D’Angelo wasn’t a superstitious Courser – not exactly. He’d been running the dungeons long enough to know which tales were horseshit, and which were too close to real to ignore.

The Harvester leaned a bit too close to the latter for D’Angelo to ignore. While some coursers were mad enough to get the spectre as a friend, D’Angelo knew the correct course of actions – hid your head and let the reaper pass you by. His family had kept a small tradition of placing a handful of Soul Seeds on their doorstop to avoid the Harvesters ire, and just because the stallion was currently stuck in a shitty tavern while his charge blew her allowance on cheap booze and rounds for her new, temporary travelling buddies it didn’t mean he was going to keep the seeds to himself.

Letting himself back into the tavern, he was hit with a wall of noise from the rowdy coursers at the bar, and the sight of his charges annoyed glare.

“Ugh, don’t tell me you believe in that Harvester bullshit, D’Angelo?”

Bryony was centre stage in her circle of hangers on, edging closer to drunk than tipsy but still holding herself perfectly steady. The grey stallion wondered if her father knew just how his little princess passed her days (and nights) on her little dungoneering trips, but thankfully he wasn’t being paid to keep her virtue in tact. So he had no qualm with ignoring her completely and heading for his rented room in the back of the inn. A frustrated snort and rapid footsteps behind him let him know that Bryony wasn’t in the mood to let him go that easily.

“Helloooooo, rude much?? You can’t just ignore me like that, old man! What, are you too paranoid to talk shit about the spooky ghosts or something?”

While D’Angelo had become skilled in biting his tongue while he toured spoilt brats around the dungeons, Bryony managed to get under his skin like no other. She was nearly preternaturally skilled in knowing how to piss people off, and D’Angelo was no exception. The blonde mare pulled up besides him, swaying slightly as he stopped and waited for her tantrum to finish. Or start. It was always a little hard to tell which way it would go, with her.

“Bryony, please try and show the smallest modicum of respect for beliefs other than your own. If you want to spend the Harvest Moon getting drunk and partying with your friends, than do that. I want to spend my night safely in my room and away from the moonlight.”

Bryony scoffed, the mares face twisting into something ugly and cruel.
“Ugh, you are such a miserable bastard sometimes. Why don’t you untwist and come have a drink? There’s some old nags in the crowd who’d love to get to know you, I’m sure.”

Pinning his ears back, the grey stallion focused on the space between the drunken mares ears so he didn’t have to look at her foul glare any longer than needed. Deepest dungeons, but this paycheck better be fat after putting up with Bryony’s bullshit.

“No, Bryony. You are welcome to keep drinking, but I’m going to bed. Stay with your friends and drink some water before you go to sleep, or we’ll have to delay the Dive until your hangover passes.”

Scoffing, Bryony whirled back to the bar, huffing and only nearly taking a tumble on a wayward chair. “Fine, be miserable! Fuck this, next time I’m getting dad to hire a FUN guide.”

Safe now that her back was turned, D’Angelo let the thunderous frown he had been holding back free. Rolling his eyes at the drunken filly’s antics, he slipped back to his blessedly quiet room. While he was technically sharing with Bryony, he highly doubted it’d be his room she ended the night in. A restful night for once.

Tightly closing the curtains and keeping the moonlight at bay, D’Angelo gratefully sank into his bed and quickly fell into a deep slumber. Tomorrows bullshit could wait for him to rest.