[There's a quiet curiosity in Eridanus' gaze, Peace's nuance not quite lost on him regardless of the depth her words held. They are veritable strangers, made kin by the fog god, with little knowledge of the other's past life and experiences — and yet, there is something to the melancholic cadence of her voice that speaks to him.

Rather than inquire though, Eridanus turns his attention away the moment a waiter steps into his periphery.]

An older vintage merlot, if you please. [The waiter gives a wordless bow, unable to offer them specials nor other options for drink, before turning to retrieve the bottle as requested.

Eridanus' ardent gaze returns to Peace, and he quietly leans his opaline chin into his palm.] You would make an enemy of monsterkind for selfish gain? You surprise me, Peace. I never thought you to be the kind who goes against the grain.