Once Murr and the Guild Master had finished ironing out the terms, we left the building.
“We’re level 7 now. It’s time we get ourselves some new clothes and celebrate,” the rogue said.
I shook my head. “I’d rather save my money for better armor.”
Kron raised his hand. “And I have medical and alchemy books to buy.”
The catfolk scowled at us. “We have to look our best if we’re going to party. Come on, Sam. Are you planning to wear that lame green jacket everywhere?”
I rolled my eyes. “My clothes are fine. And I thought you would reconsider this whole thing after dealing with the Guild Master.”
He shook his head. “We’re going! And we’ll flaunt our success with style! My family owns a fashionable clothing store nearby.”
Kron’s glowing eyes narrow at the pink haired teen. “Are you trying to stick it to them again, for not bankrolling us?”
Murr stood on his toes to wrap his arm around the golem’s shoulders. “Kron, my friend, my healer. You know me so well already.” He pointed down the street. “Let's go break my parents’ wallets!”
“Fine,” I said. “But this is the only time we’re buying something this superfluous.”
“Look at our tank. Bringing out the big words.”
Dude... I was college educated! “Don’t look down on me. I know more spells than you. I could have been a mage.”
“Considering that you’re a tank,” Kron said, “probably a terrible one.”
Damn it. He got me.
***