This post has content warnings for: Minor Endwalker (6.0) spoilers.
"Dude, is that a talking TV?"
- He/Him
29yo terminally tired serial shitposter and fledgling PNGtuber. Sometimes draws, sometimes writes. Call me Victor. 🏳️🌈🔞
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www.twitch.tv/SolistorThis post has content warnings for: aftermath of/dealing with a panic attack.
"I've got a shed now," Tormod started, taking a sip of his steaming coffee. Y'orhen tilted his head, ears perking curiously as he listened on. "No offense, but this apartment's garage ain't big enough for me to really tinker the way I'd like to." A fair assessment. "So I asked around, and one of the boys at the Parrock hooked me up with a cargo hold so I could really dig into the machines."
Y'orhen snorted slightly with amusement. "That's a bit bigger than a 'shed', I'd say." His comment got a chuckle out of the Viera, but afterwards Y'ronan smiled and nodded. "I'm glad they're so accommodating for you. Just know that you still have a place here - it's the least I can do for the way you fixed up my motorbike." It was Tormod's turn to snort this time, shaking his head and fixing the Sage with a look of disbelief.
"You're still on about that? Sheesh, Rhen, that was eras ago, and it was just a little fix-up job. Certainly nothin' worth all this life debt crap you're on." Still, though, Tormod smiled a bit sheepishly, clearly touched by the sentiment. "...But yer welcome. Truth is, if it weren't for your hospitality, I wouldn't've found my place with the Redbills. So I guess I owe a little of my life to you, as well."
"Then we'll call it even," Y'orhen shot back with a smirk.