[Quiet Man Cometh]

The Lord’s eyes flash instinctively, like sunlight through a full decanter, first with surprise and, for a briefest moment, fear, before becoming annoyance and indignation. Byron’s composure is preserved only by his lack of need for air, else he would be gasping for it and clawing at his throat where his master’s elbow now resides.

“Oh, come now,” he half-chokes. He does not need to breath but it remains difficult to speak around a significant intrusion in one’s neck. “I have no intention of sabotaging your end goal…I merely…detest being bored.”

Once released, he passes his hand over his throat, and arranges his cravat back into suitable order. “To spare your summoning me be back and forth like a pet dog, perhaps you would enlighten me as to some of your inclinations? Perhaps we might make more of our time.” The look of firelight flashes across Byron’s eyes again. “As you said, this is my first time out in a while. I would hate to waste it.”