A clattering comes from somewhere along the hall that heralds the arrival of one Yngvi Congealedinagutterson. And nugs. And an empty keg. Doing the most.

"Serah!" Testing out the traditional greetings again, they're feeling rusty. His pockets are jingling because guess what: want, take, have, why are the dead going to need any of this stuff? He'd be letting the home team on home turf, can't be doing that can he? Someone'll report him. "Your carriage as requested."

You requested it yeah?