Aubrey stared Grantham down for a long moment, her mouth thinning into an unhappy line as she mulled over her response. This wasn't exactly the sort of reunion she was hoping for when she stepped inside this tavern. She was no stranger to getting grilled by someone who looked out for her, of course, but those had mostly just been because she took more than two hours to go on a "walk" at 2 o'clock in the morning, in her previous, unbridled life.

This circumstance, however, had a completely different flavor—an unnerving one that settled uncomfortably upon her shoulders like a blanket of nails. Thankfully, it didn't last long.

Grantham averted his gaze, shaking his head with a soft sigh.

"Look," he began after a brief pause, rubbing his eyes in weary frustration. "I get it if ye'd rather not speak about it. Bloody 'ell knows I'd feel the same way if our positions were swapped."

He dropped his hands to his sides and slowly looked up to meet her gaze. Aubrey blinked at him, noticing the weariness in his ice-blue eyes for the first time since they started talking. Gone now were the anger and suspicion that had so filled his voice a few moments before.

He shrugged halfheartedly. "If you need a place to stay, yer more than welcome. There will always be a room waiting for you here, lass. Ye may have left this establishment of your own accord, but don't go thinking I've forgotten the way ya used to bring the house down when yer voice filled these halls every other night."

She felt a pang of something in her chest at those words—a bitter cocktail of relief, regret, and gratitude. She had known she must have been close to Grantham Caelore for a long while in this world, but somehow hearing him say those things aloud made her acutely aware of exactly how much that must have meant to her doppelgänger.

Though she might not fully share all of the memories and experiences of the other Aubrey Sinclair, she couldn't deny feeling an echo of that familiarity nonetheless.

"Thanks," she murmured, clearing her throat awkwardly. "I'll... think about it."

"Aye..." He nodded once, then waved a hand at her dismissively. "But enough of that. I can't let our first meeting in a decade get soured by something as piss-poor as the mood I'm in. Let me just grab ye two a round. On the house. Fer old time's sake."

She let out a quiet huff and gave him a brief nod. "Sounds like a plan," she said, shooting him a quick, stiff smile before turning away to rejoin Liza at their table in the corner.

Despite Grantham's earlier assurances, the short trek from the bar to their table felt... weighty, like walking through molasses. Each step dragged on longer than it should have, until she finally dropped into her seat beside Liza.

Her companion leaned forward and asked in a low whisper, "Is everything... alright? You look kind of pale..."

Aubrey closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers, as if nursing a headache. Truthfully, she was more unprepared than anything. Unprepared for this impromptu encounter with someone from her past.

The past of the other her, that is.

I wonder... Can I call that my past if it feels like it's something from some other life entirely?

"Yeah..." She forced herself to take another deep, calming breath. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just wasn't expecting to see a certain someone from my past. No biggie." The reply sounded weak even to herself, but Aubrey didn't know what else to say.

Besides, Liza didn't need to hear about all this right now. Better to focus on relaxing for once, rather than trying to navigate whatever emotional baggage might come up with this impromptu reunion with Grantham.

Luckily, Liza merely shrugged it off after a bit more coaxing.

"A-Alright... If you're sure..." The quiet lull in the conversation persisted, broken only by the faint clink of glasses and cutlery, before she spoke again, her voice barely louder than a soft murmur, "W-What do you think of this place?"

Aubrey glanced around. Even though she had just seen the same sights a few moments earlier, this time, everything carried a new significance. From the patterned tapestries on the walls to the rhythmic tick-tock of a small clock on one end of the bar, she noticed each and every detail anew through the lens of her remembered past.

Foggy memories, scattered and fragmented like shards of broken glass, drifted back to her, piece by piece. She remembered working at The Prancing Bovine ten years prior, staying up late after hours to wash tables, clean dishes, serve drinks, and act as the tavern's resident bard whenever the mood struck.

On more than one occasion, she would end up having to lock horns against drunken bar patrons to shoo them out, lest they attract the unwanted attention of the authorities, which she apparently had no fondness of. A nagging feeling, an echo of resentment, seemed to be associated with the notion of uniforms and silver badges with swords engraved on them in her head.

"...Lots of things seem to have changed, yet some still remain the same..." Aubrey said finally, leaning back into her chair as she gave another once-over throughout the common room. "I suppose it's the little details, though. This place hasn't changed all that much."

"I... guess? Um... Were you here before?" Liza asked.

"...Yeah. Yeah, I was." Aubrey replied wistfully. "A long time ago. Feels like almost a lifetime ago... Or maybe two." A corner of her mouth quirked upward at the last part. The irony wasn't lost on her.

Thankfully, Liza didn't seem to pick up on it.

Grantham eventually arrived to deliver their drinks. He placed a flagon full of a honey-hued, frothy ale down in front of Aubrey, and a more moderate portion of the same drink in front of Liza.

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Aubrey leaned forward and lifted her tankard in a toast.

"To old memories," she said, tilting it slightly towards Grantham, who smiled and gave her a small nod.

"To good ones, I hope," he replied, nodding at the both of them with a warm chuckle. "Enjoy, lasses. Let me know if ya need anything else."

She took a long draught of the ale. Warm and smooth and pleasantly malty. It had a rich, slightly sweet flavor that reminded her of a particular brand of craft beer she and her old crew had discovered during one of their world tours. What was it called again? Amber Ale, or something?

Liza cautiously sipped at her own pint, but didn't appear too enthusiastic about it. Rather, she seemed much more keen on simply observing the people around them and the ambient atmosphere of the room itself.

For the next hour or so, they chatted idly over their drinks while Liza humored Aubrey's rambling with awkward politeness. Liza herself didn't offer much to talk about, but when the topic shifted to music theory and their time playing as a group, she became more expressive and animated. Her shyness melted away, and she peppered Aubrey with all sorts of questions concerning style, technique, and interpretation.

