Connor stood and waited around like the others. Not very talkative, very much in suspense by fact of being in a situation completely new to him. He recognized some people from a distance not in his general vicinity, but didn't know them well enough at all to go up and talk. It wasn't a time for socializing anyway.

It was a time to take notice.

He studied the area, the people. Made note of the weather and the general feeling around him.
He tried to take in the people directly around him, but didn't want to be too obvious about it. He made an effort not to stare at Aupti, and Hasgreak. When his eyes met Shad he smiled in that universal 'I know right, waiting.. am I right?' way but refrained from talking since she didn't seem particularly in the mood.

He tugged at the leather straps of his armour, and shifted the weight of his backpack and weapons. Connor was no warrior and although he had a familiarity with the things on him, this wasn't an everyday occurrence, to be wearing it all and mean it. Especially his sword weighed on him. It wasn't the blade, but the meaning behind it. Someone else should be holding this now, he thought. But he's gone, lost to the night. Now it was his turn, to keep this city standing and help rebuke the tide. Connor looked forward to it in a way. It had felt wrong to be left behind while his uncles and brothers were off to the walls.

Now he'd get to know what the songs, and silences, at the Boss were really about.
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When Beatrice came over he straightened and listened intently to what she had to say. When she mentioned him he nodded once. He knew exactly the area she was talking about. When she mentioned leaving men to fight their own fight and wait for their own action, Connors gaze trailed off over the streets. He started to think about how it would make him feel to leave militiamen, his people, to their own devices.

But when she mentioned his fathers pub he looked her straight in the eye. The curt nod and confident sounding "I understand" came from deep, but he meant them.

He almost didn't catch the last part of what she said. His mind was at the Boss. Where his father would be done boarding up by now, having taken in more people than the place could handle.

Crazy Gail, Marchel and Joyce they'd be helping him out pepping the folks there, women and kids mostly, up with the stories about what they'd do if any of the walking bags of bones dared step foot in the place. The place they had long ago declared their own sacred piece of dirt. They'd anointed the hardwood floor of the Boss with their own offerings of wine, blood and tears more times than the priests prayed in the cathedrals.

They might have been deemed unfit to man the walls, with their missing eyes and fingers. Their impossible attitudes. Their psychological defects making them more likely to steal from the guards than man the wall for even an hour, or worse to try to host a party while waiting. Drunks, thieves and outcasts. They were so incompetent outside of those walls and yet, there wasn't a chance in hell they'd let the Boss fall. Connor felt confident in that, no matter what, the place would be in good hands with that gang of degenerates.