If he could not tell just how insanely happy the story teller was right now, Nevin might have been tempted to kill him. Even on good days the alchemist was not a morning person - he normally opened his shop up a bit late for that very reason. And right now he was currently functioning on roughly sixteen hours plus without sleep, and what was probably an absolutely unhealthy amount of stimulant potions.

So the bright, chipper, bouncing ball of energy that was skipping, yes Nevin double checked this the man was literally skipping, next to him as the redhead trudged towards a nearby café was just this side of blindingly infuriating. It seemed like any moment blue birds would start landing on his shoulder, singing a chorus to greet the day. Meanwhile Nevin would have perfectly fit the dark red and black bird that was currently flying along - if it wasn't for the fact that Aphrael was currently piping out happy flute notes, the bright cheery tones ringing out into the sunshine of the day.

Nevin had grunted when Sketch woke up and asked him how long the orator had been asleep, begrudgingly tapping the set of tally marks that he had settled on making on the page as every hour had passed. Sixteen. Sixteen Crimson-forsaken hours watching, making sure the story teller had not accidentally killed himself, and then preparing to wake him up if necessary. The alchemist did not agree with Sketch, Nevin firmly believed that a mere cup of coffee would not be enough to help him. He would need a more powerful stimulant from his supplies to combat the heavy fog that was dragging his steps down.

But in the end, Nevin could not blame Sketch for how happy he was, how energetic he was. The man, according to what he had said, had not had a decent night's sleep in months, if not longer. Who knew, maybe getting sleep again, and knowing he could sleep on a regular schedule without suffering from those nightmares, the Grym, could completely change how the man acted. Hopefully he would normalize out from the absolute madness that he was currently operating in. Nevin watched, almost dumbfounded, as Sketch shoveled what Nevin thought was his third plate of food into his mouth, showing absolutely no signs of slowing down. Nevin on his hand was currently nibbling sedately on just one piece of toast.

There was something about the grin that the man was shooting him through mouthfuls of food that irritated Nevin. The alchemist plastered a grimace in his face, a dark scowl to balance the sheer joy that the story teller was radiating all over the place.