[ it's later in the evening on wednesday and rondo's no longer at the island ceremony. he's sitting by the water at the beach, curled up - really only recognizable because his cloak's hood is pulled up over his head and the sacred flame symbol on the back stands out like a sore thumb.

it's a very solitary moment, an unusual one for someone who tends to be the center of most social gatherings of the group. he has his arms around his knees, and as you get closer, you might hear him... mumbling. ]

... it's just odder to hear you laugh. [ rondo's voice is soft and wet, vulnerable - there's a tiny laugh. whatever he's seeing disagrees, and he flinches. ] When you're saying - no sir. I know - yes, sir. I'm... sorry, sir. I know, sir.