[hider=ignore this, some resource for wierd]
[hider=Henri, in the time between meeting Silas and attacking the Black Serpents].
	Rascade, the evening before...

	Henri's abode.
	Located near the plaza and harbour.

	It's been quite a long time since he set foot near here again. It almost felt like a far longer time to just walk from the Constable's office to here. Two hours just pass by in a flash.
	
	At first glance, most people think this house is abandoned. Vines creep at the walls. Dust and cobwebs adorn the windows and roof skirts. Leaves, unswept, decorate the tiny lawn blocked by a short brick fence and a short iron gate. A remotely tall person could simply walk across it. The curtains behind the grated windows weren't closed, but peeking in would only reveal what seemed like an abandoned art studio. Canvasses of 'art' that could only be described as no more than random smears of colour. Scattered buckets of paint, and equally scattered brushes and graphite. An overall lack of furniture except for a sink, a fireplace, a single stool chair and a single table. Not a large family table, a small one for propping up bowls of fruits.
	A depressing, unlivable sight.

	 The door oddly had no doorknob, no keyhole of the sort. The only lock mechanisms are placed on the inner side of the door, so to the outside, it looks boarded-up. It's made specifically so that only Henri could open it from the outside.

	He placed the liquor crates on the dusty floor and grabbed his chest. A few seconds later, he blew out a shot of fire -- the shot of whiskey from earlier. He didn't want to smell of liquor, even if he couldn't smell anything himself. Ah-- tch. He stepped on the embers left over on the floor by that trick.
	In his hurry to get rid of the liquor without prying eyes, he forgot to sell these crates to any possible establishment. He placed the whiskey crate on the fruit table, and carried the two vodka crates to the nearest establishment he could find.

	Angel's Share... Isn't that what you call evaporated liquor? They must know their stuff, right? The decoration looks like a brothel, too. Perfect. Henri knocked on the door.

	[...]

[center]~[/center]
	Present day, around three to four o' clock in the morning.

	He stayed all night on his roof, scoping the dimly lit streets, when he began spotting fires emerge, one by one. Is there an attack? 

	[...]
[/hider]
	The huge lock on the equally huge reinforced wood gate seemingly opens on its own, with a loud clack. A man with a dusty black hooded cloak and a blunt old claymore walks in, and the door closes itself behind him.

	After taking in the sight that befell-- A fresh trace of an explosion and crushed glass, bodies scattered on the ground, Yvonne and Chounan brutally adding more of said bodies, and two others dressed the same but aren't exactly in the fight... The man casually walked forward towards their direction, pulling down the multiple layers of cloth that aimed to occlude his identity.

	"[color=fdc68a]Huh... Are you really doing this with just the three of you? I half-expected the full might of His Highness' army to be here.[/color]" Henri pulled a shield from under his cloak, then placing it on his back. He glanced at the bandit behind Jazdia. It's strange, it felt like his eyes lied to him as his golem perception showed something different. Something elegantly dressed, with animal ears and a thick tail. He squinted. "[color=fdc68a]...[/color]"
	He averted his gaze awkwardly. Best to not ask, or tempt trouble.
[/hider]