in this ever-spinning playground (open)

Ingrid

"Hopeless, yes, but at least he's getting fucked,"  Ingrid shot back with a chuckle. If she recalled correctly, Amun had tried to flirt with their host like the whole fucking time, and while Ingrid was a proud member of the here-and-queer club, she thought hitting on a soon-to-be-married man might be a tad bit more hopeless than not knowing how to decorate. "I'm Ingrid. Scared-of-tiny-dragons-lady works fine for me, but then I get to call you rose-petal-guy." Ingrid's tone was just as teasing.

”So. Is this what passes for fun in these parts? And what do I get if I dethrone you?"

"Ah yes, if you dethrone me, I have to buy you a drink," she replied with a grin. "Booze is fun no matter where you are." She took a sip of her beer for emphasis.

Then he winked, and it made her snort in laughter. "You are talking to a priest, you know." She took a moment to ponder his question, absentmindedly swirling the beer in her bottle.

"Yes, my temple is frozen and crumbling, but my desolate Gods are here. Why stay in hell? It's home."

"Shrine Ho"