The sound of helitankers full of holy water entering the airspace overtook the drone of the helicopter's rotors for the few minutes they passed by. Jean didn't bother watching, didn't bother thinking about it. What happened to Goshe now was all Ulrich and Tristan's work.

As he sat in the helicopter cabin with his men, he watched the Saluki interact with them in a somewhat detached and irate state.

"A former police dog, eh? Interesting," said Gulliver, petting the dog lying at their feet. "He must have been used for certain situations."

"Probably. Good thing we're bringing him back; I wouldn't be surprised if he's traumatized." Calvin gave Jean a slight nudge. "We could use a dog around the Cellar, eh, Boss?"

Instead of answering, Jean merely nodded. He then looked out the window behind him in contemplation—and so he didn't have to see the dog's face. Basker looked so sad. He didn't know if it was all part of the façade or if it was because of what he did to the mother and daughter. It was bothering him.

Killing an inhuman or their human associates never bothered him before. But this was different.

His uncle's words from earlier came to him, and he would have scoffed, if he had the energy to. Some time off was beginning to sound appealing. He was, after all, human. Being human was a good thing.

Wasn't it?

Lips pursing, he was thankful for the mental sanctuary. Such a question would get him in dangerous trouble if said aloud, and after what he did? He wouldn't dare. In his life as a hunter, he was the instigator of the deaths of many who were all too willing to give up or trade their lives for the sake of "love" for an inhuman. The thought was supposed to be insignificant, and yet it held the gravitas of Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.

He could sympathize with those people, now. Part of him hated it. The other part...

His brows tightened, and he continued to look away from the dog.

"Am I the only one with an appetite, still?" Robin asked with a cheeky smile. He was immediately and lightly clocked upside his head by Friedrich.

"You weren't dealing with the infestation. You don't get to tease them," said the older man.

The twin merely laughed it off, swatting Friedrich's hand away while Calvin made a sound of disgust.

Jean glanced over at Musa, who was also quiet. The man's eyes were closed, his hands entwined in his lap, and to Jean, he appeared to be meditating. Or praying.

Jean looked away again.

"What are we going to do with ol' Basker, here?" asked Robin.

"See what he knows," Jean responded. "If he can be useful as a hunting dog, we should be able to direct him to sniffing out and chasing inhumans. He might even be able to sniff out tossers. If not, we can just give him a home. Like Cal said, it'd be nice to have a dog..."

The man in question nodded. "Fits the aesthetic, eh?"

"Exactly."

In short time, they returned to the isle. After disembarking, they rode back to the Cellar via their horses. Talk of an early lunch was about, a conversation Jean didn't participate in. He didn't feel like eating; he lost his appetite. Long ago, he learned to keep an appetite after killing inhumans, but this time was different. The situation was different. Other situations leading up to it made it different.

He glanced down at the dog running alongside the horse, tethered to a rope he held in his hand.

That was different.

Returning to the outpost, he, Gulliver, and Musa went to the washroom to rid themselves of the unanimously sordid feeling and reminder of the infestation. Jean brought Basker in as well, talking to him along the way as he gave the dog a simple warm wash, as he seemed otherwise clean. The sad expression in the dog's eyes had mostly disappeared.

Situated in the center of the washroom at the back wall, Jean didn't bother looking up from the dog, this time. While the sound of the showers going and the water rushing out of the hose echoed in his ear, his mind wandered idly. He was somewhat concerned since Basker hadn't spoken to him, yet...

He waited until Gulliver and Musa had finished up in the showers before going in, himself. Basker was washed and dried, and he needed a moment to himself. After drying and dressing, he reached out with his senses for the familiar tingling in his veins indicating a servant was near and asked them to get Basker some dog-related items: food, bedding, and the norm. The servant gave a bow before disappearing from sight, moving too fast for him to catch.

He returned upstairs with Basker and went into the sickbay. Initially, he hoped Verne would be able to check Basker for any problems, but...

"I'm not a veterinarian," Verne reminded.

"Surely some human-related things can be implemented for animals?" Jean asked, watching Basker sniff the floor.

"A very few."

Jean nodded, looking up. "He passed the field test, Verne. I doubt you'd have to do much. He was also a police dog, so he's probably in good health."

Verne sighed heavily, but relented, taking the makeshift leash. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." Jean crouched beside Basker. "Verne'll take care of you, now," he assured the dog. His answer to that was a gentle lick on his cheek.

