[ Snatching up the Bag of Holding out of their room, he starts a routine of looking for an object and bagging it. Looking, bagging. Look, bag. It requires no thought beyond what he needs. A toothbrush makes it in there, a brush, some random clothes so that the wardrobe is emptier without a bulk of knitted tops, and he shoves in his mariner's armour with the rest of his Exandrian belongings too so there's a hollow space where he usually keeps them safely tucked under an ostentatious red coat. He would leave a note for the others but the remembers the devices have a texting feature, so he figures he will do that later ... breathing hurts, there's a pain in his chest he doesn't have the time to examine yet.
The stairs thump as he makes his way back down, dropping the bag at his feet just to pull on his coat and hat in the hallway. Being helplessly charmed to stay conversely makes him want to run a mile. ]
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The stairs thump as he makes his way back down, dropping the bag at his feet just to pull on his coat and hat in the hallway. Being helplessly charmed to stay conversely makes him want to run a mile. ]