Serigan stood. Upright, proud, and grinning, as the red haired woman gave him a dressing down. He'd been yelled at before by men and women far scarier than this little Kilie. He did take her words to heart though. He might act aloof when it came to people lecturing him, but, he understood what she was really saying. She was proper roughed that Serigan had disrespected her. She was letting him know that she wasn't one of the birds that you could pepper with flowery gibbers and expect them to drop their skirts. Good. He would have been almost offended if she had been so easily taken in by his performance. He followed her exit with his gaze, making no further comments. He knew she needed time to wander off, besides, the old fella seemed interested. Serigan tipped his head to the side to better appreciate Mable's exit and then turned his gaze to the older man, still grinning. "'course I'll carry 'ybags." Serigan reached out and grasped the top of the bag and swung it over his shoulder with a thump, "Ain'about t'let y'struggle a'fer askin' fer y'help, eh?" Serigan let out a little laugh. "See?" he pointed to his head again with his cane, "Told'y Ol'Cuttah has the touch. Y'ready t'join up. T'Kilie'll join if y'do. Boom, all three champs." the old gang leader adjusted the bag and looked down the road to the guild. "Now, les'go get'chee that reward, eh? Then us three can go russtle up s'm bacon. " Serigan laughed at his own joke as he began to walk with the older man, "Name's Serigan, as it suits ya. C'n call me Ser, or, Cuttah, if'n y'like. Wha'they call you old Knife?" 

Serigan walked back to the guild with Pescal. He chatted with the old man. He kept his tone pleasant and never pried into the old man's past. He didn't need to. When men of his age showed up somewhere that is the domain of young folks and killers you knew what kind of history they had. If Pascal wanted to tell Ser it would be his decision. The gang leader didn't need to know. Wouldn't help him fight or drink, so, it would remain the old man's business. Serigan chatted about easy things. Food, women, drink, and the guild. Safe topics for all involved. After all, he wouldn't want this Old Knife knowing that just a few countries over there was a price on Serigan's head that you could retire on. Not that people like Ser or Pascal could ever bring themselves to retire. 

The gang leader stepped into the main hall of the guild with his usual swagger and stepped up to the guild administrator's counter with the tell-tale beat and rhythm of his weapons and cane on the hard floor. He swung the bag of weeds from his shoulder and held it out for Athena to see. "Ol'Pascal and t'red Kilie don'pulled a'mess'a weeds off'n t'farm. best'a pay'em f'the 'ard work." Serigan placed the bag carefully on the floor and leaned his elbow on the counter, waiting for Pascal to complete his business with Athena. Serigan's blue eyes flicked back to Athena. "Not'a'mention, I went and snatched'y paper off'n board. Sorry mum." he shrugged, "I needed a prop t'show th'fellas at the farm." Serigan pulled the crumpled paper out and placed it carefully on the counter. He tried futilely to smooth the page out. "T'fellas, Pascal, the red Kilie, and ol'Cuttah here, wou'like t'take t'contract fer t'boars. Easy-peasy, business done." the large man knocked on the counter with his large ring and smiled at Athena. "Now, like'I said when I rushed off a'fore. I's thinkin' Sammy if'n tha'be right wi'you f't'first kid. Is'a good name. Strong if'n ee's a boy an'cute f'a girl, right?" 

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