Silent and doing as little as possible to draw the attention of either noble, Ber watched and listened as Woodwick elaborated on the full assignment, of which he and Sliva had only been a tiny part. In a way, it was an interesting glimpse into what he suspected were the inner workings of whatever paperwork and administrative business kept the lieutenant occupied in this office, but no amount of curiosity was worth dealing with an angry noble. They had a way of exploding and caring little for whatever unfortunate soul might end up as collateral damage. And, while Woodwick continued speaking, Lady Johnson certainly looked like an explosion was increasingly imminent. Ber eyed her warily, practically willing himself into oblivion as he watched her impotent fury rise and rise until the lieutenant finished his piece. There was a moment of silence where the soldier barely dared to breathe.

Then came the explosion.

Eyes wide, Ber stared at Lady Johnson as she unleashed a veritable flood of vitriol at the lieutenant. Nothing and no one - not Woodwick, not Ber and Sliva, not any of the other soldiers or the military or their competence - was safe from her outrage as she aired her grievances about anything and everything, even that which was only tangentially related or outside of the officer’s control. With no small amount of horror, he watched as she spat her words in Woodwick’s face with a rancor that he would only have dared use if he sought an early death - and even then, he wasn’t sure he could have matched the depths of her fury. Then, when the soldier began wondering if he would have to watch out for flying magic, she turned on her heel and stormed away, letting the door slam shut behind her.

In the silence that followed, Ber’s gaze slid from the door to the lieutenant. Throughout the course of this entire experience, the one thing he had wanted most from the man remained unchanged: permission to leave.