The raven gasps in feigned shock. "Me? Own this... rustic establishment? Oh heavens, no! I have standards, you know. And being an establishment owner is at least three rungs below 'avian commentator.'"
Death, with a hint of amusement, interjects, "Alright, enough with the theatrics. We have matters to discuss."
Ahem, I believe introductions are in order."
The raven fluffs its feathers, hopping from one foot to another in an almost mocking dance, before stretching its wings and settling down. "I'm simply known as Raven," it says, an impish grin evident in its tone, even if its beak can't actually showcase it. "And you, it seems, have been chosen by Death for this dubious honor. Oh, joyous day."
Death nods, giving you a somewhat apologetic look. "Indeed, I saw potential in you — a spark that could perhaps bring life to this bar at the edge of the abyss. And as per the ancient codes, Raven here is... obligated to assist the chosen owner. Don't ask me why; I never wrote those rules."
Raven shoots Death a glare. "As if assisting were a punishment! But indeed, for reasons beyond my comprehension, I am tasked to help you manage this place. I'll have you know, this isn't my first rodeo — or bar, for that matter."
Death smirks. "Indeed, and based on past experiences, I truly do wish you both the best of luck."
The raven ruffles its feathers, looking a tad disgruntled. "So, lucky you. You get the bar, and... you get me. Your very own avian advisor. Rejoice, for your fortunes have... sort of turned. Now, shall we get started?"