#with.ned

Having spent his first days - of his life - in bed fighting off a fever and eating only soup, Zinas had pocketed hard earned money won at the pit, exchanged if for a package of smoked fish, and headed to the tavern to turn it into drink. He hadn’t had a lick of alcohol - that he could remember - and he wanted to see if it would bring back any memories.

Placing the wrapped goods on the bar, Zinas held up a hand to get the attention from the first bartender he saw.

Ginika never drank alcohol abroad her own vessel, something about keeping a fine line between the two worlds: the one where she killed, maimed, slaughtered, and steeled herself, and the one where she was allowed to let go, be human, and use whatever means necessary to convince herself she was doing the right thing. Though, in this world: right and wrong were often the same edge of the blade, the other edge was simply another party that did all the same things under a different banner. 

She walked in, her new dress spotless and fine, her hair tied up, skin slightly sweaty and feeling tight. She could command this room if she so wished, but she hoped she clearly gave off the vibe that she would gut whomever decided to talk with her unprompted. 

“Ned, my lad,” she said, as she stood at the bar, two hands upon the wood as if to show she was not planning any violence. “Please tell me my whiskey came in?”