Today was an odd day.<br/><br/>For the first time in a while, Junco had been allowed a free day from his duties, trusting the boss-man's safety to the other thugs he had on hand... Junco was also the man who usually read letters for the boss, who was as illiterate as a newborn child, as he enjoyed telling his concubines. Junco didn't understand how that trait was supposed to make him more likeable... He sometimes looked down on his employer for remaining willfully ignorant.<br/><br/>On his free-day, Junco had decided to gather some of his gil in a purse and to find a book vendor, hoping to obtain a new piece of Gothro or Evander poetry, or maybe another epic written by Mundsen's aged hand. There was nothing to be found; Junco despaired that his day had been over as soon as it started, but one bookseller told Junco that old Mundsen was fishing on the river, a few hours up the Ghis... He was not sure what to make of this, but Junco figured he would be back before the next morning, before he was missed by his employer. He bought some apples, some jerky, and looking up at the clouds brewing over the sea... An umbrella, as well.<br/><br/>His trip lasted several hours; the sun was dipping behind the heavy rainclouds, and Junco figured that he should give up now, before it really started to pour. He turned and began to march back to Rodderick, hoping to beat the rain... Which he didn't. He stretched the umbrella out over his head, mumbling about his ill luck. It was hard to tell, but Junco was sure the sun had dipped below the clouded horizon, and night had finally set in; He was becoming very cold, and irritable, neither of these were remedied when he was denied entrance to Rodderick. "I'm a resident you bloody idiot!" He growled, but they would not permit him back inside. "I'll see that Ragland hears about this," he hissed, dropping his employer's name in hopes that it might set the men bustling to see him inside... But no, they were not even rebuffed by that threat.<br/><br/>Sputtering curses, he found his attention drawn to the monastery, some way off the path of the road, practically glittering, its' white walls a beacon to his eyes. They would never refuse a drenched traveler, and he could return the favor by catching a sudden case of piety... He had at least a few more gil to spare. Junco passed up a few unusual characters, eying them warily as he made his way into the monastery, folding his umbrella up and tucking it under one arm. "Gods," he whispered, looking at the elaborate tapestries and colored glass that seemed to tell a story as well as any Gothro sonnet. He wore a cap on his head, dry thanks to the umbrella, and pulled it off in reverence for this holy place.