A lick that didn't smell like a dog's in the slightest. He gave the dog a look before leaving the sickbay.

"Artie, I need to talk to you in a few," Jean called to his cousin as he passed through the antechamber.

Artie was on his way to the bathroom. "Sure. I'll be around."

"Thanks."

Jean moved into his office to sit at his desk. The moment he sat, he realized he hadn't created a report of what happened in Ridridge. His mind had been elsewhere. With pursed lips, he grudgingly decided a written report of the Ridridge incident would be ideal to bring with him along with the recordings from Hugh, Butch, and Artie's cameras to the Memorraw. As a bonus, those were the type of things Caden would call "proper leadership".

He stifled the urge to roll his eye.

Shortly after the reports for both Ridridge and Goshe were written, there was a knock at the door. "Come in."

Artie stepped inside and approached the desk. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes." Jean looked up at him, lowering a Manilla folder he had been closing. "There's a mandatory meeting at the Memorraw in three days. Leaders and their seconds."

Artie held his hands behind his back, raising a brow. "It's been a while since we've been to that old place." He gave a nod. "I'll get ready."

Inclining his head, Jean stood as his cousin left, then followed to return to the sickbay. Verne was where Jean last saw him, but Basker was atop a bed that was lowered flat with a paper sheet over it. The doctor was talking to the dog, and his expression had lightened up.

Upon seeing Jean, Verne shook his head. "This dog is very intelligent."

"Oh?" Jean neared, then stood with his arms folded.

"Whomever trained him knew what they were doing, no doubt about it. He's also quite young, I would say; still an adolescent."

Blinking, Jean looked from the dog to Verne and back. "A puppy," he softly chuckled. "That should make training him some more rather easy."

"I imagine so." Verne gave the dog a pat, then snapped his fingers to get the dog's attention and motioned to the floor. Without much more of a prompt, Basker stepped down from the bed.

Jean hummed. "Impressive."

"In any case," Verne handed the leash back to Jean, "he is indeed healthy, from what little I could see. Young, healthy, and eager to please. He does not, however, seem too happy. I imagine that's from losing his entire force."

"Likely..." Jean gave the dog gentle pets, then nodded at Verne. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." The doctor gave him a pointed look.

Jean softly chuckled, raising a hand. "Alright. Won't happen, again."

Verne waved him away, beginning to take the paper off the bed.

Leaving the sickbay, Jean passed through the antechamber to take the right staircase to the barracks. It was faint, but he could hear sounds of fighting in the arena downstairs. Briefly, he wondered who was training, then brought Basker to the living room area. There was an accent table at the far right side of the couch that was normally bare save for a spider plant. Now, the plant was gone, replaced with dry dog food and a large dog bed partially underneath the table. Bowls for food and water along with accessories were on the floor.

Crouching near the table, Jean took up the somehow perfectly and quickly-made collar that already had the dog's name on it along with the name of their group and Isle Veni. The servants moved remarkably fast, as expected. He brushed his finger over the name, then glanced at Basker, who looked up at him with patient eyes. Patient, somewhat sad eyes.

He was about to speak when he decided to think better of it. He would rather not risk his men overhearing him speak to Basker as he would talk to Celezar. Instead, he thought of possibly taking the dog to the nearby forest. With that in mind, he placed the collar around Basker's neck.

The moment it was on, however, Basker turned away and went to his new bed. Jean watched him sniff it before settling. Not knowing what to make of that, Jean observed for a moment more before standing to leave.

He wasn't sure if Basker—or rather, Celezar—was playing a façade or just...

Shaking his head, he turned around and left the barracks. He knew Basker would behave.

He had enough to think about

*    *    *

That early morning, Jean awoke in a sour mood. There were a few things on his mind, such as what had happened in Goshe as well as the fact that he was too deeply within his own mind of late to remember to do certain things. It wasn't like him to do so. The fact that Basker had yet to talk to him had much to do with it as well.

Despite the dog's new status, he intended to bring Basker with him on the trip to the Memorraw. As he would be arriving early, he intended to "fit in" some "training".

He walked upstairs to the antechamber where all the members of his group had gathered. He had called them for a spontaneous meeting, as it was becoming rare to see them all at once. With what happened with Ridridge and then Goshe along with everything else, he was feeling the throbs of a growing headache.

The moment he entered the large room, a myriad of eyes fell on him. His irritated demeanor must have been evident, as some brows furrowed.

