When he stood up he didn't bother going for a weapon. Whoever it was at the door wasn't going to be so obvious as to knock and reveal themselves without some sort of trick up their sleeves. A trick that didn't include banging on the door as loudly as possible to announce their presence. If the big woman had still been alive, she would have just kicked it in. Shame she had to die that way, in the middle of a nowhere town, doing nothing of any importance. That was how you were supposed to buy it, though. Dying on some grand adventure was the sort of thing stories were made of. Real life was a bit more messy, wasn't it? Thus proceeded the ironic musings of Skandra Tyullis as he pried the door open to reveal a stablehand, standing there with a leather pouch in his hands.
"Did you," began the boy.
"No," Skandra said as he slammed the door.
Aeotha was still looking out at him with fear in her eyes, despite the fact that nobody had died and nothing bad had happened. Making sure the locks were secure was the work of an instant. Then he made his way back to the chair. A drink. Ten drinks. He couldn't really afford to be drunk, not in a poorly secured room in a nothing country town that - as he'd observed only a moment ago to himself - would most likely be the grave of someone slightly more than insignificant. Skandra just hoped it wasn't going to be him. He did have a reputation. Despite what those idiot mercenaries would have had her believe. Skandra was tugging on his boot before he even dropped bonelessly into the chair.
A night, sober, with Aeotha.
That didn't sound like very much fun.
"I should have brought a book," he observed in annoyance.