A map in hand the door swung open with ease, dimly lit a sweep of warmth swept him up like pollen, it seemed a simple job and one which held amusement. Jacket draped over the hook a swarm of people met his face, the job had seemed a little easy for sure. Parchment stuffed in his pocket the youths gaze blossomed across the kitchen, it seemed to be a side preparing area to one of the higher end restaurants in rose garden, benches and stools in neat rows like crops, a few large fires brought the temperatures close to tropical. A feeling of rustic high end cuisine, everything seemed old, yet it was all in such good condition, almost like those trendy clothes which had factory designed holes and worn areas. Fingers hooked a stool and dragged it under him, a click of his back setting and he sunk into the wood. To drink a wine, and get paid for saying if it was the best, an easy and safe job drew in even those who weren’t fighters. Smooth skin except for a birthmark inclined his age was towards more youthful side, whereas the others in the room ranged from starting to wilt, to past the expiration date. Mind rushed forth as he was brought out of the daze, clinked together the bottles drew his attention to a basket, weaved together the little sticks gave him a feeling of grandmothers rocking chair and winters snuggling by the fire. The thought embedded in his mind, shuffled closer to the bench his elbows propped his chin up, warm and dry the kitchen seemed like an okay profession.
Neat little glasses, smooth glass held a rich red liquid, a pool of emotion and hatred which drew him into it. Had it been a blanket the youth would have strangled himself with it by now. Toxic, alcohol ruined lives, he had seen others ruin their lives for the fermented liquid. His own glass cradled in his hand as if it were a fragile bloom Lester offered a glass of wine to the mage next to him, it would save the other from having to walk, and the male just wanted to taste the homebrew and complete his task. “Here, all we have to do is taste it and tell him if it's the best in the world.” A slight smile skipped across his face, best in the world, was it really okay to put a claim to that? Lips pursed the taste of it tainted his lips, it was wine for sure. He liked it, yet flavorsome or not the wine held no surprise or gleeful entrance like winter flora. Strawberry hues lifted to look back at the other, “I’m lester, nice to meet you. I don’t think it's the world's best, but its okay. Your thoughts?"