"Tell me, Menti, how's the guild holding up?" muffled under the door, "-you shouldn't be here," old man John whispered, firming his gaze upon Pho.
"What do you want?" she narrowed, "-I was told to bring drinks for the guild master."
"Don't you dare," the old man hushed, "-you'll only get in the way."
*Ding, ding, ding,* "-you should go," John motioned, "-shouldn't keep the people waiting."
"Fine," Pho was soon at the counter.
"Guild lady, we got some drops we'd like to sell," said a victorious young man. The shabby armor reeked of blood and sweat, "-it's etiquette to wash before presenting the drops," Pho side-eyed, "-to be expected from newcomers. Leave the drops here, I'll call in the appraiser."
A week had elapsed since Varrek's departure, "-any news about the mortician?"
"I received a letter. He will be here soon. Enough about him, tell me what I need to hear."
