neron
Neron is almost entranced by the practiced way that Morgan downs the stein of ale, having to look away to hide the smirk on his face. ”I ought to hold a drinking contest,” he says quietly. ”I bet you would draw quite the crowd. You’d probably win, too.” Quite what he would offer as a prize is another thing entirely, though for Morgan the Hailstorm has a few ideas in mind. Ideas that would probably get him slapped full in the face.
He completely misses the way she’s setting up a space for him until she speaks again, too lost in his own thoughts, and Neron tilts his head as he sets eyes on the makeshift ‘bed’. ”Madam, I would not expect anything more than your cloak and shoes in this cold,” he remarks, slipping off his own shoes before moving to settle down beside her on the admittedly musty bear rug. ”Your cloak would probably be better suited as a blanket, besides.”
He completely misses the way she’s setting up a space for him until she speaks again, too lost in his own thoughts, and Neron tilts his head as he sets eyes on the makeshift ‘bed’. ”Madam, I would not expect anything more than your cloak and shoes in this cold,” he remarks, slipping off his own shoes before moving to settle down beside her on the admittedly musty bear rug. ”Your cloak would probably be better suited as a blanket, besides.”
lay your hand on me, one last time
