His shirt slid on easily. He pulled the sleeves down and buttoned it with a practiced precision his half asleep mind already was adept at. He wasn't even looking down as he moved, silently, giving Sivienna more time to sleep. The previous day had been a good departure from the norm of his life. It had grounded him in a way he had needed, and more importantly craved.
Next came the boots, covered in the dust of a dozen nations. They were well worn, but not damaged. His feet were still well protected, and so he hadn't bought new ones yet. Each was laced up tightly, blinding his pants legs to make sure he wouldn't have to worry about something grabbing a hem and bogging him down.
Next came the vest, patched and stained from countless fights. It covered his chest giving a meager protection he had never really relied on. The vest was a trophy from when he had robbed the Zirnden fighting arena in Scars Brae in what seemed a different life. He brushed his hands down the leather, smoothing it over his shirt.
Now it was time to prepare for war.
He heard Sivienna shift behind him, possibly watching him silently as he ran a hand over his dagger belt. He didn't pay attention to her, not yet. Instead he carefully picked it up and threw it around his waist. He cinched it up, feeling the comfortable weight of metal and leather like a second skin. It was reassuring to the Demon, who closed his eyes for a moment and let out a soft sigh.
The gauntlets slid on, and he laced them up tightly. Flexing his hand he heard the audible creak of the leather and nodded, knowing they’d do the job. Finally he turned to face the bed, seeing the awake Sivienna and gave her a brave smile, “Evening, you want to get up or should I go myself and come collect you?”
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