While she spoke, she touched her cleaver’s handle with one hand, retrieved the Tablet with the other, and set it down on the table. She went to her traits list, turning the device upside-down so Makhus could read.

“First, second, fifth and sixth trait from the top. I’ve had them since I woke up.”

Makhus looked them over, and his befuddlement became only more visible. A strange twinkle in his eyes, the ex-soldier looked her in the eye and said, “Deal. Just keep quiet ‘bout this.”

She stowed the Tablet away, greatly amused by the subtle change in the way Zefaris looked at her. There was still more than enough appreciation in the purely physical sense, but the woman’s rarely-expressive face contained a subtle sort of wonder. Even Sigmund seemed intrigued, though considering what she had learned about him, Zelsys wagered he was curious about her past.

Zelsys couldn’t blame him. She was curious too. Did she have a past before the bunker, or was she just like the Failures? Would she ever find out? Dwelling on it had to wait, for Makhus had already counted out her five silver coins and slid the pouch over to her side of the table, before dividing the rest of the money evenly between himself and the others.

They each got five silver coins and one copper, and in the end, one silver and one copper coin was left over. A brief exchange of looks was all they needed to non verbally agree how it would be spent- food and drink. As refreshing as Liquid Vigor was, even Zelsys was beginning to feel the pangs of hunger.

Briefly, they sat quiet, still exchanging looks. Finally, Makhus spoke.

“Fine, I’ll order,” he relented, swiping up the two coins alongside his share of the sale money as he stood up, briskly stepping towards the bar.

Just as Makhus approached, a rather youthful-looking older man appeared out of the door behind the bar as if by providence, his face covered in scars and his hands missing more fingers than were present. He had somewhat long black hair and a short chin beard, and from his face there beamed unreasonably bright blue eyes.

With an agility that only the lack of digits could cultivate, the mutilated barkeep swung a pitcher of ale over the cups of the patrons who sat at the bar, prompting them to thank him in surprisingly cheerful manner for how grouchy they appeared at first glance. By the time he reached the bar, the barkeep was already waiting for him with a beaming smile only rivaled by that of the towering beast-slayer.

“New face, welcome! How may I serve you today?” the barkeep spoke in a sing-song voice, absolutely beaming with unfettered positivity. Makhus almost felt bad for dropping just a silver and a copper onto the counter as he opened up his coin pouch and uttered, “Drink ‘n food for four, please. How much?”

“We’ve got fish and spuds for two gelt a portion, or cabbage soup for one gelt a bowl,” the barkeep offered.