Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20191215223703/@comment-5543592-20191217171150

Nyasia had been promised future pancakes so this stew was of little consequence to her.

She returned to her stool, dusting off the dirt that he remained when she'd sat their last, and pulled it to the shack's wall. She sat down and leaned back against it, watching the room. Helian cooking his stew, Garran and Shrava helping him, Mozu doing whatever it was that Mozu did. Scaldor must've been outside smoking, Baldr setting up the camp ground. People going through their usual routines.

There was a pleasant, easing quality to it. A sense of stability. Nyasia had lacked that growing up. Neglected by her parents, who were always too busy with themselves or fighting to pay her much mind, raised by a triumvirate of hardened killers, she had always felt things could spill into chaos at any moment. Each day had been something new and no one like the last. It had not been the most healthy of atmospheres.

This was more pleasant however. She had friends and people seemed to genuinely like her. Despite recent troubles, she found herself happy with the current state of affairs. They could persist in this way for some time into the future, and she would not be too bothered.