Following their shaky truce, Dalik slides into the shadows again, returning to a ring of holoscreens that
Dalik shoots Ossanlin a sour look, eavesdropping on his conversation. "You're certainly making us look good," she says. "What Myitt said. We're not that terrible."
After the raptors fall, William inhales a deep, relieved breath. "Well, then," he murmurs. Sheathing his knife, he glances at Mercer and Jeffries. "I'm afraid I'll have to continue my story later. Right now, I think I need some air."
With a brisk smile, he steps around one of the fallen, battered chairs, pausing only to watch in fascination as it begins to repair itself. Then he shakes his head, torn between amusement and uneasiness, and steps into the hallway, toward the bathrooms.
He doesn't emerge for a long time. When he finally does reappear, it's through the front door. He looks as if he's washed his face, and his long, blonde hair has been freshly plaited. His breeches are the same, though it looks as if he's attempted to scrub away the beer stain.
His eyes survey the small crowd, almost immediately lighting on the one newcomer. An eyebrow quirks curiously, but he doesn't approach Rathien and Merc. Instead he goes to the bar, sitting near Tara and keeping one ear on their conversation.