"What's wrong, Jean?" Friedrich asked, sitting beside Nicholae at the bar.

Giving his head a shake, moving to stand before them, Jean replied, "You'll have to forgive me. I've been meaning to talk about this for some time, now..."

The men shifted, confused looks forming on their faces. "It's understandable, Jean," said Nicholae.

"Yeah," Lucas added. "It's been, what, two days since Ridridge?" He shuddered.

Jean nodded in agreement. Still, it bothered him. "I've been considering. Since the Augusus incident, our number has gone down to fourteen. It's been our norm to have fifteen members ever since my father led."

Several of the older men nodded with understanding.

"Therefore, I'm going to take some time at the Memorraw to find and recruit another member." Jean looked at each of his men for their reactions.

Acquiescing nods went around. "Sounds good," said Hugh. He stood near the entrance to the office. "What's the point of having one empty bed, anyways?"

"Aye," Nicholae agreed. Beside him, Friedrich was also nodding.

"Wish we could go," said Robin. "Bring back some souvenirs, Boss."

"Sure," Artie scoffed. "Rock samples."

The other men chuckled, but the overall atmosphere was agreeable. Jean nodded. "I also meant to ask if anyone had even some idea as to why the increase of Infernals is happening."

Looks of consideration formed on the faces of the veterans. Nicholae spoke first. "I think something is driving them, attracting them to Clovuria."

"Agreed," said Butch. "Such activity isn't common here. They're more common in the Far Eastern and Near Eastern countries."

Jean tilted his head slightly to the side. "As in whatever attracted them to those countries has come here?"

"Possibly."

"There shouldn't be any other reason. The Far East is experiencing a lull in activity, right now," said Trevor as he sat at the poker table.

"Do you think someone's summoning these things?" Jean asked.

"The Eastern Underground debunked that theory. Hasn't been anything like that since the Vampire incident thirty years ago."

Jean nodded, glancing off in thought.

As he was told by Celezar what was truly happening, he was more so asking questions for the sake of courtesy. He needed his men to know he was thinking about this, wanted to know the reason behind it. His feelings about it were true; after some time considering it, he did want to find a way to stop Hobboilen and Domien.

It also wouldn't make sense if he didn't ask the members of his group for their input. He was fortunate to have five members of his group with over twenty years of inhuman hunting under their belts, with Verne a wise member overall. He had an inkling he was going to have to put up a front quite often in the events to come.

"I can ask around to see if a Hell Gate was opened," Trevor offered, bringing Jean out of his thoughts.

Gulliver made a face, as did Friedrich and Nicholae. "Don't you think it would be obvious if a Hell Gate was opened?" he asked, shifting beside Trevor at the table.

The bespectacled man shrugged. "No harm in making sure."

"Get on it," Jean ordered with a nod. "I want all possibilities covered with absolute clarity."

"Sent, Boss."

"Anything else?" Jean asked, looking at them.

"Do you remember the report on the inhumans of Adoette?" Friedrich asked, idly stroking his beard.

Recalling what he read of a hunt that occurred during his coma, Jean mulled it over in his mind. "You said they were...escaping from something?"

"Something god-awful, by the sound of it," Friedrich continued, "and I believe that something was the devil and its probable mate. They could be causing all of this."

"Can devils rally lesser Infernals to them?" asked Raphael, idly spinning his knives.

"I imagine so," said Verne, standing near the wall of the hall to the infirmary. "But, that's only based on what we know of A-Class Infernals. If they can rally lessers to them, why not devils, who are their superiors? Unfortunately, it's only speculation; we know little to nothing about devils."

"It sounds plausible. Meaning we're going to have to get rid of them if we want to get this mess over with." Jean considered the meeting at the Memorraw. Without a doubt, this was going to be brought up there. He looked upon his men with a thankful expression. "I appreciate your inputs."

Smiling, Nicholae gave a nod. "Take care on your trip, Jean, Artie."

A chorus of similar words were given to the cousins. Dismissed, the sounds of chairs shifted and small noises resounded as the men returned to their business. It was only around six o'clock in the morning and was time to leave to the Memorraw. Jean's bags were packed, and he returned downstairs to get them with Artie behind him.

They grabbed their duffel bags, and Jean whistled for Basker. The dog raised up from where he was sitting beside the couch and approached. Jean reached down to pet him, then the three of them then went upstairs.

