Good news for everyone involved. Desidério neither intends to travel (fuck that; he has been over the harbor once already today, to say nothing of the long trudge out of The Weyrs which has preceded arriving in Kirkwall), or to drink any of the alcohol easily scavenged from the Gallows' stores. Instead, he leans over and opens the door on the little cabinet that serves as a side table. Three bottles of Antivan wine, procured in a fit of sullen impulse with a majority of his remaining pocket money from a Kirkwall dockside trader specializing in the art of robbing people blind, are tucked inside.

"How do you feel about sangiovese?"