"So, which was it this time? Dice or drawing pieces of straw?" Devilyn asked, smiling pleasantly at her friend's discomfort. Britt had been tasked with taking some new recruit under his wing for a day, something she knew he'd never volunteer for. Ever. Even if it were really just some pretty barmaid, Britt would never volunteer for such a thing. He'd become a guard largely to escape the responsibilities of training new recruits, after all.
"Lottery." he grumbled, looking particularly miserable. Like an injured dog who refused help and was content to simply limp around with a sour disposition. "I lost," he grumbled, before hiding his graying hair beneath his helmet. He wasn't particularly old, which was precisely why it was embarrassing enough for him that he'd readily wear a heavy piece of steel over his head. Though in all fairness to the helmet, he'd been griping about just about everything all morning. He was not looking forward to this.
"I'd say that's fairly obvious," Devilyn commented, "Your mood today could curdle milk." While Britt was clad in lighter mail armor, Devilyn was wearing the full set of plate armour of a Mordecai, complete with a meticulously cared for white tabard that distinguished them from ordinary heavy infantry. She however, wasn't about to wear a helm; the day was only going to get warmer, and she didn't need to pass out from walking around sealed in a tin can all day. "Cheer up old man, it's only for a day. And I doubt your little protege is going to be that bad."
"Yes, well, he's going to be late if he's not here soon, and I don't plan on sticking around even a second after to wait for him."
