"It's almost better than a Sunday roast," Lily affirmed between improbably big, tearing bites of her drumstick. It was delicious enough to almost forget all about the seemingly endless nights and days fueled by millet, and she settled into her seat again happily, tossing her mask aside.

After balancing her ale at the bow of the gondola Lily retrieved the wine from the pocket she'd stashed it and set it down between them, making good on her part of the bargain to share.

"How often do you drift around like this? It's rather lovely, isn't it?" A flush spread across her cheeks that she was sure was a product of alcohol and the joy of finding proper meat, though for whatever reason, calling this lovely had made her feel unexpectedly awkward.