"Write about it in your diary. The real one." Church rose from his seat and moved to the window, next to her, and staring outside. "Does this dump have a pub?"
"As if I would clear you to visit a pub after your fiasco during our previous meeting with Xepher."
"I think our definitions of 'fiasco' vary."
"I'd say it was a fiasco for you. You hold liqour worse than the barely-out-of-their-teens men I pump ale into to get information from, Jonathan." She laughed, leaning against the sill. "Anyways," she looked up at him, attempting to gague him. "The people we are here with are more than capable, an array of warriors and mages. Lord Rnoy Neverwinter, Lord Bigglez, Lady Franny. I do appreciate your concern, but we are in good hands."
Church nodded, weighing the names.
"I would advise keeping an eye on Lord Rnoy, however. Mimring, the necromancer, I'm sure you know of him, attempted an experiment in which he...well, I'm not quite sure, magic isn't my strong suite, but to my understanding he attempted to turn Rnoy into an undead being and then...bring him back to the living? From what I gather, Rnoy came back just fine, but I am wary."
Church would move for the door, producing and lighting another tarromin roll. "I'll keep it in mind, surely. Now, with your permission, your Highness.." Church made a gesture like drinking, and nodded toward the door.
Sylvia slumped her shoulders, shaking her head. "Do what you will, but may I advise you to weigh the option of sleeping in a tent in the cold versus, perhaps, not drinking yourself under the table, if you understand my point?"
Church rested his head against the door, weighing his options. "It /is/ very cold."
"What an observation. I may be put out of a job if you keep those up."
