The walk to town was rather quiet, until they passed the walls. Here, they encountered the usual crowds out and about on a midday, in the middle of the week; errand boys and girls, messengers, guards patrolling, aristocratic young men and women promenading, and regular folks that worked evenings and early mornings.

Every one of the guards saluted Griffin while trying very hard not to stare at Raiva, and every one of the aristocratic youths gave her a second glance as she passed, making this a somewhat more stressful outing than it was intended.

That’s what I get for going to the West Corner, I suppose.

She looked up at Griffin, attempting to gauge his mood and reaction to the many eyes on them. His standard issue stare betrayed nothing at the moment, though his brow furrow did strike her as a little more intimidating than usual.

I assume that’s what’s keeping everyone from outright gawking, then.

She chuckled to herself as they, in odd silence, passed another café veranda full of whispering young women in expensive lace and elaborate hairstyles, though for once she could compare in that regard at least. She reminded herself to sneak some coins into Shelly's purse before she left for the night.

Griffin gave her a funny look at her outburst, adopting the usual expression he wore around her, before noticing the gossipers and reverting to his scowl, making them whisper a fraction more discreetly at least.

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself like that, captain,” Raiva sighed, strangely unbothered for once, likely thanks to his presence by her side. By now she usually walked full speed ahead, pretending not to be sweaty and out of breath from nervousness and anxiety. “They’ll gossip on anyhow.”

He muttered something she didn’t quite catch, though she was pretty sure the word “brats” could be heard in there.

She simply smiled as they finally made a left into a somewhat more residential area, quickly followed by a sharp right down a fairly nondescript alley.

“Here we are,” she announced, suddenly realizing she had forgotten to tell him where they were going. “’Gunther’s Grogs! The best liquor merchant in Prievo, except for when Claude is in town for the Autumn Equinox.”

He laughed a short, yet hearty laugh at the revelation.

“I see. Of course.”

He shook his head almost imperceptibly, though Raiva decided that he definitely was smirking.

She smiled back teasingly, “You wanted some more of that gin? Well, how about we find something a little more to your… tastes?”

He tilted his head, pondering the exact implication.

“Meaning…?”

“Something that pairs well with brandy, I suppose.” She hurriedly continued, “Just in case you decide to be okay with, well, whatever else might end up in, my, I mean, the cabinet.”

Is this too many metaphors? I think this might be too many metaphors. It definitely is.

“Just in case,” he replied, promptly, to her surprise.

He didn’t say anything beyond that, so she decided to shake it off, pretend she hadn’t just uttered the strangest string of words in recent memory, and entered the familiar store through the narrow wooden door.

Inside the store was the familiar ambiance; a worn but clean wooden plank floor, with matching low ceiling, smooth gray stonewalls lined with shelves and racks and bottles.

It was always quite dark and cool in there, something Gunther had claimed was best for alcohol of all types. Raiva suspected however, that there might also be an advantageous rent at play, seeing as the walls were bare stone and there was only a single, small window in the entire building, upstairs, located just under the roof.

“Raiva!” a boisterous voice boomed out from behind the counter.

Gunther, a fairly short but burly man, had begun sporting a mustache since she last saw him. It was one of those overly well-maintained ones that curled into a little swirl on each end, and while it seemed to match his neatly side-parted hair, it was clearly at odds with the remainder of his style sensibilities. Even Raiva could see plainly that a, granted thick, hempen undershirt and suspender trousers were odd choices to go with the polish of the neck and up. Not that she was put off by it particularly, but it was quite strange nonetheless.

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“Gunther!” she broke into a smile as he walked up and hugged her so hard he lifted her off the floor.

Griffin flinched when he saw the strange man act so familiar and physically forward with her.

“How have you been, my friend?” he clasped and patted her hand with a broad, unrestrained smile.

“Very well, thank you,” was all she could think to respond.

“Lies, little mouse,” he chided her lightheartedly. “Though you have brought a friend today I see!”

He stuck his hand out in a manner Griffin rarely saw; confident, unassuming, and wholeheartedly excited to make a new acquaintance.

“Gunther Eckelberg, but I go by Gunther to avoid confusion,” he laughed unabashedly.

Eyes widening in realization, Griffin broke into the widest smile Raiva had seen yet, which means handsomely crooked and pearly teeth visible.

“Captain Griffin Nebental. Captain or Griffin here,” he replied, shaking the man’s hand firmly.

Raiva looked on in surprise.

