((Room 202, pre-shopping-trip))
Krauser is not making more throwing stakes to replace the ones that have suffered aim-related mishaps. Nor is he checking over his arrows and bowstring for wear or cracks. Nor is he making sure his prized combat knife is rust-free. He does have a few other interests.
He's lying on his stomach on the couch in 202, staring at a musty paperback propped up on one armrest. It's on the verge of falling apart. It's fairly obvious, given the raptor's stare he's giving it, that concentrating on it too hard won't destroy it. It looks like it might fall apart if someone sneezes, though.
He also is writing notes in red pen in the margin, some scribbled off quite furiously.
You saw him training Mel, and want to ask about lessons? You want to know what that derogatory remark he just muttered under his breath was about? Go ahead.
He's lying on his stomach on the couch in 202, staring at a musty paperback propped up on one armrest. It's on the verge of falling apart. It's fairly obvious, given the raptor's stare he's giving it, that concentrating on it too hard won't destroy it. It looks like it might fall apart if someone sneezes, though.
He also is writing notes in red pen in the margin, some scribbled off quite furiously.
You saw him training Mel, and want to ask about lessons? You want to know what that derogatory remark he just muttered under his breath was about? Go ahead.