On at least one of the days Rita decides to take out her frustration on the training dummies, someone else is going to beat her to the course.
Lambert still looks like death warmed over, but at least he's got a bit of color to his cheeks now. He's dragged over a small wooden table which currently has an assortment of small, paper-and-twine-wrapped bundles lined up on them. Right now, he's poring over the paper and drumming against it with a pen, lips worrying at an unlit cigarette held between them. When he hears someone approach, he looks up, squinting.
"Hey." It's not much of a greeting, but there isn't really much else to say here, is it. The Nightrider is back to full Carnival glory as Rita remembers him, tail and horns and all, though she certainly looks a little different from how he remembers her. His gaze lingers briefly and curiously on those wings, before snapping back to focus on her.
b-ish
Lambert still looks like death warmed over, but at least he's got a bit of color to his cheeks now. He's dragged over a small wooden table which currently has an assortment of small, paper-and-twine-wrapped bundles lined up on them. Right now, he's poring over the paper and drumming against it with a pen, lips worrying at an unlit cigarette held between them. When he hears someone approach, he looks up, squinting.
"Hey." It's not much of a greeting, but there isn't really much else to say here, is it. The Nightrider is back to full Carnival glory as Rita remembers him, tail and horns and all, though she certainly looks a little different from how he remembers her. His gaze lingers briefly and curiously on those wings, before snapping back to focus on her.
"You here to practice?"