Griffin has a last name?

“Ah, a fellow Westlicher! Where are you from then?”

“Thürn.”

Was that mentioned in his residential info?

“So still an Echonian! But the free city in the west is as close as you get, ne? I’m from Spiegel myself, the proper West! But not to worry, mein Freund, I’m not about to blame a man for his place of birth!” Gunther chuckled loudly.

Griffin wasn’t really thrown off at the sudden mention of a regionally tense discussion, and simply let it go indifferently.

“Yes.”

The two men were clearly in high spirits from the unexpected encounter of someone from “back home”, more or less, and she felt bad about interrupting. But it had to be done. They were already discussing some food or plant, from what she could gather, having lamented the lack of another in detail already, and knowing Gunther it wouldn’t stop until the next customer arrived. This of course would likely not be until the afternoon proper. Few go around shopping for liquor in the middle of the day, for some reason.

“Gunther, do you still have ale caskets in the basement?”

He turned to look at her, beaming.

“Of course! Are we talking bottles or tastings?”

Raiva began tugging at Griffin’s sleeve and moved towards the stairs leading up.

She laughed lightly in response. “A tasting, of course!”

After arriving at the top, she entered the middle door of three, the only room with a window.

Griffin was silent again, not remarking upon how odd it was for all interior walls to be of stone. Not even the strangeness of the tiny, dirty window could illicit a response from him when they exited the well-lit hallway and entered the dimly illuminated private room.

Since it wasn’t particularly out of character, Raiva continued undeterred over to a cupboard on the left hand side of the room and got out a box of matches, at the same time carefully pulling out a bell and placing it on the table by the seating area.

“You should have a seat,” she chuckled, aware that this particular silence was Griffin’s version of surprise and confusion. Lighting up a half dozen big candles littered throughout the room, she watched him walk over the seating arrangement and characteristically sitting on the leather stool, as opposed to the old-fashioned leather sofa directly next to it. She put the matchbox back before taking a seat on said sofa herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit on the sofa with me instead?” she smiled at him teasingly.

He smiled bemused in response, but opted not to answer. Instead he stated the obvious.

“It strikes me you’re a regular here.”

“Yes. After all, this is the only place to find quality liquor without attendants constantly trying to sell you their most expensive ‘exclusive’ wine instead of whatever you’re actually there for. Why would I buy wine when I’m attempting to buy cognac?”

She shook her head lightly.

“I wouldn’t know,” he returned simply, still wearing his barely noticeable grin.

“Yes, you do strike me as the ‘going to a tavern after his shift and ordering ale and brisket’ sort,” she giggled . “Then you sit there, eating and drinking alone, all gruff and taciturn, making the women weak in the knees and the men present jealous.”

“Do I make you weak in the knees?” he teased.

She smiled back coyly.

“And then some.”

He began moving, as if to stand up, but then sat still again and adopted his usual expression.

She looked at him, puzzled, when she heard Gunther’s footsteps on the stairs.

What is it with that hearing of his?

Sighing at the fairly expected interruption, she sat back and waited for the knock on the door.

When Gunther did arrive, it was with a broad smile and a hefty tray of little glasses and a little bowl of jerky.

Oh, my favorite.

The glasses were half pint ones from the looks of it, and the liquid in them ranged in color from light goldens to deep reddish and plain browns. The room quickly filled up with a mild alcoholic and malty scent, making their mouths water a little on instinct.

“Hope I wasn’t interrupting nothing!” the man chuckled as he placed his many objects on the round table in the middle of the room. “Now! I brought you a bit of variety for starters, my personal recommendations. One brown, one stout, two pale and a red. You just tell me which ones you want when you’re done; Raiva here knows the drill. I’ll come running when you ring that bell.”

He smiled cheerfully at the two, before exiting the room.

The door closed silently behind him.

“Alright, so Gunther actually makes it quite simple,” Raiva explained, taking the opportunity to get a conversation going again. “Underneath the glasses are little numbers.”

She picked up a very light yellow colored one, and lifted it up, pointing to the bottom.

“This one is number four, for example-“

She stopped abruptly when Griffin took the ale out of her hand and downed it. He’d somehow gotten up without her noticing, and was now standing right next to her.

Looking at the four remaining he downed them as well, before Raiva could fully process what was happening. He separated two of them from the rest and grumbled, “Two and five.”

Then he leaned over her, unaffected, with a stern expression.

My portion.

“You were saying earlier?”