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The room outside of him began to settle down, but the moans of drunken stupors began to daunt the Daunte from taking a step out of the room. And perhaps it was best that he did not, for there were already embarrassments that should be kept within the small circle of witnesses. But for another reason that Lucia was still asleep on the armchair right next to him that he couldn't really bring himself to break his own promise he made. Even though it was made out of impulse when the girl was barely even conscious, it was still something he said in broad daylight. Damn his shoulders that he could not really bring her to his room, otherwise he would have, so he had to makeshift his own bed to be this chair. But thanks to his gradual adaptation to the humanity-degrading quality of life that the military offered him to, Michael found the size of the chair fairly generous. 

As the night grew, and silence sank in, so was Michael's appreciation of his books as the words continued to echo into his minds, even when their main purpose was to pass the time that he could have been using for resting. He had decided to use the study as his bedroom tonight. Michael slumped a little into the chair, making his small silhouette comfortable in the huge chair as he listened to the gentle breathe that the girl next to him murmured in her sleep, the girl he fell in love with. He wondered if she was having a goodnight sleep. If she was dreaming, then what was in it? Hopefully not Hill 58 again, or wherever she found herself in. He hoped it would be some place else. Somewhere that she wanted.

For Michael's part, the words in his book became his lullaby. His armchair was his bed. And the study he found in this one of a kind inn that humbly did their purpose in this universe well amongst those who failed miserably and didn't even realize it took him back to his own home back in Tyrella, back to his beloved childhood days. That old grand study where he would fall asleep on the carpet among the wonders of human knowledge. To fall into the warm, cozy darkness of his childhood, it really was an unexpected feast. But it was good when he could still feel it. [hr]
Michael barely knew how long he had been asleep. Fatigue combined with his injury and the lullaby of printed alphabetical letters pushed him deep down the depths of unconsciousness. The next thing he realized, his neck ached. He found his cheek resting on the back of his arm that was resting on his armchair, as his head was almost sideway with his body still glued to the armchair. The sun was pinching on his nose to signal a new day for him, a new day that would not perhaps be his last. A bright sunny day of optimism. 

[color=bf00ff][I]'Damn, I probably squandered the beds here.'[/I][/color]

Who knows what Jean wanted to do with the squad's time here at the inn. Of course if he chose not to leave at all, that would be completely ok for Michael. But that would be desertion, and the Feds would take it very seriously. So sooner or later, Michael and the squad would have to leave this inn. He'd figure today would be, but who could say. He was still sleeping quite soundly when everybody was up, signified by the empty chair next to him. Lucia had already woken up and had left the room, perhaps to get her breakfast or something. Judging by the intensity of the sun, Michael was probably quite late. But the squad was letting him take his time, so perhaps they had no intention to leave yet. 

[color=f7941d]"SO! WHO'S GAME FOR A GAME OF CARDS, THEN?!"[/color]

But they had all the intention to make him leave this room.

Louder than anything he had heard of the night before, Michael, with his eyes still trying to open the blinds, stood up and walked over to the door, finally taking a step out of the study for the first time in the day.

[color=bf00ff]"You people never know how to get settled."[/color] 

With a grumble and a roll of an eye, Michael trotted over to the bar and sat right on the stool, denying almost all the bartender's suggestion for a refresh of souls - her ignorance of his religion did not sit well for the devoted, for he accepted nothing but a cup of tea. Whatever tea they had sat well with Michael, but it would go sour either ways without a bit of milk poured in right after. And the bartender would probably not want this picky fellow to be unsatisfied after all he had been through, though she had to admit that he had some fancy taste.
[@FalloutJack][@Bushman501][@LetMeDoStuff][@Landaus Five-One]