Sausage was adamant to stay with someone, anyone. And Renhardt was always there. He had taken a liking to the older man, perhaps he admired them too much for a man he only met a few weeks ago.

In his eyes, they were wise, inspirational. If he had time to write without the rise of deadly vampires lurking about, he would make Ren the hero. They were old and forgetful and perhaps slightly incoherent with his slippery accent, but he could find himself drifting off into the land of daydreams, wishing to hear the man speak more. Their trills as they spoke, how they chuckled cheerfully despite everything happening.

He sat comfortable in the tavern, listening to Renhardt ramble on about something to Martyn as the three of them shared some drinks to lift the mood. This would make an excellent story.