It had been a fairly productive day for Wrath as well, if one could call spending all day on the training fields slashing and hacking up dummies in an obstacle course that was designed to push a soldier to their very limits productive. After months of slacking off, however, and drowning himself in whatever substance he could procure from the clansmen of famine, it was an exercise that was sorely needed. Day in and day out, when he wasn't spending time with Na'ima or gathering ingredients for the priestesses to use in trance, he was there.
But now, he was home, and contemplating how to spend his evening. He
could make the trek down the tower to where the famine horsemen kept their quarters and pay a certain, rather attractive mare a visit, or he could stay home, and continue to do so every evening until she came looking for him instead.
Hrm. Decisions.
....Clearly one he didn't actually need to make, as one of his brothers of death came barging into his home, with bottles in hand.
"Eitri." His voice was a deep rumble, as he watched the craftsmen invade his premises and make himself right at home. Charcoal lined eyes flicked from the bottles, to the mugs already being set on the table, and for just a moment, he hesitated to go near, remembering that he was
trying to be good, which generally meant staying away from drink, or other, worse substances.
Ah, but one or two really couldn't hurt, could they?
"I would not dream of it." He grinned, moving towards the table, and reaching for one of the mugs nearly overflowing with freshly poured what-ever-it-was. Lifting it up, he held it out towards his friend and up. "Cheers!"
He then brought it to his lips for a long, deep drink.
Delicious.