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Three Thousand Club
"And here I was thinking the flying behemoth not seen in seven centuries was the most unexpected thing fate had in store for me today," offers Ijara, deadpan, more to buy herself time to think than anything, "How delightfully naive I was." Well, this wasn't in the manual. Improvise? This doesn't feel like an elaborate prank, but elaborate pranks usually don't. You need someone to play an elaborate prank on, though, and you didn't exist three days ago. If this is a ruse, it's not for your benefit. Do you let someone know the handiwork of the Great Maker is running a drinking establishment in the western Threshold? Perhaps not. The novelty alone would see the place swamped in mysterious and improbably dressed strangers by noon tomorrow, even if it's a crater. Especially if it's a crater. You don't need to deal with that right now.
"I have to say, it's not much of a dark secret if you tell every passing stranger, but my lips are sealed." She pauses again awkwardly, "The beer. Is it... good?"
"I have to say, it's not much of a dark secret if you tell every passing stranger, but my lips are sealed." She pauses again awkwardly, "The beer. Is it... good?"