Should have put this up a few hours ago, but real life intervened.
…
“Yeah, I think so.” Greater Hershey commercial agents rated a better sort of tavern rooms than Kentuckian fighting-men, starting with ‘rooms.’ This one even had a fruit basket; Waylon looked at it hopefully, then snagged an apple after Serenity waved a hand. “Sorry. Missed breakfast. Apparently it’s your fault in this city when assassins come calling. At least, that’s what the landlord said when he threw me out this morning.”
“How provincial.“ Serenity’s tone was so smooth, Waylon wondered if she actually meant it. “Though the proprietor here was a good deal more understanding about my unwelcome visitor. Not to mention, useful for removing the body afterward. Perhaps a touch too useful,” she went on with a slight frown. “It is not a skill I would associate with his line of work.”
“The upper crust plays by different rules here,” Waylon told her around his apple. “That’s why the landlord gave me the heave-ho. I was messing with things above my station, and brought it back with me.”