They took a dual-colored, black and brown horse-drawn cab to the isle's airstrip. It was located a few miles to the far, distant northeast of the Lowell manor, consisting of the airstrip and a small building that served as the airport. It had its own hangar, tower, and airport authority. The jet was pulling around the airstrip as Jean and Artie exited the cab with Basker in tow.

They were traveling by a small private jet instead of a helicopter. Sometimes, Jean forgot his family even had planes, let alone jets, as he was more accustomed to using the helicopters.

The door to the cab had been opened for them, and the driver moved to take their bags out the trunk. Ahead, the jet stopped, and Jean looked at it while exiting. It had been years since he last boarded an airplane, so slight pings of excitement stirred within him upon seeing it. At the bottom of the steps stood a servant who, for the family's normal planes, would have come along with them. But the day before, when Jean arranged everything with the airport authority, he informed them the servant would not be coming along.

Before long, they were in the air. While sitting in a small area in the back with Basker, Jean shook his head in disbelief. He chose the simplest of the jets, not even the ones for business used by his older brother Tristan and their mother, and yet the interior was lavish. A bar, a counter, a bathroom, chairs, and couches...His family could be ostentatious, sometimes.

Basker was looking out the window, quiet as always, and Jean petted him idly. He was accustomed to waking up early. For more than fourteen years of his life, waking up at four o'clock in the morning was rather normal for his body. Yet, for some reason, he couldn't remember falling asleep during the trip.

He awoke from a dreamless nap to the jostling of the jet as it lowered in altitude. They were arriving at their destination. Some time had passed, and the sun had risen a bit. Looking out the window, he observed their location. The Memorraw was located within a flat boulder-like mountain surrounded by open land some mile or so from a road leading to the city of Bremen. He supposed he could spend most of his time in the city, but there was little he considered after that. He didn't know what to do.

He observed the descent. Distant landmass were visible from above, and he eyed the stretched-out land between locations. His life revolved around hunting, the life of an inhuman hunter. All the first half of the short "vacation" was going to remind him of was how little a life he had outside of that. It was no wonder Ulrich would sometimes joke he'd never get married, and Jean would be there joking right alongside him.

When the jet finally landed, rolling around within a lit, enclosed but large space, Jean looked back out the window. They appeared to be in a massive, cavernous area that had been gutted and reformed as a plane hangar and airstrip. Some time had passed since his last visit, but he recalled enough.

From the front of the plane, Artie hummed. "Did this place get bigger?"

"Probably." Jean glanced at the small planes and jets that were parked as their jet turned around. Some of the planes had the last names of hunters on them. He spotted two that were immediately familiar. "Seems like Holloway and Reznick are here," he said when he caught a glimpse of two planes marked with the hunter's names.

Artie hummed. "Guess we weren't the only ones thinking of lazing for the first days before the meeting."

When the jet finally stopped, Jean unclasped his belt and stood. He stretched out a few times, which seemed to awaken Basker. The dog raised his head to look up at him.

"We're here, Bask. Come on," he urged, motioning to the exit of the jet as one of the pilots left the cockpit to lower the folding stairs. The dog realized they were leaving once Jean began to walk towards the exit and raised up from the floor to follow him.

Upon exiting, his and Artie's bags were handed to them by the pilot, and he took a moment to look around. Their jet was parked near a wall with plenty of space between the other jets and planes on both sides. He counted at least six aircrafts, not including theirs. Not that many but more than he thought would be there so early.

His gaze followed along the wall behind them, eventually landing on a wall-length entrance at the right wall much further inside appearing as large glass doors. At the top of the wall to his left were turrets. Several heavily armed men were roaming about the airstrip, and two were approaching them. One had what appeared to be a water tank on his back and was filling two paper cups with said water from a retractable spout. Holy water, no doubt.

Glancing around, Jean saw that there were other men with the same equipment.

"Welcome," said the first man, carrying a rifle in his hands. "Care for a drink?" he asked just as the other man, who was larger and more intimidating, offered them the cups.

Wordlessly, Jean and Artie took and drank from them. The water was cool and went down smoothly. "Zamzam again? Is it popular, now?" Jean asked.

"The Dox received a shipment from Arabia recently and distributed it to some local and out-of-country outposts," the first man replied. "We try to use it at least once a week; it's a precious commodity, you know."

"Guess we got lucky, then," said Artie, throwing the cup into a small trash bin hanging from the larger man's hip like a pouch.

Jean didn't drink all his water, saving some for Basker. The dog lapped it up gratefully, and he petted him as the water was drunk. This satisfied the men, and Jean also threw the cup away.

