Norton has been so damn whipped for you it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen to his knees.

the manor holds dinners, as you and the rest of your fellow survivors know. and this one, for whatever reason, was mandatory nice attire.

…there’s a gentle poke at your hip. confused, you turn and are immediately met with the chest of the prospector.

hands now adorn with white fabric, his brow furrows once he realizes you’ve turned. somehow, his look suggests that it’s your fault.