Well, that was good. More efficient meant less fucking. And less fucking was something Arran was completely for - at least until he got his body back. Or, he thought slyly, maybe with that girl from the city: Rachel.<br/><br/>"Gods." Arran cursed as the memory reminded him that he had promised to ask Jachym's aid, and he had forgotten last night. And a night wasted could mean bad things for her sick parent. He cursed again, and then moved to gently prod the sleeping mage's shoulder.