Yellow crystals were handed to them, and both he and Artie showed their symbols on the backs of their hands. Content, the first man took the crystals and put them into a pocket before beckoning to their jet.

"Mind if we check it out?" he asked.

"Not at all. Just don't bother with the pilots; they're part-inhuman, bonded to my blood."

Both men's expressions changed to ones of interest. "Pleasure to meet you." Into an earpiece, the first man said, "They're clear. It's Jean-Luc Lowell and...?"

Artie nodded. "Arther Lowell."

"Arther Lowell."

From behind them, a low whirring was made. Jean and Artie turned to see a large, wheeled transporter driven by another man in hunter garb though not as heavily armed. There was space on the transporter for their bags to be placed in the back as well as at least seven seats for them to sit on. Leaving the two men to their inspection, the cousins placed their bags on the transporter, then sat down with Basker between them. The transporter rolled off towards the glass doors.

As they approached, it became apparent the border of the door was lined with a device of some sort. It appeared to be a kind of x-ray machine, large scale and very impressive. Passing beyond the doorway, lights on the edge of the machine lit up, just enough for Jean to catch a glimpse before they went through. No doubt their bodies and bags had been scanned, though what would be considered worthy of suspicion was an enigma to Jean. Every intelligent hunter carried a weapon with them at all times.

Traversing through the lit halls of the apparent air base brought back some memories for Jean. He recalled the high ceiling, the lights flashing above and the rock-like walls that gave the halls some charm. Hunters of all calibres with assorted gear were walking in all directions and some were also on transporters of varying sizes. There were platforms above that yielded just a little over ten feet high where some hunters were walking and conversing, watching the activity below.

A large, industrial elevator guarded and operated by three men was their destination. Jean remembered this. The main outpost was both on the ground floor and belowground. The man on the transporter stopped at the elevator and asked them, "Do you know where you're going?"

"The barracks. I know the way," Jean said. That much, at least, he did remember.

The man nodded at them and they hopped off to enter the elevator. Bags over their shoulders, they stepped inside and watched one of the men press their floor's button from a console near the elevator's doors. The doors closed, and they began their descent.

Basker's tail was wagging from the excitement of liveliness, and Jean smiled a bit. He was finding himself nostalgic and in a rather good mood, as well.

The barracks, which were truthfully more like typical inn rooms, were located to the far right of the outpost's first basement floor. The ceiling wasn't as high as the main floor space and was co-gender. Some men and women alike walked to and fro, though naturally the men outnumbered the women by an overwhelming amount; only while on their way to the barracks did Jean see any women since arriving at all.

When the cousins reached their destination, they came to a large, open lounge space and halls going left, straight, and to the right. Before the halls and the lounge was what seemed to be an operator's desk sitting higher than a typical one. Even the man sitting there with his female counterpart were dressed in hunting gear.

"Names?" the man asked them.

"Jean-Luc and Arther Lowell," said Jean. He looked down at Basker. "And one dog."

Keys were gently tossed to them, and both Jean and Artie caught them. "You both get your own individual rooms. Doesn't matter whichever of you has the dog," said the woman.

"Right. Thanks," said Artie, whereas Jean nodded. To his cousin, he said, "I guess this is where we part."

Eyeing his key, Jean nodded. The numbers on their keys had different wing indicators. "See you around."

They split; Jean and Basker went to the left and Artie walked straight ahead. The sooner Jean could put his bag away, the sooner he could get to the important matter of exploration.

His room was nearest to the end of the hall, and after a click, the door opened with his key. Inside was a modest space smelling of a slightly fresh scent large enough for a brown, full size bed, strong wire shelves hanging from the ceiling, a pole for hanging clothes, and a small brown desk with a rolling chair. In the back of the room was an open bathroom with doors leading to the toilet and shower. It was just as he remembered.

Basker immediately went sniffing around, and Jean placed his bag on the bed. He took a moment to watch after the dog, words running through his mind but unsure how to address what he was thinking—had been thinking—for a while.

With a soft exhale, he laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling before letting his eyes close. Not a second later, a soft sound met his ears. It was like soft rustling, as if from material or movement. The bed dipped at his sides, and he opened his eyes to see green orbs looking down at him from a familiar face.

"Something on your mind, love?" Celezar tilted his head to the side.

Staring blankly at him, Jean murmured, "Everything is on my mind."

