Strel had been futile in his attempts to find Niro, who for the better part eluded him. It was not known to him that the man had been injured, but that he had found himself (another) bottle of some spicy rum that he was sure to enjoy. Before, they had drunk together and laughed, and enjoyed the late summer sun before the war began. Or was it during? He couldn't quite recall but he did recall that Niro enjoyed the drink. He had been gone for a while, and now that he was back the redhead thought he would call upon his drinking buddy and see if they couldn't get up to some sort of mischief together under the influence of alcohol. It might even make him feel like he wasn't a five year old, going on six, man with nothing going for him other than a high rank in an older pack. Pretending was fun, that was for sure.
And he had to get the stupid out of his system. Well, only until he knew for sure that Ahiga was not coming. For now, he had to get it all out of his system and pretend that the boy was actually going to show up at the borders sooner or later. So, he pulled out the bottle of spice rum from his dresser, carefully avoiding it clinking with the other bottles nestled in the bed of scrap cloth. He dusted it off, needlessly, and tucked it under his arm as he gripped the neck. Well, Niro ought not be hard to find, for certain. He took the flight of stairs down, passing by his tied up studio doors. The sign on it had been found somewhere in Lunenburg and he swore it said "Private", though the rest of the words he didn't bother to spend an eternity deciphering. Stepping out into the dying light, the man gazed at the fence, wondering where Niro was.
Photo taken by Fergal of Claddagh. Table style inspired by Kitty.
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