Zephyrion used the opportunity to glance around the tavern, quietly taking everything in. Possum had already chosen a table of his own, and judging by the waitress nodding in front of him, was busy ordering a drink.
'Ahhh, ground zero. How I've missed this beautiful place…' Demorian gazed around the tavern with almost painful nostalgia. 'The memories, my protege. The adventures! Ferravry as my wingman, me at the height of my glory… there wasn't a decent tavern on this continent safe from us!'
'Shut up. I'm trying to think.'
Zephyrion nodded as the barman set his drink before him, subtly sniffing the milk.
Demorian shot him an offended glare before sighing.
'My protege, you wound me. This is the perfect opportunity for me to teach you the ways of a truly great life, and you're wasting it drinking that… that abomination!' His face twisted in genuine disgust. 'Milk? In a tavern? Who the hell orders milk in a tavern?!'
'Apparently me. Now shut up before I put you back in the rod.'
