Avelienne wasn’t normally so eager to run to a tavern, but after her first run-in with the members of her new guild, something changed. It was strange for her, this desire to be around the smell of fermented fruits and grains. She’d decide to spend the day huddled in a quiet corner, mugs littering her table as she studied the tomes from the Cathedral’s library (history mainly, but a few on faith and mortality, to sate her curiosity). Most of the drinks she’d had tasted horrible compared to their luscious smells, but one or two were sweet enough that Ava would continue to order them long after any normal girl would be completely sloshed.
The first of the two was any form of cider; the sweet fruit flavors drew her in like a hummingbird to fresh flowers. Ava was fully convinced she could live on cider and nothing else; well, live as much as any Death Knight could claim to live, anyway. Something was oddly familiar about the drink, and she decided to keep ordering them until she remembered or until she got thrown out of the tavern.
The second, and most recent, drink obsession wasn’t even something she’d chosen for herself. Lady Evonn, one of the leaders of her guild, had pressed a simple glass of champagne into her hand the first day that Ava had met everyone. The effervescence hit her nose just so, and caused a giggling fit that probably drew a few concerned glances in Ava’s direction. After that, it wasn’t about the taste (which was just as light as the bubbles within, and fairly sweet to boot) but the sensation of giddiness that she associated with the drink.
Avelienne smiles brightly. “So, if you … by chance, still want that drink, I think … I’ve got just the place to go. Um, can we stop by the Cathedral first? I’ve got to get an atlas they promised to loan me.”
