Looking up from his half-full bottle, Mason noticed Kennedy McIntire, the spunky young forbearer of the Knights of Songbird, and he would say she was a fairly attractive woman. Still, he wasn’t one for romantics. He could admire a woman from a distance without any desire to pursue an interest. After all, his divorce still stung him inside. In the end, he convinced himself it was for the best. Mason let out a heavy sigh before catching Kennedy’s eye. He curled up a smile and lifted up his bottle, nodding in acknowledgment. [i]Well, guess the show’s starting soon[/i], he thought to himself, taking another drink. He turned the bottle in his hand. “Might as well,” he uttered, finishing up the rest of the bottle. He regretted the decision immediately, coughing in disgust. Too much at once just ruins it but he didn’t want to go down there with it in hand. He could smell the wine in his breath. 

As he adjusted his position in the booth he noticed a familiar face walk into The Fellow Traveler. He’d seen him before. A lanky, bearded young fellow from his Vox days. Val. That’s right. Valentin. His last name was always a weak spot for Mason. Something that left a twisted feeling in his mouth every time he’d try to pronounce it. Valentin seemed to be examining a poster Kennedy had put up just a moment ago. [i]I-is he one of us?[/i] he though. It was hard to tell. The bartender allows both the Vox and the Knights to operate through his tavern so it was possible Valentin was still a Vox. Mason let up a friendly grin toward Valentin when they made eye contact before watching him go in the direction Kennedy had gone. [i]Huh, I’m not surprised[/I]. A light chuckle escaped him at the thought. 

He got up from his seat and set the bottle down at the counter; oblivious to the fact that another comrade of his had just walked behind on their way to the basement. He thanked the bartender before placing a few silver eagles beside the wine bottle. Mason turned to walk toward the meeting place.
Inside he found Kennedy, Valentin, and Lucas getting accustomed from their recent arrival. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets again, feeling only slightly cold. He gave Lucas a friendly nod and walked near Kennedy’s side. 

“Afternoon, McIntire,” he greeted. “Someone better be dying,” he spoke with a hint of laughter. “I cut my daughter’s birthday short for this.”