his own eyes narrowing as his First Mate's eyebrows raised in curiosity. Despite travelling together for over two months, Yonyon still hadn't quite gotten used to how temperamental and mercurial his Captain's mood swings were. A normal day, for Morrigan, consisted of several manic highs and an equal amount of depressive lows; one moment, he would be cheeky and full of joy, the next, his mood became brooding and his thoughts philosophical, dark, and hostile. Not wanting to worsen the Captain's mood, Yonyon stepped back willingly. Things always got messy when Morrigan fought in a bad mood.

He watched as the two men circled one another, his lip twitching; a restrained grin that would have been inappropriate in light of the poor fool who apparently just couldn't back downand walk away. He watched as Futtleshuckle exchanged knife-hands over and over, the movement practised and fluid, spurred on by the fact that Morrigan had yet to draw any of his swords. Pulling a rickety chair out from under the two-person table, the Okama took a seat, crossing his legs as he did so, his soaked clothes completely ignored. Instead of intervening, he turned his attentions to the bounty hunter and attempted to analyse what he saw. The man circling Morrigan appeared to be in his early forties, and was in dire need of a wash. Though his movements with his blade were seemingly engraved into his mind from practice, his hands shook with a certain whimsical instability that spoke volumes about his drug habits. The Okama shook