"Maybe... we should consider the 'running away' option."
"Here we go..." Brandus muttered dryly, lacking any semblance of surprise.
Gary could only give a wry smile in response. "I know, I know. Of course, I would be the one to say that. But hear me out—" His arms stood outstretched to his side, as if to corral the team's wayward gazes to him.
"Did we cause the... problem, yes. Do we know about it? Obviously. But can we really do anything about it?"
"We can." Unswayed, Brandus jutted in, hoping to put an end to wherever Gary was going.
A noble attempt, but a failure, nonetheless, as Gary responded with a pair of finger guns.
"Exactly. We can do something. And by something, I mean selling the goods and finding some beach-front property, preferably a healthy distance from the border. How does that sound?"
Uncertain glances were exchanged throughout the group. From the depths of the lounge, Alfred's gruff voice chimed in, "That sounds like running away..."
'You guys... I'm trying to help you!' Gary bemoaned, helpless as his words failed to sink into their thick-headed skulls.
"Listen," With eyes roaming left and right, his voice lowered to a mere whisper as his hands pressed against the oak table. "I get that we want to clean up our mess. And I respect that. But can we agree that this is above our pay grade? This is not a battle; war is coming. We can report the news, but I take no responsibility past that."
The others had mixed reactions to his declaration. Brandus, Alfred, and Gabriel seemed to scorn what they viewed as cowardice, while Shasa and Edwin both maintained pensive looks.
But Gary could care less about their opinions. For once, he was not trying to use semantics in a vain attempt to brush off guilt or duty.
He truly felt that outside of informing someone of the incoming storm, he had no part to play.
War was brutal. All-encompassing. A machine with infinite gears, oiled by the blood of countless citizens. Thinking a small band like theirs could influence its outcome was naive.
Would questions arise concerning its cause? Naturally. In another reality, Gary would have pondered how the demons resurfaced once more.
But the burden of responsibility lay with the Church. Wasn't it their duty to answer, when the heroes were to blame?
"...Some tip without a name or face won't gain any notice. Someone has to take responsibility." Edwin analyzed, his hand resting upon a smooth chin as he rolled around the idea.
"Then we can find someone who can. We've been in this business for ten years; We have contacts, let's use them. A noble, an information broker... hell, you can even talk to your old man."
Brandus raised a single bushy brow at Gary's gesture towards him, none too pleased by the mention of his lineage.
Hesitation gnawed away at him as he said: "...I doubt that would be a good idea..."
"No, Gary has a point, actually. Isn't your dad a bigtimer in Lassai? Couldn't we talk to him?" Shasa pressed, leaning in.
All eyes turned to Brandus. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze fixated on his drink.
After a tense pause, he relented. "I... am open to the idea." Brandus glared at Gary, "If you want to dodge your part of the blame, be my guest."
'That's the spirit!' Gary rejoiced, pleased to avoid a run-in with the law.
"But no running away." Brandus finished, his words gradually drifting off: "We owe at least that much. To our friends and family. Even you wouldn't leave everyone behind, would you?"
Brandus' words struck a cord in the others. Even Gary faltered in his devotion to escape.
In the brewing tempest, all they had thought about was their own lives. Now, from a little reminder, they stopped to think of those other than the small group.
Silence enveloped them, each lost in their memories: Shasa remembering the scent of leather and parchment; Edwin recalling a guiding hand in a shaded forest grove; Alfred's mind filled with the aroma of herbs; Gabriel picturing a church bathed in golden light, intermingled with memories of an orange ocean sun. Brandus, comforted by a protective embrace beside a roaring fire, as a gentle voice read from a children's book.
Gary's thoughts drifted to a modest home in Lassai, whose empty cupboards failed to dampen the laughter of children that filled the room, kept in line by the watchful eyes of a small, caring woman.
'Hah... damn you, Brandus. Damn you and your morality.' All the more aggravating, Brandus seemed to recognize the effectiveness of his words, giving a knowing smile as Gary fought to keep his hands to himself.
Yet—even as he wanted to ruefully shake a fist at Brandus' smug face, all it took was a singular thought of home to banish any idea of leaving Rochan.
Lips slowly opened, nearly spitting out a response all of them now felt. "...Fine, we won't run."
A heavy pat landed on his back, followed by the passing of another beer.
"I figured you'd come 'round." Alfred said.
"Then you're a bigger optimist than I." Brandus joked, though Gary had his reservations.
'It isn't a joke if you mean it... whatever. I'll let this one slide.
'Or not.'
Gary sipped on his drink, speaking between pulls, "Easy there, buddy. We still have to visit your old man first."
Brandus gave a helpless nod, fighting the growing sense that it would end in disaster.
"Don't look so down," Shasa playfully slapped his armor plating. "I think it'll be a good time. From what I've heard, your dad is a pretty fun guy."
'Fun is one way to put it,' Brandus thought. 'Maybe if you only enjoy drinking, partying, and vandalizing public property—oh... oh no.'
His eyes widened, running a simulation of what would happen.
'Gabriel is fine. Alfred and Edwin will probably drink.' Just like that, three had been judged as safe.
But his eyes repeatedly darted between the drunk—and quite frankly, somewhat unhinged—sorceress and party leader.
This... would be a problem.
Noting the wayward glances, Gary showed a confused look.
'...Why is he doing that?'
'Me and Shasa—did we do something?' A finger scratched at his scalp while he recalled any wrongdoing.
'Hmm, nothing comes to mind. Not with Shasa, at least.'
The two of them weren't exactly partners in crime. They mixed as well as water and oil: add a little heat into the equation, and things got messy real fast.
Still, the way Brandus looked at the pair had Gary second-guessing his memory. Hell, if he didn't know better, Gary would have thought he suspected a secret fling—cough!
'Dear Goddess!' He sputtered, choking on his beer.
"Hey, who else is looking to sell those bad boys!" Gary cheered, suddenly eager for any distraction.
His mug was quickly surrounded by five of its brethren, with smiles all around.
"That's one thing I'll drink to," Alfred exclaimed.
Shasa gave a curt nod in agreement, with Edwin joining in: "To the one good part of the trip!"
The mood lightened, as it always did when adventurers remembered the spoils of their labor.
Yes, even an expedition as disastrous as theirs wasn't without a silver lining.
Lost in the reverie of a good drink and decent company, Gary's head tilted to and fro, moving to a beat only he could hear.
Thinking back, the movements closely resembled those he made back in a castle, performed every time a scalpel slid across yellowed parchment.
'I can't help but wonder... has the bastard noticed yet?'
At that moment, Gary would have given anything to see the look on the demon's face when he realized just how much they had robbed him for.