[ Vincent had only just arrived. He had managed to get free after the barest minimum of exchanges about something no one will listen to him about. Ironically it was largely about this; people always seeking him out to do stuff when he wished to be left alone.
But the food from the carts had smelled good and the oddity of dog spirits pretty much accepted, so he had stopped by for a quick meal.
And found himself abruptly back with the dog sleds. Again. This time to be bundled up on one, given two coats. The one for him he just doesn't bother with (again), adding both to the cargo bed with a grumbled groan.
Sure he might be vaguely irritated; what was the point of having someone listen to his complaint if it wasn't going to be listened to ten minutes later? But Vincent also knows that this sort of cold is deadly to normal people so he's not as irritated about it as he otherwise would have been.
It's not long after arrives at his destination that the former Turk is going to come to consider he might have been selected for a reason. Namely, that new arrivals are just as likely to be violent as confused. A dogsled is made for the driver to stand rather than sit.
But as Vincent steps off and receives a greeting, courtesy of Deepground's finest, the man acts with preternatural swiftness to brace and solidly catch the bottom of Nero's foot in the palm of his left hand. All he will do in retaliation is a quick but forceful shove to reclaim some distance and in an effort to throw the attacker off balance.
The familiar voice, the appearance. Nero the Sable is not someone forgotten soon. And for Vincent, it's only been about two weeks.
It might be too early for Nero to recognize Vincent, but the red-cloaked man certainly seems to recognize him. Enough that his right hand instinctively reaches to the holster strapped at his thigh. Unfortunately it's still as empty as when he arrived. It won't be until later that he earns a replacement. ]
Tch.
[ Frankly that slight tick of frustration is all Nero's going to get in return. Vincent was never one for greetings that weren't pretty curt. ]
arrival
But the food from the carts had smelled good and the oddity of dog spirits pretty much accepted, so he had stopped by for a quick meal.
And found himself abruptly back with the dog sleds. Again. This time to be bundled up on one, given two coats. The one for him he just doesn't bother with (again), adding both to the cargo bed with a grumbled groan.
Sure he might be vaguely irritated; what was the point of having someone listen to his complaint if it wasn't going to be listened to ten minutes later? But Vincent also knows that this sort of cold is deadly to normal people so he's not as irritated about it as he otherwise would have been.
It's not long after arrives at his destination that the former Turk is going to come to consider he might have been selected for a reason. Namely, that new arrivals are just as likely to be violent as confused. A dogsled is made for the driver to stand rather than sit.
But as Vincent steps off and receives a greeting, courtesy of Deepground's finest, the man acts with preternatural swiftness to brace and solidly catch the bottom of Nero's foot in the palm of his left hand. All he will do in retaliation is a quick but forceful shove to reclaim some distance and in an effort to throw the attacker off balance.
The familiar voice, the appearance. Nero the Sable is not someone forgotten soon. And for Vincent, it's only been about two weeks.
It might be too early for Nero to recognize Vincent, but the red-cloaked man certainly seems to recognize him. Enough that his right hand instinctively reaches to the holster strapped at his thigh. Unfortunately it's still as empty as when he arrived. It won't be until later that he earns a replacement. ]
Tch.
[ Frankly that slight tick of frustration is all Nero's going to get in return. Vincent was never one for greetings that weren't pretty curt. ]