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[indent][indent]Who could have told Migi that in a few days’ time, she’d be sitting at a table in a busy tavern? Surely, the shackled, stinking, and sore burrahob would have woven a different story for herself, especially when that one fellow burst open from the plague. She tried not to think about it. Much like lice, it’d lead her to scratch, and she didn’t need to do that here. There were too many skin flakes floating around in the air already.

Migi barely paid the goings-on around her any mind as she hoisted the mug with mead to her parched lips and gulped it down like a land bound fish inhaled water. Then she went about chewing on the heel of the bread, stuffing her cheeks in a squirrel-like manner as she did. The others’ keen eyes might have caught more onto what was happening, but hers only saw nourishment.

Her enrapt attention was pulled away by a commotion outside. She took a long drink as she watched heads bob out the window and a man enter with a whole carton of [i]something[/i]. Whatever it was, the barmaid seemed absolutely delighted. Migi narrowed her eyes. A secretive shipment that was honestly—she looked around—not that secret. Still, there seemed to be no easy way to get whatever was in the container. Migi wasn’t a stranger to tariffs and bans. She knew all about smuggling and the like. She shouldn’t be so surprised that this far out that the flow of goods and economy hiccupped as hard as a bread-filled drunk. Much like herself if she didn’t pace herself any better.

She sat down her flagon as Raddek found space between them. He spoke of a few things needing to be done in return for rooms. Migi hesitated and gave herself a sniff. She didn’t know if she was up for those sorts of deals, but honestly, they could probably throw her in a well and she’d be primed and rearing to go. It’d been a while, the [i]sails could use a good unfurling. [/i]

It was then that Raddek stated what they needed to do to earn those rooms—it was manual labor. Migi scoffed. “I’d rather have my flower plucked than do what sounds boring leg work. But if I must choose one, let’s do the one with beer. I don’t care for some espionage. It’s not like I blend in that easily, well, I do if no one looks down.” She snickered. “I miss the days of exploding things for coin. What I wouldn’t give to see a good fire. The flame. The chaos. The screams of—” she paused “—[i]dried wood[/i] letting out their last bits of air.”[/indent][/indent]
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