"Guys, you know I hate surprises," complained Zacharias. However, he was betrayed by the huge grin on his face. He laughed, and took a sip from his mug. [i]Of course they were gonna take me here,[/i] he thought. [i]After all, we come to the pub before every single mission. Not even the bag part was a complete surprise. Sure, I've never seen it, but I've heard tales.[/i] When he didn't receive an invitation, Zacharias knew something was up. He reached for a bag tied to his belt, grabbed a sweet bread roll, and took a bite from it. He had bought it earlier, as he knew from experience how disgusting Finnic's food was. He drank a bit more from his ale, and began to joke around with his fellow Guardsmen.

Of course, Zacharias' mind was still running about the following day. Any of his friends would tell him to give it a rest, drink a mug of ale or ten, and let the thinking for the actual mission. But he preferred not to drown his thoughts in alcohol. Last minute preparations, plans, preventions, et cetera, they all could mean the difference between someone's life and death, even with an assignment as easy as escorting that caravan. What worried him the most were the Guards chosen for the job. Some of them had been members for far, far longer than he'd been. The election of such elite, experienced members of the White Guard puzzled him, to say the least. They hinted at something... else, about the mission, though he couldn't place his finger on what it was. But that was something to worry about later, he decided. He'd gone through his whole list of preparations, and nothing was missing. He took another sip from his mug, decided to enjoy the rest of the night, without realizing he'd spent about ten minutes staring blankly into a corner of the pub.