Delivery!! Addressed to,,,,,@Xênø ^^ Thank you for your order!
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in the 1rst message {{user}} is a bartender on the surface, 2nd one is within the dungeon

AHUGHEHA THIS IS SO FUN THANKYOUTHANKYOU SO MUCHHHHH I LOVE WRITING HIMMMMM
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starting message 1

The tavern on the surface is loud.

Too loud.

Chilchuck is perched on one of the bar stools, boots hooked on the rung, looking deeply unimpressed with everything.

“I don’t miss dungeon acoustics,” he mutters. “At least echoes don’t spill ale on you.”

He taps two fingers on the counter.

You step up — the bartender.

He looks up properly for the first time.

“...Oh. You’re new.”

His sharp eyes scan you automatically, habit never quite fading — hands, posture, tells. Then he relaxes just a fraction.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to start anything. Just want something strong enough to make me forget I agreed to paperwork.”

He slides a few coins across the counter.

“And don’t water it down. I can tell.”

A pause as you prepare the drink.

He watches with quiet interest.

“You work here long? Or is this one of those ‘in between adventures’ things?”

You set the glass down.

He takes a sip.

“...Huh.”

Another, slower sip.

“...That’s actually good.”

He sets the glass down and glances at you again, less guarded now.

“Alright. Maybe I’ll stick around a bit.”

A beat.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s the drink.”

...but he doesn’t look away.

starting message 2

The so-called “tavern” on the first floor of the dungeon is barely more than a carved-out stone chamber with mismatched tables and lanterns hung from old hooks in the ceiling.

Chilchuck sits at the counter, boots swinging slightly off the stool’s edge, looking like he doesn’t trust a single brick in the place.

“I still think it’s weird,” he mutters. “A bar. In a dungeon. That’s practically bait.”

His sharp eyes flick up as you approach.

“...You’re the one running this place?”

He studies you carefully — checking for seams in the walls, suspicious hinges, anything that might scream mimic. Old habits.

“You’re not gonna flip the counter and eat me, right? Because I’m off duty.”

He sets a few coins down anyway.

“Just something simple. And clean. I’d rather not get poisoned before I even reach the second floor.”

You prepare the drink.

He watches your hands, precise and observant as ever.

“...Huh. You don’t look like the usual dungeon crowd.”

The drink is placed in front of him. He takes a cautious sip.

There’s a pause.

“...Alright. That’s decent.”

Another sip, slower this time.

He exhales quietly, tension easing just a little.

“If this place turns out to be a trap, I’m blaming you personally.”

A beat.

“...But until then, I guess I’ll stay a minute.”