Settled comfortably with a good scotch and a book, glasses on the end of his nose.

Lights a cigarette and leans back. He’s thinking.

“As if I haven’t already.” Exhaling with a wry smirk, he glanced over to her. “Are you saying you need another… guinea pig?” He cocked a brow and looked over the latest Talon missions. “There’s something here about infiltrating the Shambali Monastery.”

He’s waving to ᅠᅠ 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐌𝐀..

“Hello, Siebren. How have you been?”

“Apparently they don’t let you do fun either.” He took a swig of coffee from his nearby mug. “Ain’t a fan of being controlled.”

Can confirm this as fact.

He has indeed. Quite happily so.

A rag gently worked over one of his shotguns, finding the repetitive movement of the cleaning and polishing rather soothing. It was nice to not think for a while, when the whirlwind inside his mind was difficult to control. He’s silent as he loses himself in the motions.

He might be the CEO of Two Shotguns and a Dream, but he’s pretty certain he’s gotta be in Cassidy’s dream at this point. He ain’t sure how he ended up here, and @facereamare sure doesn’t look friendly. Time to try and wake himself up.

He’s wandering towards the town slowly, adjusting his jacket. Thankfully he was dressed casually, but mostly in dark colours. Then something makes him trip and when he falls… it —hurts—. He’s silent as he tries to process what that means. Because he can’t quite believe it.

“Gonna have to hit the floor then, clearly. Or my own feet.” He stood up and dusted himself off, stretching a little. “Sorry to worry the horse. Ain’t use to this place.”

/ If you’re going to unfollow me, at least soft block so I don’t have to take the trash out too.

Grumbles, pulls blanket over his head. Let him nap.

He’s using his own, stop complaining. Huff.

Say please.

“If you aren’t careful, I’ll push you out of bed.”

“So do I, but you don’t hear me using it as leverage.”

He’s nestling down. A tired man.

Lights a cigar and exhales languidly. Not like these things will kill him anymore. He’ll be fine.