"That just sounds dangerous, then. I will avoid tripping on your soul cat."

"You'd better," snorts the soul cat.

Ivan peers at her, unsettled. "Do soul cats get names?"

"You said you were born with her, where in the process does one's soul cat...?" Gesture.

"Appear? I don't know. Do zombies remember being born in detail?"

"No, but I know how it works."

"In that kind of detail?"

"If you don't know you can just say you don't know."

"I did that."

"You didn't just do that."

Snort.

Ethan eyes the pink thing suspiciously.

Ivan drinks his pink thing with every sign of enjoyment and non-poisonedness. When he is done with it, he thanks the bar again, and tries the door again, and with an over the shoulder wave is let out into a hallway that he seems relieved to see.

"Who the fuck're you?" inquires Ethan.

"Sir Jann of Raxwell. Yourself?"

"Ethan Rayne. Why am I beset by a parade of strangely similar zombies?"

"That's not a known hazard of the Caves of Fire and Night, but then, neither are human-scaled bars hiding where I was expecting a passage to a dwarven settlement..."

Ethan glances at the bar in case she has commentary.

"Whoa, I can understand her, profanity and all! How are you doing that?"

"She's a daemon, not a cat. All daemons talk."