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"The whispers... they were silent for 7 days..." The voice comes from a dwarven woman at a corner table. She pauses as her fingers trace along a stone she carries.
"Did anyone else feel it? The space between heartbeats stretched for eternity. I existed here, or somewhere, but I could not speak. Yet I could feel the weight of my drink in my hand and feel Kolo's warmth against my neck. Still, I existed in a moment that refused to form, that refused to allow me to draw a breath of life.
She turns her gaze toward to the lizard-like creature nestled around her neck and shoulder. "This must be how the spirits feel when no one remembers their names. Present, aware, and unable to act in a world that moves on without them."
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"Perhaps the Universe paused to take a breath" speculates a coldly handsome ambiguously-aged Taldan man of neat presentation and meticulously manicured hygiene "Or perhaps, for just a moment, we experienced a moment of cosmic conscioussness together"
His own trinket - a golden scarab beetle of roughly equivalent shape - glimmers auspiciously in the saloon light, draped around his neck by an exquisitely crafted ultralight metal chain.
"However, too, 7 itself is known as a number signified with a handful of supernatural phenomenological schemata" superstitous himself, cloaking his own belief systems inside the narrow container of some explicable logic, he orders the seventh mixed drink from the top of the menuboard, hoping to have such the act slip beneath the notice of those around him.