Serid's dark eyes track the departure of the Sub-Visser after Myitt and the man who had not identified himself from his quieter section of the bar counter. The semi-familiar rebel and her companion had not even so much as glanced in his direction.
The nothlit's gaze shifts toward the Bar's most recent newcomer, an unfamiliar strawberry blond man. It had looked, for the brief moment that Serid had been able to see out the door, that the man had been speaking with Myitt and her companion.
A rebel? And from my own universe, at that? he wonders, knowing it is likely a long shot. There is simply no way to know. After a moment's deliberation, however, he stands from his stool and makes his way towards the booth where the man is sitting. As much as he has no patience for speaking about Ertoran, his curiosity about what exactly Illim has gotten himself into outweighs his reticence.
"Hello," he says with a polite nod to the man in the booth. "May I ask if you are a companion of Myitt's?"
Illim lurches away from the wall as Myitt turned to the shipyard, and a good thing, too, as Zorish staggers through the Bar's door a moment later, collapsing and then standing again in the place where he had been stationed.
He gives a low whistle, his eyes tracking towards Zorish's hand grasping emptily at his holister. "You really shouldn't get this drunk here, you know, Sub-Visser. It puts you at the mercy of folks you'd probably rather not have gunning you down."
Sympathy continues threatening to bubble up within Illim--the Sub-Visser looks exactly like Terenia, after all--and his host, Daniel, is of no help. <<We can't shoot anyone when they're like this, you know,>> the human says, keeping his internal tone reasonable. <<Not that you don't have it in you, Illim, but... not when they look like her.>>
