Faendal shuffled from their room and sat across from Joi. She grinned at him, sliding the other horker loaf and the bottle of mead. He nodded his thanks, taking a sip of the refreshing drink. He never understood why Joi wouldn't touch mead or wine. Whenever he asked, she would merely reply with a thin lipped smile and, "I've had a bad experience with it." Whatever that meant. It's not like she had a run in with a daedra or anything.
"We're supposed to meet Enthir here, right?"
He nodded. "He's downstairs . . . supposedly."
She gave him a knowing—almost amused stare. "I know you don't care for the Guild, but I have to help Karliah. You have a home, I don't know where my home is but I've had friends; I've made my own here, but Karliah has been on the run for twenty-five years. If that's not cause enough to help her, I'm open to suggestions."
Faendal blinked in surprise. "I—didn't know it meant that much to you." He swirled the mead around inside the bottle, Joi threw the apple core into the fire where it crackled and hissed before letting off a pleasant roasting apple scent; Dagur gave her a dirty look.
"So, why Joi?"
" . . . What?" she asked, the question catching her completely off guard.
"You could have chosen any name," he continued. "Why choose 'Joi'?"
"Oh," she seemed to draw back into herself. "Everyone was so solemn and hopeless as we were led to our deaths, I took the name of what I thought the world needed, the overseer just spelled it wrong." Joi took a self-conscious bite from her second apple.
Faendal recognized her dismissal and changed the subject.