After Malsumis had destroyed Temperance’s greenhouse and very nearly them as well, Ber had found himself somewhat curious about Ravin Tracey, whom everyone else that night had known from prior encounters. Who was he and where did he acquire a summoning like the winged, skeletal creature who had demanded to see Norah? It didn’t take long for the quiet sleuthing to reveal the name of The Midnight House, a brothel that the soldier had heard of in passing but never visited himself. Well, there was a first time for everything, he supposed, even if young men usually visited such establishments for far different reasons.

As it turned out, there were to be multiple firsts, and he realized this the moment he stepped through the door and immediately recognized one of the patrons seated at the tables scattered around the room. Abbott was not someone whose company he enjoyed at the best of times, and as Ber’s mind automatically connected many dots that he had never wanted to connect, these were very far from the best of times. Incredibly far. Way closer to the worst of times, actually. Perhaps he should just go before the man, who was talking to the barmaid, noticed him. Yeah, that was probably for the best - he could always seek the answers to his questions later.

The sound above the door alerted Abbott to his presence, and before Ber could leave, the other man had turned and spotted him, growing a smile that only spelled danger for the soldier. The officer shifted, the sound of wood scraping across the floor sounded from across the room, and he beckoned Ber over to the bar. For a long moment, the younger man considered leaving anyway, consequences be damned. However, if the drill sergeant recognized him here, then he could recognize him just as easily in the military wing, and he didn’t want the next few months of his life to be an utter nightmare for daring to walk away.

Reluctantly, Ber made his way over to the stool and sat, greeting the other man before leaning forward with his arms on the bar in front of him. In the time it had taken him to walk over, the barmaid had delivered Abbott’s meal, and the aroma of the hot stew had his own stomach begging for some as well. If he was going to be here, he thought he might as well get some food out of it. With a quick gesture, he waved down the young woman and asked, “Could I have a bowl of that as well, please?” While he waited, Ber glanced to the side. “You wanted to speak with me, sir?” At least he assumed Abbott did - why else would he call him over?

Lucky wasn’t the word Ber would have used - rather the opposite, actually, but he wasn’t stupid enough to actually argue that point anywhere other than the safety of his mind. Instead, he offered the neutral “Yes, sir,” of non-committal ostensible agreement and gratefully accepted his bowl of stew when it arrived. Using it as his excuse to focus on something other than Abbott, who seemed far more interested in conversation than Ber was, he swirled the spoon in the hot broth and watched the ripples lap at the sides of the bowl. “And, uh, I’m Stormcrest, sir,” He added awkwardly, in response to what he thought might have been a veiled prompt to introduce himself. Almost immediately after, he wondered if he should have borrowed someone else’s name instead; now Abbott knew exactly who to yell at if this interaction didn’t go well.

Ber blew on a steaming spoonful of the soup before deciding it was still too hot to eat and lowering it once more. At the drill sergeant’s question, he glanced to the side again. “I met the owner - former owner - of this place last season,” He said, not wanting to dive into the details of an encounter that he would never forget. “I just had some questions and thought someone here might know the answers.” Out of habit, Ber very nearly returned the question to Abbott before remembering where exactly they were and why the vast majority of men and women visited this particular establishment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the officer seemed to be in a rather good mood.

With the way that Abbott was downing his meal, Ber had hoped that the officer might finish soon and be on his way, leaving the soldier to enjoy his stew and ask his questions of some of the workers there in peace. Alas, it was not to be. With a whistle that reminded the young man uncomfortably of the training yard - he did not need to build any more associations between work and a brothel and the drill sergeant, thank you very much - Abbott requested a refill of his tankard, and Ber took that as a sign that he was settling in to stay for a while.

He hid his disappointment with a spoonful of the now slightly cooler stew, which, of course, coincided with Abbott turning to him and asking a question. Chewing and swallowing rapidly, he shook his head and once his mouth was free, added, “Nothing really, sir.” The words came out casually, the not-quite-the-truth, not-quite-the-lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. Ber spooned more of the stew into his mouth to dissuade any follow-up questions and wondered if this was better or worse than spending hours in a tavern booth making painfully stilted conversation with Woodwick. Really, everything was unfortunate, and he was beyond ready to stop sharing meals with his superiors altogether. At least Abbott wasn’t stuck here with him like the lieutenant had been - the two of them had been on a stakeout for a murderer - so maybe he would leave if Ber proved himself to be boring enough company.

Something like smug satisfaction flickered through Ber at Abbott’s words, which were probably supposed to be insulting - and might have been, if boring and uninteresting wasn’t exactly what he was trying to be. Hiding a grin as he swallowed a spoonful of stew, he debated the wisdom of an agreeable “no, sir”, but hardly had time to make his mind up one way or another before an elbow to the side jostled him as he lifted the next bite of his meal to his mouth. Despite the way the drill instructor had no problem invading the personal space of his recruits in the training yard, Ber hadn’t expected such a move now.

The spoonful of stew spilled across the bar, with some of the broth running down the side to drip on his pants. What the— Biting back a curse and reminding himself that his unwanted companion was an officer and not another soldier, Ber returned the spoon to the bowl and directed an irritated look at the offending mess as he wiped the bulk of it away with his hands. Then he looked over at Abbott, significantly less amused than he had been moments prior, and couldn’t quite hide the annoyance in his tone as he said, “I wasn’t aware it was my job to entertain you, sir.” He pointedly glanced around at their surroundings. “Especially considering where we are.” Abbott could enjoy the more interesting company of plenty of other people in this establishment. He didn’t need to be bothering Ber and then making him spill his meal all over himself because he was bored.