Ianthe's expression flooded with gratitude. She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and inhaled deeply of its contents before favoring the bartender with a grin and hitching one shoulder up in a shrug, all while making an effort to avoid staring at the Camarian's chest.<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"I'm not burdened with sorrows either way,"</span>she laughed, and took a sip.<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"Mmm, that's good, thank you. I have such a hard time finding a decent cup anywhere; on these transports it's all freeze-dried synthetic crap."</span><br/><br/>The idle chatter was pretense, to hide the mental conversation between them.<i><span style="color: mediumturquoise">What about the peace between the Syndicate and the Pirate Queen, here on Salzan? Has it been as stable as Giantprick claims? Or would the Zax stage an attack on themselves in some kind of power play?</span></i>She was grasping, now; she knew that, and she let the other woman know it, too. But she had precious few leads other than the bomb fragments, and she was not eager to learn the price of her Grey driver's help.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>