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„They're a cult. You can't convince me otherwise“, Sei declared when the two met up at the Quicksands after getting introduced to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. „Nope“, he added, popping the 'P' a bit more than strictly necessary, and kicked back a mug of spice tea like a shot.
He had this method of communicating how D o n e™ he was which involved drinking non-alcoholic beverages like he was intending to get very drunk very fast – when in truth he couldn't even stand the smell of alcohol, and the idea of drunkenness made him queasy.
As far as U'mikke could tell, he didn't do any of it consciously, which only made it worse in her eyes. The utter maniac.
She shrugged into her dark ale (because love of the motherland or no, some things are simply better elsewhere, and La Noscean ale beats whatever the denizens of Thanalan do to cactuars, every time).
„They'd pay us more than triple the standard market rate for things we've been up to all along.“
„What bothers me is this Echo…thing, and how they know that we're supposed to have it.“
„The fainting fits?“
„Could be narcolepsy, for all we know.“
„Both of us?“ She put down her glass to raise both eyebrows at him. „At the same time? With the exact same dreams?“
„Why not?“, he squeaked, indignant.
„I think you need a good, long rest, my dude. The desert sun is bad for your forest cat brain.“
„'m fine“, he grumbled, and buried his face into his folded arms over the pub table.
„Most common lie, that“, she mused while staring down her reflection in the beer.
A groan was the only response the Keeper-shaped pile next to her graced her with.