There is a pause in the conversation. Urberer looks off into the distance in thought; drumming his thumbs on the table.

“Mmmmhm. I don’t know Stell. You make a good case. In truth, I just want to make a joke on how I’ll use this money on frivolous things like a fleece lined coat, or even some shark skin boots.”

Stella’s eyes narrow.

“But that would just land me back into your whole ‘I’m Stella, I’ll end you’ situation, and I really and not trying to be ended by you, Stell” Urberer said. His muddy brown eyes match her iceberg glare. He stands up, jingles the bag and continues. “I can’t accept this. At least not for building some sort of inn. I will, however, give some distant, very distant thought to the matter on a confessional. You are right about the need for a more, hmm, accessible one. But for now, you should hold onto this,” and presents her with the coin bag.

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Stella pushes his hand back and shakes her head. “No Urberer. You hold onto it. You’ll know the right thing to do with it. Just… just don’t give it all away. Some of that is for you.” She then stands up.

“Stella, I hate holding onto money. I really don’t even like the stuff.”

“Tough utters Urberer. Tough utters.” She turns away and walks to the bar.

“Tough utters? Now what would your mom think about such language?”

“I learned it from my grandmother. Mom couldn’t say anything about it. Now get. I’m sure you have actual work to do outside of hanging around this ol’ Tavern. Plus, we still have the meeting tonight.”

Urberer leaves his mug. Grabbing his staff, he walks to the heavy door. He looks back at Stella. “Hey Stell?”

“Yeah,” she yells out as she searches underneath the counter of the bar.”

Urberer’s voice barely projects across what is but mere feet but not seem like an uncrossable chasm, which his words fall into in their attempt to cross it “Thanks Stell.” He pushes the heavy door open and walks out.