[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/CSgjcqu.png[/img][/center]
[sub]Morning///A Certain Third-Story Flat[/sub]
[hr]
Daylight had yet to break through the thin curtains of the room, but Varanense was already awake. Free as he may have been, the adventurer was still a slave to habit, and no matter how late he stayed up the night before, it was always like this: waking up an hour before sunrise, Nemesis cuddled up against him. Never for pleasure, but always for warmth. He smiled sleepily, brushing a silver strand out of her eyes, before pulling himself away. Definitely needed to save for another bed to toss her in. Preferably with super thick blankets too. It was novel before, always waking up in the morning with naked goddess snuggled up against him, but now, he was realizing that it meant waking up to the smell of alcohol and vomit as well.

Anyways, by principle, Varanense had no indecent feelings towards the Goddess of Vengeance and Hard Party. Those sorts of romances never went well, after all. Especially if she continued to think of him as her child.

Shaking off his early morning thoughts, the dark-skinned adventurer quickly began preparing for the rest of the day. The windows of the third-story flat were swung open dramatically to let in fresh air, while the embers of the hearth were stoked, firewood tossed in to start cooking. As a pot of water heated up, Varanense began dressing up as well, pulling over hardy fabrics and hardened leathers, counting his bolts and testing his strings. With the pommel of his sword, he ground up rice in a bowl, and with the edge of his sword, he chopped up what remained of last night’s chicken. Tossing both into the pot, he let it simmer as he turned to his little herb garden by the windowsill, uprooting a couple of chives to add some color to his breakfast porridge.

One pot meals were a favorite of his, after all. If only the textures of roasted meats and fried noodles weren’t so incredible, Varanense would be eating soups and stews every day of the week. He hummed to himself as the clay pot simmered, a homely aroma supplanting the ever-present stench of alcohol. Then, as if suddenly bored of lying about, he hopped up onto his feet again, blue eyes catching the first rays of the day, reflected off the discarded bottles of wine flung with impunity around the flat. Those went into empty crates for storage and disposal, clinking like poorly made chimes. Some sweeping was done as well, as futile as it was, for garbage-infested was the natural state of Nemesis Familia’s headquarters. It’d be nice if they had a servant or something. Shame that the red-headed not-Giant didn’t stick around for long. He was alright. Took the aggro away from Varanense when Nemesis was feeling competitive about her alcoholism.

Dragging over a stool, he sat down by the pot again, stirring the rice gruel before spooning it up. Blew a couple of times to cool it down. Breathed deeply to enjoy it with his rarer senses. And then…

A soft warmth pressed against his back, two pale, slender arms crossing over his chest as silky hair slid against his neck. That intoxicating fragrance seeped into his mind again, and hot breath rushed against his ear, a familiar weight resting upon his shoulder. A rueful sigh, and Varanense began shovelling [i]his[/i] breakfast into [i]her[/i] mouth.

[b]“Y’know, you could just feed yourself,”[/b] he remarked, starting the same conversation as always.

Nemesis half-laughed. [b]“Don’t wanna~ Where you going, Variii?”[/b]

[b]“Got a date with a thicc Amazon girl,”[/b] was his response as he chanced a bite of the gruel.

But Nemesis was too sharp, even as sleepy as she was. She headbutted him out of the way and took the spoonful for herself, a smug grin surfacing. [b]“Liarrrr~”[/b]

[b]“Says who?”[/b] Varanense stretched forwards, grabbing another spoon.

[b]“Says me. Can always smell a cheat.”[/b] To make a point, she sniffed deeply, then made a ‘bleh’ noise. [b]“And they always smell bad.”[/b]

[b]“That’s just you you’re smelling,”[/b] the adventurer chuckled, reclining against the goddess.

For his sacrilege, the silver-haired goddess rapped his head. [b]“That weretiger said I smelled good.”[/b]

[b]“He said that to the farmer girl too. Suspect he doesn’t have a sense of smell.”[/b]

That got a full-bellied laugh from Nemesis as she stood up unsteadily, licking the remains of the gruel from her lips.

[b]“Headed somewhere?”[/b] Varanense called between mouthfuls of chicken-flavored porridge.

She turned to him with a mischievious glint in her eyes, at once deity and drunkard. [b]“Got a date with a God of Hammers.”[/b]

He grinned, waving her off. [b]“Liarrr.”[/b]

[sub]Evening///Little Valhalla[/sub]
[hr]He had been free to dress as he wished, so Varanense dressed as he always did, armored up and armed up, nothing polished for impressing anyone. His bandana was yellowed with sweat, his cloak was perpetually afflicted with the smell of spilt wine, and his eyes were as indolently half-closed as always. Sauntering in a good ten minutes late, he nodded once at the doorwoman, who must have been melting in such clothing, and didn’t bother to take in his surroundings at all. Little Valhalla was basically just as Nemesis had described, after all. Good drink, good meat, and tasteless décor. Who the hell wanted to eat in a hall filled with statues in the likeness of monsters? Perverts, that’s who.

The members were all cute though. Odin’s Valkyries had been as attractive as expected of such a lustful, shallow god, and the high-level adventurers in tavern were equally good looking, from handsome studs to adorable prums to big-bootied Amazons to lithe elves. He took it all in, and continued on, unaffected, irreverent. Smiled and winked once or twice, maybe, at the ones that cheered, but otherwise strode up towards the small mass of fresh-faced adventurers that looked wholly out of place. Like, wow, were they dressing up for an interview? His eyes briefly lingered on the fine shoulder blades of the cat person, then on the freakish anatomy of the flushed human (?), before finally widening slightly at the grimdark appearance of the shadow-man. Certainly a wild cast.

He let out a low whistle.

[b]“Hey Dahlia,”[/b] Varanense said, steady as always, [b]“Looked like you were talking about a buncha stuff there. Mind repeating it?”[/b]