Perchance to Dream
The Wizened Brewer Gilbraith is, for now, quiet. A little man with drunken eyes and a kinky set of mutton chops, he’s drunk most hours of the day and refuses to listen to those who tell him he has a problem and that his liver looks like a sun-baked walnut husk. Fuck them. And fuck the Children’s Contract. For now, he seems content to stew in his own indignation. But, given the right spur, he might just rise to action. The whiskey that roils in his gut gives him a great deal of fiery courage.
Gilbraith seems to avoid talking to any members of the Saints regardless of who they are.