[And the thing is, this is stupid, but it's also the kind of stupid that is almost refreshingly normal in the way it's ill-advised. Sometimes it feels as though there hasn't been a moment to just sit and breathe since before the Crystal Exarch had rather rudely whisked his soul away to the First; 'twas always one thing after another, the Bloody Banquet and the Dravanian wilds, the Garlean invasion, the near-apocalypse on the First, the true apocalypse digging its bleeding red claws into their star —
Gods, he's never complained about any of it, would never dream of not putting his blade into the fray and standing between his loved ones and whatever massive ugly thing might threaten them harm, but for all that there's the passing chance that this haunted house is some poisoned prize offered up by the City for their dubious entertainment, the idea that the worst consequence that could come of this one particular bad decision is a little awkwardness and some social embarrassment is...
(Honestly, Reno doesn't even seem like the type to be embarrassed, if worst comes to worst.)
And it hits him, then, how tired he's really been. What it's all asked of him, that he'd embraced and shoved aside and buried for the sake of keeping on. He's wearing a robe that looks like Urianger's and it makes him think of the celebration in the Crystarium after their return from the Tempest, how he'd thought to indulge himself in a bit of recklessness and fun and had ended up drinking water and going home alone after Urianger had started reciting the names of his previous conquests.
Well. No chance of him knowing this one, will he?
It's stupid, it's powerfully stupid, but — why not.]
Daresay I'll just have to find some other way of keeping you quiet, then.
[He does draw back his arm and the press of his weight, just a little, but it's a calculated move — unwilling to leave Reno an ilm on the off-chance that he might take a malm, he takes him by the shoulders instead and flips him around to face the wall, just long enough to drag an arm behind his back.
Somehow he doubts the other man will mind the forced march or the show of strength, either.]
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Gods, he's never complained about any of it, would never dream of not putting his blade into the fray and standing between his loved ones and whatever massive ugly thing might threaten them harm, but for all that there's the passing chance that this haunted house is some poisoned prize offered up by the City for their dubious entertainment, the idea that the worst consequence that could come of this one particular bad decision is a little awkwardness and some social embarrassment is...
(Honestly, Reno doesn't even seem like the type to be embarrassed, if worst comes to worst.)
And it hits him, then, how tired he's really been. What it's all asked of him, that he'd embraced and shoved aside and buried for the sake of keeping on. He's wearing a robe that looks like Urianger's and it makes him think of the celebration in the Crystarium after their return from the Tempest, how he'd thought to indulge himself in a bit of recklessness and fun and had ended up drinking water and going home alone after Urianger had started reciting the names of his previous conquests.
Well. No chance of him knowing this one, will he?
It's stupid, it's powerfully stupid, but — why not.]
Daresay I'll just have to find some other way of keeping you quiet, then.
[He does draw back his arm and the press of his weight, just a little, but it's a calculated move — unwilling to leave Reno an ilm on the off-chance that he might take a malm, he takes him by the shoulders instead and flips him around to face the wall, just long enough to drag an arm behind his back.
Somehow he doubts the other man will mind the forced march or the show of strength, either.]
Let's go. Tell me the door has a lock, at least.