Before long, however, a handful of well-dressed and gruff-looking men entered the bar. The man who led the group made his way to a table near the entrance and slammed a hand down onto it in an effort to catch Grantham's attention. He then hollered for someone to take their orders, which prompted a harried waitress to hurry to attend to them.

They took turns hooting and laughing loudly and making suggestive comments at the serving staff. Their loud voices quickly dominated the low buzz of background conversations. Then, an off-pitch voice joined in on the revelry, and although he carried the tune like a tone-deaf stray cat, it did nothing to stop the riotous energy from continuing.

"Ugh..." Liza winced at the sight, burying her face in her hands.

The loud voices, mixed with the rather boorish and downright unsavory language, weren't to Aubrey's taste either. She idly wondered why the group sat near the entrance. But the answer came soon enough in the form of another set of patrons arriving at the threshold.

They were a posh pair, dressed to the nines in starchy suits and matching fedoras. They gave the dining area a sweeping glance before walking up to the rowdy group of five at the entrance. The apparent leader of the men—a silver-haired old geezer—extended his hand in greeting, and the one who first barged into the tavern reciprocated with a boisterous grin and a backslap.

Well... That's a dick-measuring contest if I ever saw one.

Her eyes flicked towards Grantham, who glared daggers at the gaggle of riffraff while pouring whiskey for other customers. The nervous waitress took the newcomers' orders and scampered away, doing a remarkable job avoiding being molested in the process.

"Tch," Aubrey clicked her tongue in disdain. "Just look at those smug bastards. Got shit-eating grins on their faces and their wallets hangin' loose by their side."

She got up and sauntered over to Grantham, planting herself down on a stool next to the counter of the bar. "Hey, old man, you're not just gonna take that lying down, are you?"

Grantham scratched his chin and frowned. His steely eyes darted toward the source of the commotion, which had already become much more rambunctious following the latest arrivals.

"I'd rather not make a scene, lass," he replied evenly. "Although, truthfully, I reckon' the wankers don't deserve the consideration."

"Well, there must be a story here. From the looks of things, you know their type," Aubrey said, giving him a pointed look that dared him to challenge her statement.

At this, he could only chuckle and shake his head slowly.

"What, do y'fink I have no say in the kind of customers that walk through these doors?"

"Well, I mean, obviously." She raised an eyebrow. "I haven't seen ya' toss someone out on their arse yet, though. Figured it's something you'd have done by now."

"It ain't always that simple, lass..." he muttered, nudging his chin in the group's direction. "See the pins they're wearing on their coats? Those blokes are with the Iron Circle."

Aubrey leaned over and squinted her eyes, peering at the men and trying to get a better view of the little metallic trinkets on their fancy garb. When she spotted it, it looked like some kind of coat of arms—a flaming ball flanked by cogs and pistons on either side, encased in a hexagon.

Iron Circle... That rings a bell...

Right, Julian Blackwell had connections to those guys, didn't he? As part of the organization's leading group of industrialists.

"Ah, gotcha." Aubrey crossed her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at the table again, a sly smirk crossing her lips. "And those assfaces are regulars here, eh?"

"Now don't even think of stirring the pot, lass." Grantham leveled an even look at her. "Yer all grown now and this ain't the time to start old habits. Besides, they haven't given me reason to throw 'em out just yet, aye?"

At his warning, Aubrey turned back to face him and gave him her most innocent pout. The effect was somewhat ruined when she couldn't help snorting aloud after remembering that such tactics might work for cute kids, but did absolutely nothing for fully-grown women.

Still, it was too much fun to pass up.

She laughed quietly to herself, only to break into full-on cackling upon seeing Grantham's flat stare.

"W-Well..." Aubrey took a minute to breathe and settle down. "I won't say I'll keep my nose out of it, but... Don't worry, old man. I've learned a little about discretion over the years."

She winked at him and left to rejoin Liza.

"O-Oh! I-I, um, thought you went off to do... something?" Liza fumbled with her hands as she spoke. She tilted her head down, letting her hair cover the exposed side of her face, hiding the shadows beneath as she waited for Aubrey to take a seat again.

Aubrey grinned, giving her a quick glance before shifting her gaze towards the gang of guffawing imbeciles again. "I just had an idea. Why don't we put on a little show for them?"

"...H-Huh?" Liza quirked her head at her with wide-eyed surprise. "Wh-What do you mean by that?"

"Well, those people have a connection to a group I was meaning to investigate. Figured a free performance could bait us an invite to get cozy and chummy with 'em."

Liza gave her a long, uncomprehending stare. "I... don't like where this is going."

Aubrey leaned over the table to whisper in her ear, "Where this is going... is after I get what I need from them, you can finish 'em off and suck their souls out and stuff." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively as she pulled back and straightened in her seat. "It's been a while since you've eaten anything other than my life essence, hasn't it?"

Liza flinched and fidgeted in her seat, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks. "U-Um... W-Well... That's because you... told me to only feed from you. Because we don't want to reduce... the number of people who could attend our performances."

"Exactly," Aubrey agreed with a satisfied nod. "And you've been very good about it. Haven't fed on anyone, even when we were cooped up in the cathedral. But you see... these assholes," she hooked her thumb over her shoulder, gesturing at the obnoxious men. "These aren't the type of fans we want anyway. So..."

Aubrey smirked wickedly. "I figured I'd bring home the bacon this time. Just make sure to wipe your mouth clean after you eat."

Liza blinked several times in rapid succession, looking confused, nervous, and slightly suspicious all at the same time.

After a moment, though, her lips finally began to stretch into a matching grin. The shadows around her face began to thicken and obscure her features until only her glowing eyes could be seen amongst them.

"I... like where this is going..."