Conversations With Dead People
People are drinking, there's a darts game picking up to one side of the room, and there's just enough inherent hostility in the atmosphere that she wouldn't be surprised if a fight broke out. This is definitely Cata's kind of pub, which is only fitting, seeing as she's dreaming it.
It's also the only sort she'll actually order alcohol in on a regular basis. In any case, it's a chance to truly relax, among the chaos of trying to rebuild her former life. She orders herself some stout and settles in, just basking in the place for a few moments.
"This place does have a certain charm, doesn't it?" a man's voice says, just as the gleam of light on armor to her left (the brighter sort of lights in Milliways, though the rest of the setting could just as easily be Bistort) catches Cata's eye. She turns to look, and at first thinks her dreams have taken a turn for the odd; no one wears that much plate mail anymore. But then she takes a closer look, and there's no mistaking the device on his shield or his piercing grey eyes.
If her mind is going to draw from history, she reserves the right to place herself on the defensive, particularly given what happened the last time history stepped into her life.
"And what," she says, "is a Hero like you doing in a place like this?"
Sir Pryse of Kwart, one of the six Heroes who left her such a fine mess to be caught in in the first place, chuckles a bit. "I hardly know whether that designation still applies to me, madam."
"How could you possibly be in doubt?"
"The historical record has, in many ways, underestimated me. I'm sure you'll hear all about it, when your friend finally makes his way back to Bistort."
Cata goes still. "You mean to say that Sam's alive?" That has to be who he means; she never quite considered the rest of the Guild friends, for all they could carry on cordial relationships. With Sam, there's just... something else there.
"He is. He had quite a bit to do with turning everything around, actually."
That - actually makes quite a bit of sense, in a way. No one else Cata can think of has the kind of fates-blessed aim it would take to permanently kill Mizzamir, and even then, it must have taken him a while. And with that matter cleared up, there's a more pressing question at hand.
"Still. What are you doing here? Would have thought you were too... respectable for a place like this?"
Sir Pryse sighs. "I fought for the freedom of choice."
"I'm sorry?"
"You wouldn't know the Dark Times from experience, or likely even from stories. Mizzamir always was good at covering up what he didn't want others to know. I fought that people might be rid of the sort of oppression that takes away their choice of lifestyle."
Cata snorts. "That didn't exactly work out the way you intended."
"I knew that well before Mizzamir had anything like what you went through ready. It just took some time before I could help correct matters."
"So, what, now that you have, you're wandering through people's dreams?"
"Only a few." Sir Pryse smiles. "You have your freedom once again. I trust you'll use it well."
She wakes not long after that, not sure how much of that was her own wishful thinking and how much has any sort of factual basis. Perhaps, if - once - Sam makes it back to town, she can get a bit of clarification.