"Bro, we slaying some evil today or what?"

I continue sipping my tea. Bitter nostalgia hits hot on my tongue, scalding it slightly. It's a good morning. Boring, but good.

"Come on bro, I'm tryna get my blade wet if ya know what I mean."

I ignore the sword, pondering how much trouble it would be to charter a ship and dump it in the ocean.

"You can't ignore me forever, bro. Let's run it, right now, bro. What about him, huh?"

The innkeeper, Jarem, passes my table. I smile warmly. He smiles back politely and nods, moving past my table to wipe down another where a rowdy band of adventurers had managed to leave things mostly in one piece.

"Bro wouldn't even know. He ain't looking. Come on, let me show you what I can do!"

"No," I whisper between sips.

"Bro, fuck you. Give me a chance bro, I'll show you. I'll show everyone."

Jarem, thankfully, could not hear the sword. Nor could anyone, save for those unfortunate enough to be bound to it.

I ignore the sword's plea.

"Ugh, we never do anything fun," It pouts.

"Maybe," I say quietly, "if you weren't insistent on taking the reigns, you'd be let out of your sheath more."

Jarem shoots me a bemused look and shakes his head.

"Oh please, that was one time. Plus, it was too bright out. I couldn't see. You got the arm reattached anyways, didn't you?"

I feel the mind of the sword withdraw. Sulking off to whatever place sentient swords go when they feel sad and introspective.

I sigh.

The sword is useful, I remind myself. It can turn the most formidable warrior into a flailing child, if they're stupid enough to draw the blade. And the blade wants to be drawn. You can feel it, deeply enticing. Entrancing even, despite the inane whinings.

The sword is useful.

And blessedly--at least for the moment--it's also quiet.