It was weird to wear the armor around Gerrit’s home.

Ram smiled at that thought, glad that he was at a point where wearing armor was the expectation and not the norm. There were times he’d been forced to wear armor night and day. Huge pieces of breastplate and helmets that acted more as components of a siege engine than armor. And he’d plowed across the field, scattering enemies as he bull rushed across the field to run head long into the shining gates of…” Chip.

“Shit!” he been lost in thought had accidentally dislodged some of the countertop when he’d blundered into it. Gerrit wouldn’t be thrilled about that. Though he’d probably pretend not to okay with it.

Ram licked his thumb and endeavored to sand down and smooth over the rough edges of the cracked surface. Stoney fingers scratched against counter, shearing away layers. Smoothing yes, but taking away a good half inch in the process. The Render stopped before he did anymore damage.

“Damn it,”
he muttered. The ogre scratched his neck. Probably best to not wear armor around the house. Better to keep the space safe from accidental flubs. And free of memories of the Battlefield. And having a better chance of getting the deposit back.