Two weeks isn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it gets old fast.

Worse, for the creeping sense of being enclosed, trapped somewhere he can't slip from. It's on an island. The construction on the windows can't dispel the claustrophobic effect of the building's architecture.

But two weeks. He can do two weeks, and then they can really get to work.

In the meantime, one can come across Seth occupying himself by—

● Sweet-talking his way into the kitchen, and into possession of a jug of wine
● Swinging a sword loosely around the training yard, scoffing at a practice dummy.
● Parked at the top of the stairs, observing the coming and going of the ferry.

A con man walks into a Ren Faire—

No, the joke's on Seth.

But look hard enough, familiar bullshit present itself. Here, a card game. Seth doesn't completely grasp the rules, but a strong bluff gets a man anywhere and everywhere. Elbow on the table, glint of green pressed down against the sticky tabletop, Seth eyes the growing assortment of gold, trinkets and chits in the center of the table before leaning back to the vaguely recognizable face alongside him to mutter—

"These the type of guys who take it personal if they lose big?"

Not that it'll change the outcome, but its the kind of thing that's good to know.

[ do whatever, i'll roll with it. ]