[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

[@The Otter][@Krayzikk]

With a half-hearted wave and a pensive frown, Gerard sent the man on his way.

[color=goldenrod]"Guess we've all been on edge,"[/color] he huffed, fiddling around with the blunt as it laid in the sun-warmed grass, a bed of soft, forgiving green that made the long-stomped earth beneath find new life. It certainly seemed to hold true to his eyes, if nothing else— the exchange here, his own inability to get out of his own head accelerating to the point even Sir Renar seemed to note it as abnormal...

[color=goldenrod]"Damned dreams."[/color]

It came as a mutter in undertone, happening to fall in a lull between the morning breezes as his grip closed around the hilt of his feder, holding it aloft ahead of him in a hand. The flashes ran through his mind— insurmountable pressure above, agony erupting from below. Cold words washing disdain over the burn of the rising thrill.

'Fighting desperate' indeed.