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Alja took a seat, listening to the conversation as she leaned back in her chair, supporting herself by pressing her legs up against the table. At the mention of profession skills, she grinned, giving a cheeky salute. "[color=d1fffc]If we're talkin' 'bout professions, then I'm a high level blacksmith. No idea how it works these days, but as long as I can still do it,[/color]" she shot a grin at Siegfried, "[color=d1fffc]we can bang pieces of metal together. Even got a forge of my own. It's in Toraenis, but y'never know, we could end up there sometime. God knows it'll be nicer than Thorinn heat.[/color]"

The conversation continued, and her exhausted brain was happy to let it go on without her for some time until the discussion about what to do with dungeons reached—as most things did these days—the point of Graves ranting about them. And she felt a twinge of real annoyance as as not a single person raised a thought that had been pressing in on her mind, weighing on her [i]heavily,[/i] since they first argued about dungeoneering after the Glitch. Argued about how to get rewards out of the queen. About banding together with other wayfarers, not to do anything about safety in numbers in a dungeon, but for [i]revolution?[/i] She left off her casual air, pulling her legs in and letting the chair fall down with a [i]bang[/i]. Then she frowned, eyebrows quirking in something like anger as she looked back and forth between them. 

"[color=d1fffc]You almost got there, Benkei. Goddamnit, you almost got there. But not quite.[/color]" She sighed in frustration. "[color=d1fffc]We can't keep treatin' this world and its people like a game. That's what you said, right? Then I want you all to consider somethin'. Think about our equipment. Think about our magic. Think about our [i]skill sets.[/i][/color]" She was nearly yelling now, talking quickly with the burr of a growl in the back of her throat. "[color=d1fffc]Then think about the fact that they're not [i]NPCs[/i] anymore. They're [i]people[/i], goddamnit! People with their own lives, people with their own goddamn hopes and dreams. It's not just that it's our [i]job[/i] to clear dungeons. It's also our [i]responsibility.[/i] Because we're the only ones who can![/color]" She bared her teeth, the images of Enos' impaled corpse and Arnaakus tossing away Aag's body like so much garbage still fresh in her mind. "[color=d1fffc]I'll be [i]damned[/i] if I let one more person die because I was too [i]scared[/i] or [i]incompetent[/i] to [i]do my job,[/i] and you're thinkin' about a [i]revolution!?[/i] What in the [i]fuck[/i] is wrong with you people?[/color]"

She slammed her hands down on the table, pushing herself up to her full height. "[color=d1fffc]I need to go talk to someone [i]else[/i]. You're all pissin' me off.[/color]"

With that, she strode towards the door, then stopped short. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea for her to talk to Artemis—from what Alja had been able to gather in the sewers, someone who felt like it was [i]her[/i] fault that her friends had died, something that she understood all too well—while she was still fuming. So instead, she sat down at the bar to calm her nerves for a couple minutes. "[color=d1fffc]Sorry for constantly yellin' in your tavern, Dariel,[/color]" she muttered, more to herself than to him. "[color=d1fffc]I know I'm hard to deal with.[/color]"