Francis regretted offering the wine to the Khajiit. She spouted off at him like a scolding mother and if he could take care of his sister for as long as he did then that was proof enough he’d gotten the right not to be scolded. He was sore at her words and had a few choice ones, mainly along the lines of [i]‘Go fuck a dirty Reachman.’[/i] He took back his wine and glared at her as the others spoke, feeling something welling up in his chest that felt like if he didn’t speak it would break his teeth coming out on its own. He fought it back down and took a long swig, gritting his teeth. He’d never been a fan of wine but he thought they deserved to have something stolen from them that they’d miss- Officers, soldiers, expensive wine. He toyed with Marassa’s words, turning them over and over again. He spat to the side and took a few smaller swigs before setting it down next to him for the next person to pick up.

He wanted to act but what could he do against the dwemer that an army or an insurrection couldn’t? One could only look out from the tower’s top floor at Skyrim below to know what the dwemer were capable of when they threw coexistence to the wind. He doubted that Marassa had to face the dwemer war machine on her search for her brother. A wounded Empire, yes, but nothing like what he’d seen the past weeks. He took a bowl and scooped up a ladle-full of the stew. It was getting scarce with what had already been taken and Francis had already eaten most of his dried meat on their journey here. He looked at what he’d brought up from the bottom, more meat and substance than broth. He knew he needed it, he wanted it, his stomach was almost screaming. He swore under his breath and put some back for the others. They needed it as much as him.

He hardly waited for it to cool, instead taking small sips, trying his best not to seem like he was actually as hungry as he was. He wondered why he even cared. If Vendel were here he probably wouldn’t have spared a single thought to it. He’d begun taking gulps now and once he was finished, he cleared his throat, hoping no one would call him a glutton. He sniffed softly and placed the bowl beside him, “Thank you, Sion. It was good,” he said, “We- I needed... It was good.” He nodded. The lack of food and the month-long fast he'd been did nothing to dilute the alcohol he'd drank and he already felt it working. He felt slow, a bit disconnected, a little something he needed.

He stood and was silent for a moment before turning to Marassa, “Maybe we all have something to learn from the [i]Hero of Tamriel[/i].” he said, bitterness slithering from his voice. He turned to go unravel his bedroll before turning back with a troubled look, somewhat apologetically adding, “Maybe it would be good if we held to your counsel sometimes.” He looked at Marassa before looking away, “Perhaps Vendel is with Zaveed.”

He stood awkwardly for a few beats before turning, “I’m going to sleep. Long days ahead. We’ll need good rest.”