neron
The Kraai is busy and so is Neron. Customers wait, even if he knows them, with the exception of the good Warden. And family. And you know, there hasn’t been any family to visit in a long while, until tonight. His steel blue eyes catch his brother from the other end of the bar, Neron offering a typically charming smile to the woman he’s serving. Once he’s finished, a sharp whistle towards the tables brings another bartender to take his place, and he sweeps down to where Loren is standing.
”You,” he says, ”look as though you need a stiff drink. Would you like to sit here, or somewhere more private?” His eyes dance along the scars on his twin’s hands, on his face, the Hailstorm seemingly making the decision for them both. He grabs a bottle of something (vodka, it looks like) and two glasses, stepping out from behind the bar and beckoning for Loren to follow.
”You,” he says, ”look as though you need a stiff drink. Would you like to sit here, or somewhere more private?” His eyes dance along the scars on his twin’s hands, on his face, the Hailstorm seemingly making the decision for them both. He grabs a bottle of something (vodka, it looks like) and two glasses, stepping out from behind the bar and beckoning for Loren to follow.
lay your hand on me, one last time
