[The laughter hits her like a splash of icy water to the face; abrupt and jarring. Uncertain of just what she's said that had sparked the other woman's amusement, Gideon feels momentarily wrongfooted and confused, unsure whether she ought to be affronted or not. Again comes the tug of frustrated embarrassment; she has spent so little time with people who aren't ancient old crones or Harrowhark that sometimes the behaviour of others leaves her dumbfounded. It's not how she'd imagined her big debut into wider society would go, which is a real pain in the ass.
She's still contemplating whether she ought to ask what the fuck is so funny or just let it slide when they reach the little table at the back, and the woman is talking again. Giving an answer, asking a question, and so let it slide becomes the default option. She's lost her chance for anything else.]
Gideon. And you?
[She asks, sinking down into the remaining, mismatched chair, her gold-coin eyes already scanning the room for someone to serve them. Having living people wait upon her still sits oddly against her bones, so accustomed is she to the soft clatter of skeletal servants, their empty orbital cavities long devoid of all human feeling. A wiry youth with a limp ponytail the colour of dead flowers sees her restless gaze, and begins to make his way over to her. He doesn't look old enough to be working a bar, but then what the hell would she know?
He's pleasant enough when he reaches them and asks for her order, which transpires to be a request for a semi-decent ale she'd experienced in another tavern a handful of days before. Fuck if she knows what constitutes a decent drink, her only alcoholic experience prior to arriving here consisting of pilfered sacrament wine, which tasted like watered down battery acid. The bar boy scurries off to fetch their drinks, and Gideon turns back to her companion, elbows resting upon the table's rough surface as her tight-wound shoulders infinitesimally loosen.]
Fuck me, but it's heaving out there. Who know you could pack so many people into one place?
no subject
She's still contemplating whether she ought to ask what the fuck is so funny or just let it slide when they reach the little table at the back, and the woman is talking again. Giving an answer, asking a question, and so let it slide becomes the default option. She's lost her chance for anything else.]
Gideon. And you?
[She asks, sinking down into the remaining, mismatched chair, her gold-coin eyes already scanning the room for someone to serve them. Having living people wait upon her still sits oddly against her bones, so accustomed is she to the soft clatter of skeletal servants, their empty orbital cavities long devoid of all human feeling. A wiry youth with a limp ponytail the colour of dead flowers sees her restless gaze, and begins to make his way over to her. He doesn't look old enough to be working a bar, but then what the hell would she know?
He's pleasant enough when he reaches them and asks for her order, which transpires to be a request for a semi-decent ale she'd experienced in another tavern a handful of days before. Fuck if she knows what constitutes a decent drink, her only alcoholic experience prior to arriving here consisting of pilfered sacrament wine, which tasted like watered down battery acid. The bar boy scurries off to fetch their drinks, and Gideon turns back to her companion, elbows resting upon the table's rough surface as her tight-wound shoulders infinitesimally loosen.]
Fuck me, but it's heaving out there. Who know you could pack so many people into one place?