The empty grimness of Minha's mental preoccupation vanished when presented with someone whom she hadn't met before-- which, really, was part of her job.  She accepted the bottle in one hand with a half-curtsey and fetched an empty chalice being born away on a tray carried by one of the serf-slave attendants; emptying the dregs of the cup onto the path beneath her feet, she negotiated the bottle's opening before filling the cup with whatever was in it and taking a long pull.<br/><br/>High as she was, momentarily bereft of responsibilities and thus momentarily free to go about as she pleased, it was okay to indulge.  (Or maybe she simply wished to indulge and this was her excuse to do so.  It didn't really matter.)  "Where did you stumble on this?" Minha asked brightly, genuinely curious as she looked to the label on the bottle...<br/>