#uncle bard

“It is quite alright, Miss Nami,” Bard answer with a nod and a calm smile. Sadly, it faded when her apology continued.  

“Miss Nami, I did not stop you because it was not my place to do so. I could have given you counsel on what to do. I could have admonished you in one way or another. However, at the end of the day; it was ultimately your choice. All I will say is this; learn from it and let go of ‘what if’.”

“Now then,” he said as the smile returned as he went to the kitchenette and pulled the steaming kettle off of the stove, “I have a mixture of raspberry tea one of my contacts gave to me.”

Bard’s room is a modest affair. 

The bed. The kitchenette with the small fridge and icebox. The small kotatsu for guests that need a place and an ear to vent to. The window to the outside for ventilation and a lovely view. 

Bard is dressed simply. He has known wearing nice clothes and have spent many years in rags. He has learned to appreciate wear that does not have holes, nor the disgusting odor of his own filth upon them. His tall and, at one point, emaciated form lets the clothes hang from his shoulders. And the wiry mane and beard of white hair, even when combed and cut, still refuses to cooperate, to his chagrin. 

The tea set is Bard’s singular possession that he treasures more than anything. White and blue patterns adorn both kettle and cups as he takes the kettle off of the electric warmer. With practiced motion, he fills both cups just to the right height. He takes a pair of tea packets to his nose and inhales. He had chosen well, the ones he had purchased from his contact had gotten the fresh herbs he had requested. 

He places the small packets in the cups and allows the mixture to seep into the water still exhuming steam. He moves over to the window to let the breeze in, letting a golden chime ring its tune as he looks to the clock. 

5:07.

He walks to the door and opens it. He smiles and bows to his employer. 

“Welcome, Miss Syndra. The tea is ready.”