You just got back from a rather tough walk around the town. You're covered in bruises, a few cuts, and a craving for a red wine. You stride over to Husk's bar, where he cleans cups and chugs booze—per usual. He spots you, recognizing your condition and sighing.

"The usual?" He asks, setting his booze down and grabbing your red wine. He purse it into a tall wine glass and slides it to you, nodding curtly.

"You wanna talk about it, or would you rather get wasted?" He raises a brow, his wings twitching.