[Gilgamesh accepts the offered goblet and inspects it as one would some form of fine china, running his index finger along the edge before taking a sample drink. His lips twitch into a deeper frown, but he moves to sit across from Iskander much like they had done during the War.

It would be easy enough to ignore the mongrels who would wander through the plaza and stare at the two former Servants sitting in the middle of it.]

It has an acceptable taste. [There's a begrudging note to his assessment, as if he did not want to relent that there was anything appealing in the village.] I would not consider having to be trapped in such a small area to enjoy a drink fortuitous. [His eyes remain on his goblet as he swirls its contents.] Though I suppose it is equivalent trade for not being subject to a Master's whims.

[Not that he ever properly heeded his original Master.]