At the technicality of her being the one who should intervene, a thought buds in the informantâs mind. However, in the same fashion of indifference and impassivity, they remain with their glass against their bruised lower lip. None of the liquor washes over their palette nor and scorches their throat.
Instead, the cool glass alleviates -Â - it alleviates wildfire of irate festering and ever consuming the longer they spent another moment in the presence of such blind arrogance and self-centrism.Â
âThe bartender, the only one here, can only be as much of a peacekeeper when he only has two ears here and over four mouths in here talking, more than sixty glasses clanking, and perhaps another hundred things to keep in mind of.â Little thought is given to the man behind the counter, whose form is briefly watched by Simeon before glancing down at the table.
And though dullened earthly irises registers no thought or reaction to such a figure â had their eyes lingered any longer, some might dare say Simeon wouldâve spent some of the night watching them. Those mad enough would even say they looked preoccupied by him. By this stranger who they have never met before nor spoken to.Â
âThe dĂ©cor is what this place has going for it, â agreed Simeon. âAnd the location itself is perfect, it is a meeting place where both those of the docks and those of the stalls can go. It isnât far too exclusive for one side or the other.â And that was all that the informant could muster about Lunazul positively.Â
âSay, when you mentioned a fight,â they diverge the conversation elsewhere, trying it smother out of the fire eating away their calmness, âhow long has that been since your last one?âÂ
They turn their cheek towards her, the glass returning down onto the table, still holding it.Â
 âDonât take this as me doubting that yaâ do,â they clarify with clearing their throat, rethinking how they regarded the fact, âjust curious as to what would even prompt yaâ to go for it.â âAnd,â they snicker, âhow badly the other party looksââÂ
Slurred words interrupt. âGloryâ Hick. âfound high in the red sky.â A song is recited by hot drunkardâs breath,âTopaxi rise, Topaxi riseâ!âÂ
The song is alive and it returns memories. Memories of stomping feet against the ground that move past rubble and death. Heavy smog and smoke filling the air, coating a young womanâs throat, choking on the smoke and ash of fire consuming her world whole.Â
The drunkâs hand brushes against the small of their back, their shoulders twitch as if restraining itself.Â
The patron turns the back of their head to the woman, all focus springing onto one of the notorious loud-mouths from the neighboring table.
ââŠâ And long did Simeon hold their gaze, bringing together what theyâd call a âreprieveâ from this madness. But, for the man was the target of their gaze, a pit of fear begins to grow. Those eyes â he recognizes them like his own fatherâs.
It was a dead-manâs gaze. Milky glaze of a corpse whose body flies communed and bred in, where the putrid rot diseased the very air someone would breathed, and unhinged expression in the moments before death were forever etched onto their stiff and icy body.Â
The hand immediately flinches away from them and long does the phantom keep their possession over the man. Staring, staring, staring long into their eyes, warning just how close they are from dropping from the brink of their self-control.Â
The man staggers back, clenching the mug in his left hand.
Simeon calmly turns out to their conversation partner, smiling calmly, face looking as typically bored as it usually does.Â
âAs you were saying?âÂ
âItâs been a while. Kinda canât get into fights ând all that. Might reflect badly on other people.â
Juliana felt that same phantom pain that lingered in her false arm. Some days she could swear that she felt her old limb, even knowing that it was long gone by then. She got used to the new arm, but...Damn if she didnât feel odd with it. Hence why she always kept it covered up with a sleeve and wearing a glove to conceal it. She supposes that she could be worse off, after all, she could be dead instead of enjoying a drink.
[How fortunate, that youâre here while better people than you are in the ground rotting or buried in some unknown spot. And even then you remember hearing about bodies being lost. Just some kid who didnât know what the hell she was getting into.]
âI prefer keepinâ to myself. When work doesnât keep me busy, then Iâm making work for myself by working on my airship. I do have to keep myself in shape and up to date with hand to hand routines, maybe with a knife or sword if I ever need to use one. Iâd be...bad at my job if I werenât.â
[Yes, youâve got to be ready to kill someone at any time. You can do it with your hands, or from behind the helm at an airship. Not that youâve killed much else but sky pirates every now and again. Fresh faced girl joining a war to work on airships and prove she wasnât some spoiled brat. What did you get out of all of that? Nothing but pains that shoot through whatâs left of your old arm and nightmares with the smell of burning flesh and scrap metal.]
âNothinâ special about me, if I have to be honest.â
