28 Ymiden, Arc 718
'These grapes suck.' It was the only thought that kept lapping against her brain like some sort of limp tide. Each swig from the skin brought another taste of the weak spirit and another dose of disappointment but the bright-haired woman just...kept...drinking!
"Things are supposed to get better with age." She furrowed her brow as she searched around on the ground next to her for the stopper for her wineskin.
The barkeep glared at her as he scuttled around the stoop of his fine, upstanding, not at all seedy, drinking establishment and tried to sweep the dirt and dust out into the equally dirty and dusty street. He agreed, but he wasn't about to tell her that because, as his long career in keeping this establishment had taught him, do not engage with the inebriated unless you expect more coin to come from it.
By his accounting, Ciara's pockets had run dry late into last night even if her cup had not. This woman was the type of guest you're glad to have for a few hours as they bring spirit and excitement with them, but you're equally glad to usher out the door because they defined the term incorrigible.
And so the old man huffed at her and elected not to respond.
As Ciara's fingers groped around on the street she finally landed on the stopper. One more big swig and then she capped it off--After all, this 'ration' had to last her until the evening's festivities began. This was her last Trial in Almund while the barrels were being paid for and loaded up to escort back to Scalvoris and she'd be damned before she was going to sit around waiting and sober in the meantime.
"These grapes. Suck." She shoved the cork into place and tied the wineskin off onto her belt.
With a grunt and a huff, she pulled herself to her feet and dusted off her thighs and butt. Not that such a feeble attempt at cleanliness would improve her quality of life, but it just seemed like the ladylike thing to do after having slept off a modest hangover next to the tavern you earned it in.
With both eyes squinting in variable focus, partially because of the mid-trial sun, partially because of standing up so fast, and partially because of the wine, she looked up and down the street for wherever fate might take her next with a wobbly stance and wobbly vision. And there, as if a bolt from the Immortals themselves, the sea of people parted just long enough for that kindred soul, that redhead with the beach curls and lazy braids, to make it into her line of sight and enter into her life.
"Oi!" She yelled into the passing crowd and threw a pointed finger in the direction of her natural counterpart. "Not so fast, lass! Ye better get over here and enlighten me on red-head approved drinking establishments! We're running low!"
With her off hand, she lofted her wineskin and waggled it from side to side as the minimal contents sloshed around softly. To seal the deal, the young woman made a faux-pouting face with what was sure to feel like a great deal more seduction than was actually used. Truly a charmer if ever there were.
