for use. But I’ll happily sequester myself away elsewhere if that has changed.”
Steel blue eyes lifted to see who was there, already knowing the answer, and he lowered his novel to regard Morgan’s glare with a placid sort of confusion. ”Something wrong, Warden?” he asked, sitting up in his seat and glancing behind her, as if expecting to see guards - different guards, anyway, given that she’d ordered the existing ones out. ”As far as I am aware, these rooms are still open for use. But I’ll happily sequester myself away elsewhere if that has changed.”
