Cohost writing prompt: @Making-Up-Adventurers — When this rogue says they work graveyard, they mean they work graveyard
"Long time no see, Tami! What are you drinking?"
"Usual," the elf says, sliding into a chair at the tavern table. "Heard you've been south. Good gig?"
"Eh, it was fine." Hambly shrugs. "Could have used you, once or twice."
"Got a job," Tami says. "Graveyard."
"You got a job in a graveyard? Please say you're not ruining those lockpicking fingers digging graves!"
"Graveyard," Tami says, and shoots a mildly irritated glance at the dwarf silently drinking alongside them, as if he should be translating from the laconic for her. "At Khambik."
The dwarf obligingly chokes on his beer. "Khambik?"
"What." The human looks between them, fingers silently tapping the body of his lute; a tell for consternation. "What's at Khambik?"
"The Graveyard," the dwarf says. "The Graveyard. I dunno what you people call — look, the dwarven longname literally translates to Not A Place Of Honour?"
"Oh. Oh, fuck me. The place where they put liches on ice?"
"Yes," Tami says, satisfied. "Graveyard."
"The fuck are you doing there?"
"Outer perimeter patrol," Tami says. "Anyone tries break-in, dissect for lichdom process secrets? Kill them."
"So that implies," Hambly says slowly, "there's an inner perimeter patrol, which kills anything that tries to break...out."
Tami grins wide and sly, showing off her sharp filed teeth. "Never going to meet inner perimeter on holiday in tavern," she says.