the hailstorm
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. Maea not so much, but I bet our beloved Overseer keeps a flowery novel or two tucked under her pillow," Neron drawls, rolling his shoulders as he lets his arms fall back to his sides. As Wessex does start to explain what she's at the library for, he does look for a moment as if he's going to scream out of spite, but he backtracks it into a heavy sigh in the end.
"I know it's probably not a popular suggestion, but why don't we focus more on ourselves? I feel like we're on a wild goose chase with these relics - do we really need them?" He's already raising his hands in apology, in case Wessex disagrees enough to bop him across the head for it. (Chance would be a fine thing).
As for proof? "None that would stand up in a court," Neron murmurs. "Not that Caido has those. Savages."
"I know it's probably not a popular suggestion, but why don't we focus more on ourselves? I feel like we're on a wild goose chase with these relics - do we really need them?" He's already raising his hands in apology, in case Wessex disagrees enough to bop him across the head for it. (Chance would be a fine thing).
As for proof? "None that would stand up in a court," Neron murmurs. "Not that Caido has those. Savages."
