It’s dark out when he opens his eyes.
It’s not unusual, there are few things in this world, in all of Tyria that could make him change his habits — trauma aside, of course, he’s had to change many habits because of that, but his waking habits are the same. Sleep for half the night, contemplate, go back to bed and be up before the sun rises. Sleep eludes him like a white stag, and he keeps it that way. There is a body beside him, draped across his chest like he always is and he shimmies his way out of the sylvari’s grip, hushing the bleary thing back to sleep.
Odd, he thinks. He thinks the word Odd a lot.
Odd in the way that he’s still here, despite his excitable nature. Odd that Genjl would choose to stay here in the Reach with him when there’s a glittering guild hall they could both be sleeping in right now, decrepit as it is. Odd that he would choose to stay as well.
Odd becomes something less of a word, he drops the the floor and begins his morning routine. He tries to not make much noise, Gen needs all the rest his frantic little body can get.
He finishes with sun-up. He pulls on a shirt with a practiced ease. He pulls on an arm, trousers, boots. For the sake of his pride, he leaves his hat on the bedside table. Sure, there’s food in the tavern but most of his money goes towards rent anyhow, and the owner doesn’t need much more of his business, does she? He makes his way into town.
The best part about living here was that no one seemed to question it. Small and slight as he was for his… race, a word that burdens his tongue with distaste even now, humans had a remarkable duality to them: the ability to be the nosy shits he’s always thought them to be, or to completely mind their own business, even when it wasn’t in their best interest. The majority of Divinity’s Reach fell into the latter category, which made buying breakfast a more enjoyable task than traveling into Norn settlements.
The Captain looks up from his produce and notices eyes staring back at him from a corner. They leave when he catches their gaze.
Not that it mattered. Not that anything really mattered, his days of pillaging were over and if he was recognized, so be it. He has the protection of the Blades, and… by no extension, the Seraph might understand. He tries to shake it as he stocks up on apples and bread and cheese and dried meat and moves back towards the inn. Whatever anxiety that he’s feeling, he’s struggling to keep down in favor of being aloof about this.
Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. What have you gotten yourself into.
He puts the food on the table in the small room when he returns, and grabs his coat — Genjl frowns as he gets up.
“Where are you going?”
“You just got ba–“
The answer doesn’t satisfy, he doesn’t allow it to. Ironwood shuts the door and pulls on his coat and is making quick, heavy steps towards the palace. His paranoia is getting the better of him, and he knows it, and there’s only a few things that can really put him at ease.