Dread shifted his weight, suddenly itchy. Uncomfortable. Warm under the collar, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Swallowing hard, feeling the anxiety begin to prickle down his back and run through his system. The beach beneath his feet may well have been quicksand, though he knew it wasn't. He'd trained on this beach. Grown up on this beach. He knew it better than anything. Why did he suddenly feel caged, trapped, like a wild animal? Dread took a breath, steadying himself, biting back his anxiety. This place had been his home. Maybe that's why the ghosts feel heavier, more present than usual.
Perhaps that's because there are new ghosts.
Sirius comes to stand beside him, and Dread offered him the same tight-lipped smile and nod he'd offered his brothers. "Sir," he paused for a moment, as if arranging his next words carefully. "Thank you for having us." He steps in with a hug, though it's stiff. How is he... how is he supposed to act? How is this meant to go? Dread stepped back after the brief hug, offering the bottle of rum to his father. A gift for the host-- couldn't let him think every lesson was wasted.
It's only after a moment he softens some, his tone and posture become less formal. It's hard to maintain the façade of being a grown ass man doing well on his own when grief enters the picture. His volume drops too, more confidential. Too self conscious to bring down the entire mood of the party, Dread speaks for only the Warlord to hear. "I heard about Ruga and... and Keahi. My condolences." He'd barely chased the quiver from his voice at the thought of the red woman and her kindness, her watchful eye at his back during his lessons. A pang in his chest at the thought of the flood, and the dozens of other little things he must have missed along the way.
Bard
