More than anything

O...kay?

The Balladeer's first thought, naturally, is that someone has died. And maybe that's true, but no - people are a lot less likely around here to just get killed, aren't they? Most people don't even have guns. He glances over his shoulder as if to check, angling himself to block Greta from passerby a little. No matter the case, this is starting to look like a talk they shouldn't have in the middle of the street.

"Oh, well...you wanna grab a drink? Coffee," he clarifies; it's too early in the day for anything else, and he's warier about alcohol-as-comfort than alcohol-for-fun. Feels too familiar.