He was trembling, trying his hardest not to laugh. That impact had no right being that hilarious. Thankfully, his amusement quickly turned to disgust after hearing the noble's ridiculous demands. Oh, that poor young assistant of his. If this is how Landon acts out in the open, how further depraved is he in closed doors?

	After Landon closed his doors, this lower deck gradually erupted into a sea of rumours, mostly between the lively crewmates, some between the seemingly married couple and their female child. Whenever gossipers passed near him, he would add small details like "[color=fdc68a]I saw it, he tripped on literally nothing.[/color]" and "[color=fdc68a]He's going to blame his clumsiness on you to cheap out on fare?[/color]" and such. Sir Landon may as well just hole up in his room and never come out for the rest of this voyage at this point, but his kind of people might have too much thick skin for their own good.

	... and then there was nothing to do but wait. He didn't want to roam around to escape this boredom though. There's only so much space in this lower deck and yet so many people, it's almost awkward.

	He recognized one of the people on the hammocks, the petite cloaked person from what feels like aeons ago at the upper deck, the same person he shot a needle at for senseless reasons. It's quite a long distance from his position to her hammock. Just enough for his mana to diminish on the way and turn into mere whispers. The hammock, it whispers to her. Words in random and in repetition, 'sorry', 'needle' and 'shot' being the loudest amidst this mix of syllables trying to make up a sentence.

	As soon as the person looks up and glares at him again, he's going to wave his right hand this time.

	[@A5G]