Tilting his head to the side, Celezar frowned. "What's wrong?"

Looking away, Jean didn't respond immediately. Only when calloused fingers began to brush his hair out of his face did he softly exhale. "I wish you hadn't seen that."

Celezar slowly stilled.

"You shouldn't have seen it." Jean recalled Goshe, the mother and daughter. "But you see it and saw it all the time, didn't you? Us killing inhumans like that. Killing people like that. Some have called inhuman hunters 'monsters', too. But you know that, already..."

There was a heavy exhale, but it didn't sound irritated or angry.

When Celezar remained silent, Jean continued. "I feel as though what happened was some sort of cosmic test. I might have...I...failed it."

Coarse palms took his face, turning his head so he was looking up at Celezar. The hybrid looked sad but perhaps a bit annoyed as well. His thumb caressed Jean's scar. "This isn't a series of tests, Jean. Not to be with me, earn my trust or anything. I've already given my all to you. What happened was...what you felt you had to do."

While his face was turned forward, Jean's eyes looked away and he didn't respond. There was another exhale, softer, calmer, and then lips skimmed over his. Staring forward, he watched his partner nuzzle him with his eyes closed. It brought the smallest of smiles to his face, but he didn't feel any better.

Instead, he scanned Celezar's face. Dark speckles dotted his tawny beige skin, interrupted only by small scars scattered along his face and a long one over his right eyebrow ending just before his hairline. Relaxing somewhat, Jean reached into Celezar's auburn curls and gently massaged his scalp. Celezar's eyes remained closed, and a smile formed on his face as he softly exhaled. He then lowered to rest his body atop Jean's.

Jean would never be able to deny how safe he felt in Celezar's presence despite knowing what he was. That was his subconscious mind. His conscious mind, on the other hand, was at a complete and utter loss.

Deciding not to think about it for the umpteenth time, he closed his eyes and held Celezar close.

Seconds after, he heard a soft rumbling sound. A gentle vibration went through his chest coming from Celezar's. He paused while blinking. Incredulous, he asked, "Are you purring?"

Slanting his eyes open, Celezar scoffed. "My kind invented purring, thank you very much."

The lazy, contented drawl brought a larger smile to Jean's face. He went back to massaging his partner's head. "Which one?"

"Hallow."

Jean's brows furrowed. "An earthbound creature...purrs?"

"Mm, I prefer the term 'rumbling' myself." Celezar's eyes closed again, and he gently pecked Jean's lips.

His smile widening, Jean also closed his eyes. The rolling vibrations increased in intensity, and he lowered a hand to wrap an arm around Celezar's body.

"Jean."

"Hm?"

"What are you going to do for the rest of the day? It's early."

Making a soft, tentative sound, Jean answered, "I think...I'm just going to walk around, for starters. See if any of my friends are here. Maybe get familiar with the outpost again."

"Oh, good. I was hoping to walk around with you in human form, maybe. No one will recognize us in the nearby city, and I can keep a lookout for anyone familiar."

Jean considered this. It didn't take much for him to cave. He hadn't spoken to Celezar in days. "Alright."

Celezar slightly shifted atop him. Opening his eyes, Jean let him go, allowing him to stand and morph back into his animal form. It was interesting to watch and happened in mere seconds. Celezar's body moved as if like water, shaping and shimmering into another, smaller form. Once the brown eyes were looking back up at him, Jean left the room with the dog in tow.

After closing the door behind him, he looked up in time to see a muscular man take notice of him as he walked past at the divide further ahead. "Jean!"

A genuine smile spread on Jean's face. He approached his friend, holding out a hand that was grasped tightly. "Will. It's been forever," he greeted heartily.

The man's expression dropped. "Goodness, man. Your voice...Your eye."

Jean took his hand back to trail his fingers over his scar. It was only when he touched his open left eye that he realized he forgot to put on his eyepatch. It was definitely better than before, but... "It's fine."

"It sure as the fires is not." Turning to stand beside his friend, Will placed an arm around Jean's shoulders. "Walk with me."

"As if I have a choice."

Boisterous laughter boomed from Will's mouth as they left the barracks.

"Shut it, man! People are trying to sleep!" hissed the woman at the counter.

Will ignored her, whereas Jean only rolled his eyes. Jean then glanced back to make sure Basker was behind them, and he noticed the brown eyes were green for a second as what he would swear was irritation briefly overcame the dog's face.

Well...Celezar could wait for a little while.