“So... Uh, Lawan told me that you traded... uh, a month’s worth of ale tokens to keep your post here,” he paused. “Guarding me.” Conover leaned back against the cool iron bars of the cell, and smiled slightly as he heard Ybril’s sharp intake of breath; the jingling keys pausing momentarily before one slotted into the worn lock with a satisfying scrape.
The hinges on the cell door groaned and complained from years of sun, rain and general entropy. He stood up straight and turned on his heel. Ybril held the door open, a bright pink flush spread across his cheeks and the tops of his ears. His eyes were looking anywhere other than at the younger Officer. He cleared his throat.
“I don’t know WHAT you’re talking about, Conover.” His free hand moved to his hair, scratching nervously at his silk headband.
Conover stepped out and into the warm sunlight on the stone landing. The sandstone felt rough and pleasant on the soles of his feet. Below, the courtyard was a cacophony of colour, sound, and bustling activity. He could see the Nora, Aloy, talking animatedly to the guards at the fortress doors.
He turned back in time to see Ybril push the noisy door back into place. The cell, his home for the last month, suddenly looked so small and dark. And yet the world was all at once so very bright and full of infinite possibilities.
“Huh, well,” He stepped towards Ybril, circling his arm behind his comrade’s waist. “I guess I don’t need to buy you a drink, then.”
He smirked, stifling a laugh as he set off at a sing song pace down the wooden scaffolding, towards the Daunt.