He stood, mug of tea in hand (English Breakfast; black), and stared out the window, not focused on anything in particular. There were a few people still out on the street, even at that late hour. Most likely they were either headed home or headed out to the bars. A small frown creased his features as he took another sip.
The past week or so had been relatively uneventful. There had been that one day he'd gone out with Jamie to the Marketplace; a rather bright spot in his week even if he'd not been allowed to be of much help. Right now, the lad was out, had been for a few days. He worried, just a little, every time he left. In his more tactful moods, he attributed it to the fact that in Rhy'din, anything could happen at any time, and Jamie could be hurt or killed and he might never know. Honestly, however, he knew his main fear was that the blue box and the Doctor whom Jamie sought would come for the lad and whisk him away and they'd never meet again. Selfish of him, to be sure, since it was obvious Jamie was intent on that outcome.
He sighed. Then there was the fact that thus far, no one was looking to hire a young engineer, even if he wasn't exactly wet behind the ears. It was a little disheartening, his lack of employment. Perhaps it was time to expand his search a bit. He made a note to ask around next time he dropped by the bar downstairs. He also made a note to drop by the bar more often.
A hand went to his face to scratch an itch, and he winced. He'd forgotten about the bruise that was still fading from Maranya's rather forceful punch. He had to remember to thank Harold, though, the next time he saw the not-yeoman. If it weren't for that balm, that bruise likely would have still been a very deep purple. As it was, it had faded to a mostly brown and yellow blotchiness.
Perhaps he'd go down to the duels tonight, try and find someone to spar with. It was actually a lot of fun when you didn't have an instructor breathing down your neck about proper form and you could use the moves that you preferred as opposed to what was tested more. Unfortunately, the instructors had been more about punches and chokes and weaponwork, whereas he turned out to be more natural with kicks and the like. No wonder he had graduated Starfleet Academy with the impression that he was a lousy fighter. He could appreciate why they wanted to teach a balanced style, but it apparently hadn't worked for him.
Another sip of his tea, but this one he nearly spat out. It had gone cold. How annoying. He moved away from the window, headed towards the bathroom to wash his mug out in the sink.
The past week or so had been relatively uneventful. There had been that one day he'd gone out with Jamie to the Marketplace; a rather bright spot in his week even if he'd not been allowed to be of much help. Right now, the lad was out, had been for a few days. He worried, just a little, every time he left. In his more tactful moods, he attributed it to the fact that in Rhy'din, anything could happen at any time, and Jamie could be hurt or killed and he might never know. Honestly, however, he knew his main fear was that the blue box and the Doctor whom Jamie sought would come for the lad and whisk him away and they'd never meet again. Selfish of him, to be sure, since it was obvious Jamie was intent on that outcome.
He sighed. Then there was the fact that thus far, no one was looking to hire a young engineer, even if he wasn't exactly wet behind the ears. It was a little disheartening, his lack of employment. Perhaps it was time to expand his search a bit. He made a note to ask around next time he dropped by the bar downstairs. He also made a note to drop by the bar more often.
A hand went to his face to scratch an itch, and he winced. He'd forgotten about the bruise that was still fading from Maranya's rather forceful punch. He had to remember to thank Harold, though, the next time he saw the not-yeoman. If it weren't for that balm, that bruise likely would have still been a very deep purple. As it was, it had faded to a mostly brown and yellow blotchiness.
Perhaps he'd go down to the duels tonight, try and find someone to spar with. It was actually a lot of fun when you didn't have an instructor breathing down your neck about proper form and you could use the moves that you preferred as opposed to what was tested more. Unfortunately, the instructors had been more about punches and chokes and weaponwork, whereas he turned out to be more natural with kicks and the like. No wonder he had graduated Starfleet Academy with the impression that he was a lousy fighter. He could appreciate why they wanted to teach a balanced style, but it apparently hadn't worked for him.
Another sip of his tea, but this one he nearly spat out. It had gone cold. How annoying. He moved away from the window, headed towards the bathroom to wash his mug out in the sink.