A rush of sweat and heat flooded Marcel's face as the bag was removed- the only thing that kept him from swinging were the two men that kept his arms glued to his back- he wasn't sure, but it seemed that the man holding his right arm was significantly stronger than the man holding his left; what foe of his knew of the injury he tried so hard to hide? Not a foe, but an ally. A smile flashed across Marcel's red face as the true identity of his captors was revealed. Marcel should've assumed- few outside of the White Guard knew of his oddity; as for the get-together, Marcel always knew the White Guard were a friendly lot. Glancing around the pub as someone tried to shove a mug into his bad hand (New member, perhaps?) proved unfruitful for familiar faces, not that Marcel was necessarily expecting any. Even though he had spent two years with the crew, he hadn't formed many relationships- perhaps he was afraid to in this line of work, where a friend could easily end up a corpse? Marcel shoved the thought aside- "Hey, fuzz!" came a loud voice right into his ear- Marcel jumped. "If you're gonna scare that easily than maybe [i]I[/i] should take your place." Marcel turned. "Dain! I should've known you were behind this." Of those few relationships Marcel had formed, Dain was certainly one of them. He was young, very pale, had arms too long for his body, and he was missing half of his right ear, but Marcel be damned if he could find a finer marksman. "Not [i]my[/i] idea, fuzz. Though I was just given an invitation. You gonna drink that?" Dain pointed down at Marcel's good hand, who only just realized the frothing mug that had been placed in it. "Don't mind if I do." Marcel tipped back and drank the unpleasantly warm liquid, wiping his mustache and beard of the droplets when he was done. He wasn't fond of the taste, but Marcel wasn't picky about what he ate or drank, especially if it was free, and even moreso where alcohol was involved. He wasn't proud that he had taken to the bottle after joining the Guard, but it did wonders for keeping his mind off of things. Marcel sometimes wondered if his enjoyment of hard liquor's burn had something to do with his totem- if he had become so used to the feeling of burning that he now had an otherworldly desire for it. Marcel handed Dain his cup. "Another?" "You got it, fuzz. Why don'tcha find us a table?" --- "So they had [i]you[/i] hold my left arm while another held my right? I always [i]did[/i] beat you at boxing, and I'm one handed. That's saying something." "As if I'd ever let anything get that close to me in an actual battle, fuzz. I'd have three arrows in your head 'fore you even reached full speed. 'Sides, with that hand you may as well be swinging a club." "A flaming club, at that." Marcel laughed and took another gulp of wine. Dain's smile faded- "Say, fuzz, I know that they're sayin' this'll be an easy mission, but be safe, okay? I can't grow a beard like that to take your place." They both smiled. "I'll do my best." The two were quiet for several moments. Marcel's thoughts drifted to his father. What would he think of him turning to a life of a sellsword after shutting down the forge? Though he had run it during wartime, his father certainly didn't enjoy the thought of bloodshed. He wasn't a warmongering man; quite the opposite. Marcel would never be able to find proof, but he had a hunch that his father had played some sort of role in keeping Marcel from being drafted. "I'm sure he'd be proud." Marcel looked up from his mug at Dain- that's why he liked the kid. He had a way to read peoples' faces. Had a knack for knowing the perfect thing to say at the perfect time. "Would he though? He always preached that the greatest thing a man can do is to make the most out of what is given to him. That's what he thought success was. I took what he had given me and turned my back on it." "I think you're takin' that a little too literally, fuzz. What was that other thing you said he'd always say? There's only one rule for a man- whatever comes, face it on your feet-" "A man must stand tall, not be held up by others," Marcel finished the quote. Dain had him there- Marcel would never consider his father a philosophical man, but that saying had garnered much thought in Marcel. He used to pull out that quote during the time Marcel ran the Forge, though he wouldn't be surprised if his father had heard it somewhere, too. "You should get some shut-eye, fuzz. I'll finish that mug for ya'." Marcel slid the wine over the wooden table into Dain's open hand, who stood as he took a sip. He gave a slight nod and smile, and absorbed himself into the small crowd on the other side of the pub. Marcel wiped his beard of any stray foodstuffs, and headed outside. He was almost surprised to see a few of the White Guard outside of the pub, though this was a pretty diverse lot. A burly and bearded man- Marcel could probably remember his name if he thought about it for a few moments, he'd seen him a few times before at Finnic's- was holding out fritters for the others. Normally, Marcel wouldn't take food that hadn't been offered to him, but the alcohol told a different story. "I'd love one," he said as he snatched the hunk of dough off of the small platter and bit into it. Per Finnic's Pub usual, it tasted mostly of fried dough, but it was rather satisfying. He turned back towards the group, mouth full of food, his right hand on his hip and his left balled up and hidden in his sleeve. "Well if you're the lot I'll be traveling with, then at least we're starting off with something we all agree on. I've never been one for parties, either."