The Bear's Cave - Sedona Station, Baffin (Formerly Freeport 14, Yukon)

[Dusty Lens]

Exits apparently weren't his thing.

Mornings weren't either. The kind of morning where the idea that the pressure in your head might reasonably be released by the boring of a hole with some manner of blunt object/drill seemed entirely reasonable.

Exits turned out not to be his thing when he turned to the plan of the day and found that his very, very expensive gloves had been left behind on the Freeport. He didn't much fancy a return trip, but he didn't much fancy building another set to specs. Also he had a class to teach that day, or supervise with woe in his eyes, as it turned out.

He went through the motions of teaching his mob how to strip paneling of a ship without damaging the underlying structure. The generally charming cackles spewed by the children populating his humble academy rapping a shrill beat of pain against his troubled head. They seemed to recognize, something he wasn't sure how he should take, that Mr. Conner wasn't on his best foot forward that day. The most senior of his returning students took charge of the nubs and the class proceeded nicely. Crimson's Templar was halfway stripped by the end of the day, parts labeled and cataloged and all equipment back from whence it was taken. He loved the noisy little sources of unrelenting pain.

Apparently it was a day were pills were in order. At least he was almost entirely certain that he hadn't had an extremely ill advised romp with Silver. That was heartache and trouble the likes of which he had no intention of heaping into his day to day.

The Sabre was juiced, the trip was short, and he returned to the Freeport looking, if anything, even more like **** than he had the day prior to. His gun came along, she'd carry him as far as the door. With ragged sweater and jeans pulled over suit the slow saunter towards the bar was initiated, head down and hands in pockets.

The crowd looked... Similar? Maybe? The night before had been fuzzy. He mighta gotten someone's phone number? But there was the nosy stoner who'd swiped his pieces, that was the feller with whom he needed a chat. As such he gave him a rap on the shoulder and waited to get a span to talk his piece.

Heyo mate. I think you're still holding onto my hand warmers from last night. I'd be all manner of pleased to get them back.