[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zQXUPoA.png[/img]
[sub][@HereComesTheSnow][/sub][/center]
Farewells spoken, Serenity finished off the rest of her work in the forge, tapering the point of her spearhead before going over each individual piece of armor one by one, fixing up dents and scratches, polishing it all until it shown, and re-linking what portions of her chainmail needed repair. It was quick work, once she didn't have any conversation to attend to, though she certainly caught the gaze of more than one apprentice as she did so.

It wasn't as if it was all that rare a sight, but she supposed she must still have been an oddity by those whose eyes wandered habitually, to be doing her work without even having gotten herself changed out of her armor fully yet.

The afternoon passed, inviting in the dappled magenta of evening, and Serenity strode through the streets of Aimlenn with all the purposeless poise that a noblewoman could possess. Some of the irritation from the previous day persisted still, enough that solace was better found in relative anonymity than in the same space that both gloryhounds and the pious shared. There would be toasts, no doubt, to the late Sir Rickert, and there would be stories too, to tell, of the mounting of the griffin. She could imagine it already, the boy Lucas jumping up on the tables, riding on Sir Fleuri's back as the Flower wiggled his plumed helmet about. Two buffoons joined as one, clowning about in a gesture of their newfound brotherhood.

Honestly, that'd be funny to see. She'd hate it, but it'd be something to talk about down the line.

Still, the call of the night drew her out further. Lamps cast warm glows, and music flowed from open doors, taverns alive with laborers eager to spend their coinage. Pristine as it was in the morning, Aimlenn was still a city, after all, one where life was peaceful and prosperous enough to enjoy freely. And Serenity herself was dressed for enjoyment. Her flaxen hair was braided for the occasion, a silver ornament tied to the very end, and she sported an indigo tunic to complement her dark green stockings, while her arming sword hung from her leather belt in an embellished scabbard. It was a good night indeed, with Mayon's grace unobstructed by clouds. A night to enjoy oneself, before she began her nightly, knightly training. Another spot of bemusement. She allowed the smile.

Now, what establishment would inspire her patronage today...

[b]"Ah, Gerard."[/b]

Average though he may have been, there certainly was no day labourer who looked nearly as disheveled as he, nor one that possessed such a conventionally handsome face, and she approached, sniffing the air once.

[b]"You stink,"[/b] Serenity spoke flatly. [b]"Been out training til now?"[/b]