Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-933831-20130731095638/@comment-10298385-20130812115559

"No interest. Yet. Don't worry." Sorrel sneered, though his tone of voice sounded faintly amused. He picked through the bodies nimbly, only pausing to blink once when one of the men groaned before shaking it off and following. This was easier. He liked being in the back, anyway.

"Sorrel." He muttered, dully noting the way that the shadows bent around the street corners. The warehouse wasn't far from here (which probably explained why the men showed up like popcorn enemies in a cheap arcade videogame), and his lip twitched, hand reaching up to tug at his bangs. "Ex-streetrat, I suppose."

His eyes glazed past Bartholomew's head and to the storage facility behind him, scanning the large painted numbers for fifteen. His line of sight ended at eleven, and he sighed, jerking his head towards the general direction. "Somewhat attending Beacon."

(No problem! Glad you're back.)